#but its all he witnessed before that that bothers him the most and losing men at sea

[elxgantcaptain]

/ Reminder that Hook has seen so many horrors that its a wonder he's not broken down by now.

He's witnessed men fall into the ocean and drown during storms, he's seen them crushed by a broken mast, eaten by sea creatures. He's seen people punished by marooning and left to die alone on an island.

He's seen men shot point blank, he's seen men knee hauled under a ship to be dragged back out in tatters, he too had been whipped by a cat'o'nine tails and lived to tell the tale. He's seen others not be so lucky.

He's seen men suffer of scurvy, die of illnesses and infection. He's survived that too many a time.

One of these days, he's going to have face every atrocity he's seen and been through. And it will break him.

[devilmademewriteit]

Ultraviolence

pairing: raider!joel miller x fem!afab!reader

summary: thank god—a handsome stranger saves you from the grips of a pack of cruel, cruel men. unfortunately, said stranger, joel miller, is cut from the exact same cloth as the rest of them.

warnings: oh. boy. rough sex/smut (fem penetration, fingering, cum play if you squint) so 18+ only content; fem!afab!reader; raider!joel; canon typical violence; mentions of hair pulling/reader having long hair; light dacryphilia; age gap; pet names (baby, darlin’, sweetheart, girl); slapping, spanking, choking; !!!NONCON!!! (sexual violence/assault, coercion, allusions to more sexual abuse—Dead Dove, Do Not Eat y’all, protect yourselves).

word count: 4k+

no use of y/n in this fic

alright y’all!!! here is the non-con raider!joel fic!! stay tuned for the version coming out soon wherein Joel actually rescues the reader LOL join the taglist to be notified when I post it!!! y’all’s requests will quite legit be the death of me BUT this was fun to write so im not mad. this version is just purely depraved & Joel ‘Big Dick’ Miller is a mean mean man. wrote it pretty fast too so b nice 2 me.

love u all, sorry for searing your eyeballs:)

-em<3

—

The stucco prickles and tears at the flushed skin of your cheek, a reminder that it’ll be winter soon. The birds are sure of it, and most of them managed to get away before the frost stood a chance of nipping them.

You didn’t.

After a few years of non-stop struggle, losing everything but your own life, you figured there were worse ways to go. At least you would be… well—you, in the end.

In whatever shape this man and his leering group of accomplices left you in.

“Against the wall,” and his voice had been the crack of a whip, snapping by your ear as electricity shot up and down your spine, as the tingling realization that the chase was over—the jig, up—settled into your bones. “Spread your fuckin’ legs.”

There were more hounds around… waiting.

Always waiting.

They’d already gotten to your old, tattered clothes. The brisk air bites at your exposed skin, but at least the cold would account for the violent shivers wracking your limbs. Even as the beast pins you to the side of the decrepit house, forces himself between your knees, your primary preoccupation is to stifle your fear.

They’d get everything else on display—but they would never get to see that.

When the screaming starts, those confused grunts, huffs, and squelches of a blade carving into flesh, you mostly commend your own imagination:

“I did it. I’m in my happy place. This will be quick, then.”

But then a rough, unfamiliar hand grabs hold of your naked waist, flipping you around, slamming your spine against the frosty stucco.

This is real.

And you bear witness to his carnage.

He painted the side of the house into a mosaic of inter-mingling blood, splattered like a Pollock against the grass, the wrinkled clothes and the rugged face of your salvation.

His eyes rake over your still-trembling body before he wrenches a red-coated knife—never breaking eye-contact—from the throat of the man you’d been at the mercy of just a few seconds ago.

Blood gushes up from the fatal wound, and you both watch the cruel scene, mesmerized. The attacker’s eyes dull, all evil dissipating from that once-ferocious gaze. The rescuer’s big, wide hands flip him over, stripping him of his stained beige jacket. Then, he carelessly kicks the lifeless form face-down onto the yellowing grass.

“Put it on.”

You uncross your arms, snatching the coat from the stranger’s extended hands. It doesn’t bother you, its belonging to him.

He’s dead; you get his coat.

A fair exchange.

He keeps an eye on you as he sorts through the pickings: a few strips of dried meat here, a loaded gun there (two bullets in the clip—you watch as he checks), and a few good blades, stashed inside pockets, bags, and down shirt-fronts.

The man straightens up.

Tall.

“Get in front of me,” his low baritone strikes you, causing your knees to concede to a slight wobble. “You run, you die. Got it?”

Texan.

Slowly, you nod, and a firm grip circles your wrist, tearing you from the wall.

“Walk.”

Your heart hammers—near deafening in your ears—as the stranger stalks behind you, directing your trembling movements with brusque, snapped commands.

Finally, the scattered orangey-red leaves begin to multiply, the domestic remnants of a past civilization thinning. The neighborhood opens into a field; large oaks and slouching willows shiver under the weak glare of the afternoon sun.

There’s a house up there. It seems to be in alright shape (some things are built tougher than others) and it’s certainly a step up from a few of the more… unsavory places the outbreak had led you to.

Nearing it, you take not of how much it resembles a barn-house. Red, pentagonal roof, and a big, wide, brown front door.

Gingerly stepping a foot on the cracked wood of the porch, you turn to face your rescuer, uncertainty tying slippery knots in your tummy.

Because there’s clamour coming from inside. There’s people in there.

The momentary hesitation allows you to get a good look at your rescuer: he’s greying and dark—mixed, likely, or just disposed to a stubborn tan—and probably in his mid forties. Probably handsome, too, if it weren’t for the resident cruel scowl deepening his apathetic expression, or the violence dancing in his eyes.

A raise of his eyebrows.

“I tell you to stop?” He nods towards the looming house. “Move.”

But… you don’t.

“Are you gonna kill me?” and you’re downright shocked by the strength—the resignation—of your tone, the way the question comes out so matter-of-fact.

That sparse mustache crinkles in the corners, teasing into something wicked. “You want me to?”

“No.”

“So get movin’, then.”

That left little room for debate.

So, you turn, fingers and knees shaking with anxious anticipation. He cuts in front of you at the last minute, shoving the front door open with his knife at his side—for you or for something else, you’re not entirely certain.

He pulls you into the foyer by your forearm; to your great dismay, you’re faced with an entire group of middle-aged men. Killers—for sure—leering at you with that same starved, animalistic look your rescuer had fixed you with.

Then, he tosses the bag on the floor.

“Found ‘em by the school. Decent haul.”

Their eyes tilt to your shuddering frame, dwarfed by the jacket weighing down your shoulders. One of them looks strangely familiar, proud features reminding you of something else you were afraid of. “No shit, huh,” he commends, “Nice work, Joel.”

Joel.

As the shaggy-haired man speaks, his voice strikes familial resemblance, and it dawns on you. Your rescuer’s brother, or at the very least a cousin.

And what he says is a clearly marked taunt. That much is clear. Uttered with the kind of cruel camaraderie which collected on the tongues of men who committed acts of violence together.

Who hunted together.

And it’s obvious you’re not being rescued. Just… reclaimed. Redistributed.

Fuck.

Another voice joins the mix. “How much you think y’could get for her?”

Joel’s profile turns, harsh, brutal lines forming as he assesses you. “Depends,” and then—ohmothermary—he smirks.

“Gonna have to test her out first.”

A few snickers.

Oh god. Oh god. Oh god.

You’re trapped with nowhere to go, once again surrounded by a gaggle of soulless monsters. Fear grips you, but thankfully, it’s muted, now, having been mostly expended during the harrowing events of the morning.

Just an hour ago, pressed to the side of an abandoned house, you’d allowed yourself to give up.

So, it feels easy—natural—settling back into that rhythm.

To submit to your inevitable, violent fate.

Joel’s voice cuts through the clamour of your racing thoughts. “Upstairs, the room with the open door. Go.”

Eyes glued to the floor, you put one foot in front of the other, your insides twisting and turning inside your core. Fuck, you can feel the pairs of eyes following you with every step you take. The stairs creak as your weight presses into them, squealing like wounded prey.

“N’ take that fuckin’ jacket off,” Joel calls after you, the echoes of his booming voice and the group’s degrading laughter chasing you all the way up into the room—the one with the open door.

And it’s nice, surprisingly. Dusty, admittedly, and clearly having belonged to someone else—a long, long time ago—but the bed is made, the window lets the light in, and the walls remind you of cinnamon.

No, this wouldn’t be the worst prison. Or the worst place to die. It’s a sure-fire step up from the gutter between two dilapidated houses.

You keep the jacket on, shivering under its weight. Even as you hear footsteps climbing the stairs, even as the more rational, civilized side of your mind urges you to accede to your (non)rescuer’s every command.

The conversation downstairs dies off just as Joel rounds the corner, appearing in the doorway—a giant. Though your stomach lurches, and though your legs feel like putty, you hold your ground.

“I’ll fight, you know,” you hiss, watching him seal off the entrance to the room behind him. His flannel has droplets of blood on the collar—reminders of your previous captor—would your other attacker have been a better option? Who’d be more merciful to your quivering body?

You charge your voice with every last modicum of strength at your disposal. “I’ll fight.”

He turns, smirking softly at your clenched fists. “S’good, sweetheart. I like a little fight.” He stalks towards you, swiping his thumb along the plushness of his bottom lip, his intimidating presence forcing your back to meet the flat hardness of the wall behind you.

So much for fighting.

There’s nothing living in his eyes as he says it—nothing save the roiling flames of hunger: “You see those guys downstairs?”

You glare up at him, trying not to notice the alluring hook of his nose, or the way your body works against you, responding to the earthy smell of him.

Then, you nod, wordlessly.

“Did you count ‘em?” He splays a hand beside your head, using one hand to pry your arms uncrossed.

Again, you nod. “How many?” He asks, his voice deceptively soft.

“Five.” Breathless.

“S’right, sweetheart. Ever had your lil’ holes stuffed by five guys at once?”

A swallow, and your voice cracks when you’re finally able to put it to use. “No.”

He pries your elbows to your sides, pulling the beige fabric open, revealing the torn remains of your underwear.

It’s almost a croon, feigned concern underpinning his low tone. “You wanna see what it’s like?” He drinks in the sight of your bare chest, almost groaning at the sight of your naked front.

It’s not cold anymore; no, suddenly you’re very hot.

“No, please, no.”

He slips the coat off of your shoulders, letting it fall in a heap to the ground. He assesses you once more: studying every square inch of your skin under his shadowed eyes.

“M’only gonna say this once, sweetheart.” All that fake-gentleness fades from his tone, replaced by the sadistic, authoritative timbre he’d first greeted you with. “I need you to be very careful.”

You’re frozen—all that fight, it drains out of you, captivated by the raider’s looming form, his mesmerizing speech.

“You’re alone, yeah?” A nod, which he acknowledges, trailing a hand up the length of your waist. “S’what I thought. N’ the way I found you today? That’s a best-case-scenario for a girl like you, out here on your own.”

He drags a finger up the centre of your breast, skilled fingertips just barely brushing the peaked nipple. You lean into his touch—the near imperceptible arch of your back doesn’t go unnoticed, and you kick yourself internally as the corners of his lips twitch up.

Still, the raider ignores your trembling.

“You’re mine, now,” he continues, egged on by your involuntary movement. “Means you’re gonna be a good girl n’ do as I say, n’ I’ll make sure I’m the only man who touches you.” His big hand drops to his heavy silver buckle, and the clearly defined, bulging lines underneath it have your heart clawing out of your chest. Joel senses your fear—and it only makes him harder. “I don’t like sharin’ what’s mine, y’know? But you try anything—you step outta line—I’ll throw you to my guys downstairs.”

His hand finds your throat, hunger and warning beating to the same rhythm in his gaze. “I have no problem watching.” He gives your larynx a squeeze, multitasking as he pulls the strap of his belt through the worn loops of his denim. “Understood?”

You have no words left, shaking from head to toe as the reality of the situation finally settles in.

As he works the intimidating weight of his cock out of his jeans.

A huff. Joel flips you over, impatient, pressing your scraped up cheek to the cinnamon-brown of the wall.

Déjà vù.

Your knees are separated by his own, and his weight flattens you. He wastes no time: lining himself up, his tip separates your folds. Resistance is futile—with one hand, he holds your thighs open—even as they try to press themselves closed, even as you whimper at the rough, male knuckles pressed to bruise on the insides of your legs.

Leaving his mark.

It’s not an option to simply take it. Joel forces you to participate in the sinful act: “I asked you a fuckin’ question,” he growls, gripping your chin indelicately. “You understand me, girl?”

A swallow and a flinch as you feel the head of his cock poke at your entrance. “Yes. Okay. Yes.”

“Yes, Joel,” he corrects. “Use my name. You’re mine now. Use my fuckin’ name.”

Tears prick the corners of your eyes at the promised savagery in his tone. Holding back a sob, you respond: “Yes, Joel.”

You watch his hand, large and capable, splaying out a mere inch away from the tip of your nose. “Good,” he commends. “Z’are the only fuckin’ words you know, from now on.”

His free hand slaps against your hip, yanking you down onto his hard length. Your hips buck up against his abdomen, responding to the pull of his fingertips, even as you cry out at the sting, the stretch. The raider tries to force himself between your walls—muttering a grunted “shit”—and thrusting up against your ass.

But you’re too tight, too tense, and your stubborn body refuses to open up for him. Finally listening to you.

“Relax,” he orders, surprisingly softly. He moves his hand from your hip to the apex of your thighs, rubbing rough circles against your clit. Fuck, how’d he find it so fast? You gasp at the feel of his fingertips against your most sensitive, touch-starved spot, hating yourself for the way his pressure makes you feel.

Because…

Because—fuck.

It feels… good. The man knows exactly what he’s doing—methodical in his ministrations, prepping you only enough to ensure his own eventual pleasure. “S’too tight, baby,” he breathes against your neck, “Need to loosen up for me, yeah?”

He’s not gentle. No part of it is gentle. Nonetheless, pleasure ripples through your centre and down your thighs as he effectively turns you on.

“Thaaaaaa’s right,” and his voice is mocking and taunting and degrading as he drags his digits away, grabbing and pulling at your breasts, instead. Feeling the involuntary release of your cunt, Joel finally pushes himself in, sheathing the long, thick length of his cock inside you.

“Need to show this pussy what it’s fuckin’ made for.”

A current of pain flutters up your cunt just as he fills it up to the brim. You can’t help it—your stoicism crumbles to dust—and a soft, scared, pained whimper tumbles from your lips.

And he groans at it, thrusting roughly, over and over again. And again. “Hurts, does it?”

His breath is hot against your ear, and despite the fear, the ancient instincts gripping your bones, telling you to run, run, run, fight, fight, fight—it’s… enticing.

Hot.

“It hurts.”

He laughs, low and dark, bringing his hands to circle your hips, steadying you as you stumble on your tip-toes.

“Cry about it.”

And he keeps on going, tearing you open. The way his girth touches every starved part of your insides leaves you wanting, even despite the sting of his fingernails biting into your hips, the tears and cuts stinging at your opening.

You hate yourself for it.

But you clench around him, stifling a pathetic moan.

God, no—I am not enjoying this.

He breathes another laugh. “Feelin’ full, baby? Tell me how good it feels, c’mon,” and your inhalations come in heaves as he pounds into you, delivering a harsh slap to the side of your hip, hard enough for your skin to ripple from the contact. “Do as I say.”

When you refuse to sate him, swallowing all of your little noises, Joel grips your throat, bringing your head slamming against his shoulder. Your back arches into a perfect crescent, spine contorting at his will. A gasped cry fans out against his salt-and-pepper jaw.

A sob—of fear, of frustration, of reluctant pleasure. “You’re evil.”

The grip on your throat tightens, and he looses another laugh, squeezing your skin, muscles, and tendons oh-so-tight.

You’d be wrecked, bruised—branded—come sunrise.

“Yeah?” He groans, cock slamming up into your very guts.

“M-mhmm—” and the saltwater tears start pouring, trailing glistening slopes down your cheeks in long, long lines. Distantly, you hear his answer—“Yeah, well, you’re wet”—as those silver droplets keep on falling. Where they come from, you aren’t certain; of course, the terror, the physical torture, and the frustration at your entrapment contribute to the mess under your eyes.

But that warmth… the unbridled desire radiating between your thighs… that wasn’t helping, either.

“Fuuuuck,” he groans, muttering another “S’it—s’right,” and releasing your throat to tilt your head up to face him. He drinks in his creation, the ruined sight of your tear-stricken face, and his cock swells between your beaten walls. “God, you look so fuckin’ pretty takin’ it from me—cryin’ like your lil’ pussy ain’t desperate for this.”

Joel smiles when you sob.

It goes on for a while. He doesn’t tire quickly, bringing you right up to the edge of reluctant ecstasy before you remind yourself of the hatred you owed the man fucking into you. You get used to the sound of his hips snapping against your skin, your cries mingling with his gravelly, low grunts. It’s a dirty, depraved symphony—orchestrated by the monster between your thighs.

You can’t help the moan that escapes your lips when he finally, finally brings his fingers back down between your legs. He grunts in approval, barely grazing the length of your folds, pressing his thumb into the delicate flesh of your thigh, instead. “Dirty lil’ girl—fuckin’ dyin’ to be an old man’s whore, z’that it?” and he doesn’t even touch you, focussed on his own pleasure, but the proximity alone is enough to have you wrecked.

And you just can’t help it: “J-joel—”

“Y’know,” he chuckles, slightly out of breath, slowing his strokes to address your wanton whine, “You’re gonna make such a good lil’ fuck-toy, baby, f’you keep makin’ those pretty lil’ noises for me.”

The reality of the situation comes barrelling down on you as he acknowledges—praises—your enjoyment of his torture.

This man… this man was cruel. He was hurting you, and enjoying it.

You struggle against him, a pathetic show of weakness. Joel holds you in place effortlessly, arching your back further, keeping your hips preened back to receive the harsh thrusts he delivers to your torn, ruined cunt. “Where you goin’?” He laughs at your pathetic attempt at resistance, grips tightening. “Thought we were havin’ fun, baby—don’t it feel good?”

And he quickens again, slamming into every needy spot inside you. His breaths grow shallow, as rough as his hands and the ferocity of this punishment.

“No,” you manage, fingernails digging into his forearm.

He tuts, the vocal click constricted with lust, and his hand travels the length of you, settling against that aching bud between your thighs. “Fuckin’ liar.”

He presses down, proving his point. Your entire body tenses as pleasure ripples through you—despite your best efforts, climax crests through your core, threatening to implode within you. Joel hums, smirking when he feels your legs parting even wider.

“S’mine now, alright? You’re mine now.” He crams every inch of his cock up inside you, pulling you flush against his chest. “S’okay to come for me—s’okay, baby, I want you to—s’fuckin’ right, let go for me, baby—” and his crooning takes you over the edge.

Christ, it feels so good.

You clench around him, high-pitched pleas and moans tumbling from your lips, his own pair dragging down the swoop of your ear. In that split second, Joel—the devil at your back—is your favourite thing in the world: your hero, your haven, your God. Fuck, you could just kiss him, marry him, fuck him over and over and over and over—

A hand clamps over your mouth during those brief, blissful moments; the man practically bounces you up and down the length of him, muffling the cries of pain and pleasure tearing from your sore throat against the rough skin of his palm. He groans inside your ear—a stammered, sinful “fuuuck”—and then he’s spilling his seed inside you, shoving it impossibly deep as those quick, harsh strokes stutter and slow.

You come to, waking up from your pleasure-drunk daze. Before you get the opportunity to wriggle away from him, the monster flips you over again, slamming your shoulders to the wall. With his forearm barring your chest, and despite your fear and ire—somehow, all you can think about is the fact that he’s not as out of breath as he really should be (given his age and, of course, what he’d just done to you).

Joel leaks out of you. His cum paints masterpieces down your legs.

He slides his free hand down the length of his cock, collecting the last bits of slick clinging to him and not dripping out of you. The intermingling juices are brought to the roundness of your breasts—the raider slathers your sore peaks with his own spend.

“Nobody’s gonna fuck with you—but that means you’re Joel’s girl. Hear me?” With your head bowed, you glare up at him through silver-lined spider lashes, shame beating at your cheeks. When you hum your acknowledging “uh-huh,” the stranger continues on, gripping your jaw to angle your gaze up: “Means you listen—you-you don’t fuckin’ try me—n’ you take everything I give you, every fuckin’ time. Understand?” He tucks his softening length back in his pants, dark eyes dancing with satisfaction as he leers at your destroyed form.

When you don’t respond, he brings the back of his punishing hand colliding with the side of your face.

Something between a squeal and a gasp tumbles from your lips; Joel catches it, placing the pad of his thumb to your bottom lip, pressing down. Your cheek stings from his harsh slap, delivered on top of the scrapes and wounds a different cruel man had left upon your skin.

“I don’t wanna hurt you, baby, but I will f’I have to,” and he’s earnest, commanding and pleading at once. “You gotta answer me.”

Slowly, you croak out a timid, “Yes,” and an “I understand,” followed by a final “Joel.”

Nodding, he straightens, the violence in his gaze fading just minutely. When he lets go, you stagger—the raider senses the instability of your knees, reflexively snaking a steadying arm around your waist.

You’re not sure where the impulse comes from. Perhaps it’s exhaustion, the aftermath of your orgasm, or maybe it’s just a sick, twisted desire to sink into something beyond your body—either way, you respond to Joel’s support by throwing your arms around his neck.

And he responds by lifting you, walking you over to the bed, and tossing you down on the sheets. Awakening into reality, you scamper back, grabbing and yanking at the surrounding bedding in a desperate attempt to cover yourself.

But Joel pays you no mind.

Having had his way, he’s through with you—for now. Nonchalantly, apathetically, he runs a hand through his hair, tracing heavy steps towards the door.

“Lock the door when I leave,” he instructs, but his tone is soft… possessive and commanding, yes, but… caring. “Don’t open it for anyone but me.”

He waits for your show of understanding, your near imperceptible nod.

Then, he sighs, yanking on the handle and giving you his final address over a pair of creaky, squeaky, rusted hinges. “Try to sleep, sweetheart—got a long night ahead of you.” Chuckling to himself, he leaves the sanctuary of the room.

All you can hear as your body grows heavy and warm, travelling somewhere far, far beyond this violent world are the echoes of male laughter down the hall, and a familiar, satisfied, gravelly voice:

“Not worth much, now. Might just fuckin’ keep her.”

And you slip away, dreaming of belt buckles, blood-stained collars, and the lung-squeezing heat of the setting Texan sun.

—

He used to call me DN

That stood for deadly nightshade

'Cause I was filled with poison

But blessed with beauty and rage

Jim told me that

He hit me and it felt like a kiss

Jim brought me back

Reminding me of when we were kids

With his ultraviolence

Ultraviolence

Ultraviolence

Ultraviolence

I can hear sirens, sirens

He hit me and it felt like a kiss

I can hear violins, violins

Give me all of that ultraviolence

He used to call me poison

Like I was poison ivy

I could've died right then

'Cause he was right beside me

Jim raised me up

He hurt me but it felt like true love

Jim taught me that

Loving him was never enough

With his ultraviolence

Ultraviolence

Ultraviolence

Ultraviolence

I can hear sirens, sirens

He hit me and it felt like a kiss

I can hear violins, violins

Give me all of that ultraviolence

We can go back to New York

Loving you was really hard

We could go back to Woodstock

Where they don't know who we are

Heaven is on earth

I would do anything for you, babe

Blessed is this union

Crying tears of gold, like lemonade

I love you the first time

I love you the last time

Yo soy la princesa, comprende mis white lines

'Cause I'm your jazz singer

And you're my cult leader

I love you forever

I love you forever

With his ultraviolence

Ultraviolence

Ultraviolence

Ultraviolence

I can hear sirens, sirens

He hit me and it felt like a kiss

I can hear violins, violins

Give me all of that ultraviolence

—

TAGLIST: @millllenniawrites @inkedells @stardust-chords-enthusiast @mattmurdocksgirlfriend @bookofbee @liviloo12346 @anyas-stuff @readingsunshine97 @maudlinflowers @sullysflm @sexygaypalpatine @livyjh @s-unflowxr @lostsoldieronahill @chapterhappygirl @raeluvshammett @silkiers @jupitersmoon-cal @supernaturaldean67 @razrsharpwhiteteeth @peqchsoup @corrodedcherries @hawsx3 @monboudoir @theonewithacrush @pono-pura-vida @sallymilkweed @fruitcupsworld @mads-grace4 @ayehomo @dzaga890 @killerrxger @niallsbunny @cilliansangel @snowyarcher @grnherbs @mswarriorbabe80 @tercabed @sweettea-and-honeybutter @bbyanarchist @thisgirl-knm @pedrit0-pascalit0

TAGS WILL CONTINUE IN A REBLOG (there are simply too many of you & I don’t want this post to crash <3)

[izzyhandsonthosetiddies]

Something that bothers me about the last episode is actually something I haven't seen anyone talk about (maybe they have though and I've just missed it.) But it's actually the last episode, and how Stede starts freely killing people. Steve is this character, who thoughout the show, we see him as a gentle soul who can't hurt or kill people. Presumably because of the traumatic flashback we see of him as a kid, but maybe even not. Maybe he just doesn't like those things and doesn't have the heart for it.

Now the reason I say the last episode is because I don't count him setting the man on fire. We don't know that guy is dead. He could've been put out. But I guess that counts as him willingly 'hurting' someone. Although if I remember correctly its the fumes that burn specifically which is why you can hold it? (Please don't quote me on that I don't remember science classes and Google search didn't help me so the only thing I'm going off of is a vague experiment from 7 years ago and the nearby haunted attraction where they hold fire.) And I get it. Steve is trying to look cool suddenly he's okay with hurting people.

But one (1) kill and one (1) sex with Ed does not a killer make. I don't think it would be in character for Stede to just start embracing a life of killing and hurting people.

And the scene I'm specifically talking about is actually when he and Zheng are killing all those British officers.

Before you start going "but wait this season was about him becoming more of a pirate, he even had lessons with Izzy!" I say I know. But that doesn't mean we have to change that gentle nature of his character to do so. He was a pirate in my eyes anyways.

And we can chalk up the him setting a man on fire and fighting Zheng to being drunk....the only one that seems in character is fighting Zheng and not because he thinks he can but because he feels the need to prove himself to his crew, the people he loves. His family.

Stede is very much so a man who feels like he has to prove himself. And that comes from the life he's lived of always being looked down upon, mocked, and told he's not good enough. But I personally feel it's out of character for Stede to be driving swords through mens' stomachs just because he killed Ned Low.

I feel like the writing was almost like okay Stede has killed one (1) man and he's very clearly upset and traumatized over it. After all, we see him witnessing two twin brothers die at their own hand where he thinks he's responsible (he isnt) and our man loses it.

We see the way he has to go directly to his quarters and sit down after Ned, the way he's eating off into space and is just very clearly out of his head.

I don't think Ed helped him work through the trauma of killing people, because Stede's response to Ed's appearance of comfort was no talking ✨ let's fuck✨

And that's fine and dandy, but why does that suddenly mean Stede is okay with killing and hurting people? As someone who knows how to throw around a lot of vicious words, but ultimately can't even kill bugs (meaning myself because I feel I share that similarity with Stede), it feels wrong to have Stede suddenly be so...at peace? With killing people. Like our man literally said they have the spiders walk the plank to get rid of them. HE DOESNT EVEN KILL THE SPIDERS. Cause he can't. I just know it. Feel it deep in my bones.

Maybe it's just me but I think that feels so wrong and out of character to me. One (1) fuck with Ed does not a killer make.

Sorry, this got off the rails multiple times by my rabbit trail squirrel brain. But I felt the need to share the thing that's been bothering me most.

[feel-ix]

Acquiesce (13)

Felix Hugo Fraldarius x F! Shez

Felix could not remember the trip to the battlefield. Shez and Byleth were ahead one of the paths from camp scouting the area when the fight broke out. All the Blue Lions rushed to the site and while Felix's memory was hazy, Sylvain witnessed the swordsman's horse slightly ahead of the king's the whole way, shoulders and neck tense in a way unnatural for him.

The rest of the army was quiet, unnerved by the possibility of their friendly commander becoming one of the enemies they had been fighting for many moons.

The battlefield was worse than anyone could have imagined. The rumors were true: Shez was engaged in combat with Byleth murmuring in a voice unfamiliar to everyone, as if possessed; Claude and the Alliance army were also fighting, and there were supposed sightings of the Emperor. The kingdom army was forced to divide more than usual, with most of the army fighting and ensuring ground against the many enemies, a dedicated unit to track down Emperor Edelgard, and only leaving King Dimitri and Felix to put a stop to Shez in her rampage.

The commander was locked in a stronghold, Dimitri and Felix rushed there to fight the enemies blocking the entrance while an army engineer tried to pry the gates open. Both fighters could not help but to glance at the gates while engaged in battle to intervene the commander at the first opportunity they had. Felix knew that Dimitri's first choice would never be to harm, let alone kill, an ally and friend, he knew this. But knowing that did nothing to stop the nagging feeling of dread crawling on Felix's neck- the king preferred to use lances, which already placed him in advantage against the mercenary swordswoman that was their commander, but this unfamiliar feeling also made Felix recall every time he witnessed Dimitri lose control of the almost inhuman strength his Crest gave him, as a child breaking swords, as a teen crushing training dummies, and in battle as a boar killing enemies with his bare hands. The young Fraldarius felt a bit cold thinking Dimitri could be the end of the commander. If they were going to stop Shez, Felix should do it himself, just in case.

The gates opened just as Dimitri and Felix finished off their opponents, both of them ran into the stronghold as fast as they could.

Inside, Byleth barely dodged a downward swing from Shez and quickly glanced at the fighters coming to their rescue. Felix ran and intercepted the next blow with his sword as Byleth fell back behind Dimitri. Shez's attack was so strong, Felix felt the force reverberate through his sword all the way into his bones- it was almost inhuman.

The commander's face was like nothing he'd ever seen, eyes void of any feeling while the rest of her body radiated anger and power. The next attack was equally as strong and Shez looked bothered that someone had dared to interfere between her and Byleth. Dimitri readied his stance with Areadbhar in hand, and the commander only lifted her swords off of Felix's to parry the king's attack. Dimitri pulled his weapon back and thrust forward again, managing to give Shez a shallow gash on her side- nothing that would bleed significantly but would hopefully limit her movements. Felix took advantage of this and ran to the commander from the other side, he managed another gash on her left arm.

Shez was infuriated. She closed her eyes and the red aura around her seemingly pulsated and grew larger. The commander dodged two more attacks and rushed to Byleth, Felix and Dimitri turned around to engage in battle again, but as soon as they made eye contact with the commander, she disappeared along with Byleth.

The stronghold was left empty while the sounds of battle could be heard beyond its walls. Both men looked at each other in surprise and worry. The only other person they had seen vanish like that before was Tomas back in their academy days, and as much as they hoped their mercenary friend was not like Those Who Slither in the Dark, her trick just now was too reminiscent of their tactics for comfort.

Brief seconds passed between them, the distant clashing of weapons and cries coming back to full focus. The sound of battle heightened suddenly Northeast: Shez must have teleported there.

Felix and Dimitri looked at each other once more before running towards the next stronghold.

Their next encounter with Shez was about the same as the first. They knew what strength to expect this time but the only damage they managed to do were but mere gashes and scratches. And this happened over and over again...

It was at the fourth stronghold that the small wounds were finally wearing Shez down. Pain in her arms legs and torso finally slowing her movements and delaying her reaction time.

Felix saw the opportunity and ran ahead of Dimitri and Byleth, parrying a weak blow from the commander before readying his stance once more. Never in the years he'd known the commander had he seen her look so exhausted, something deep inside nagged at him for being the reason of his friend's state.

Once Felix thought he could and would fight against his closest friends, against his family, and see to it that he survived. Now he wasn't so sure.

The young Duke scanned his opponent closely, ready to react to any move. Seemingly all at once, Shez's magic sword vanished, she looked at Felix as if she recognized him, and then collapsed.

Felix stepped forward to catch her.

[saiya-anthony]

Full Name: Saiya Anthony

Character’s nickname: Sai

Reason for nickname: Don’t be stupid

Birth date: August 30

Physical appearance

Faceclaim: Simone Ashley

Gender: she/her / cisfemale

Height: 5′5

Build: thin, athletic, a nice ass sorry not sorry.

Eye color: brown

Glasses or contacts?: contacts

Distinguishing marks/scars: a long, thin scar on her right thigh she got while snowboarding

Hair color: black

Type of hair: thick and curly, sometimes she straightens it.

Hairstyle: usually she can’t be bothered with her hair.  it’s either down and curly, straightened, or in a braid.

Voice claim: n/a

Physical disabilities: n/a

Clothing style: She is for sure not a heels kind of person.  I don’t think she has a set style though, just wears what she feels the best in.  She does have a leather jacket she wears a lot though

Make up: natural

Personality

Good personality traits: smart, resilient, determined, loyal, quick-witted

Bad personality traits: sarcastic, impatient, dramatic

Mood character is most often in: amused

Sense of humor: dry and sarcastic

Articulation: it depends on the vibe.  if she’s upset she just gets louder and faster, but usually she talks in a normal tone.

Character’s greatest joy in life: she likes being a guard, but she’d really like to go to medical school if she can pull it off with angel.

Character’s greatest fear: she is really driven.  she wants to be a good guard, wants to be a doctor, wants to be a good friend.  her greatest fear is failing at any of that.

Character is most at ease when: when she feels like she’s in control of a situation

Most ill at ease when: she feels like its getting away from her.

Enraged when: really and truly angry doesn’t happen often -- but she doesn’t like being made to look dumb, and she doesn’t like being lied too.

Depressed or sad when: losing someone she cares about, not being any more than she is right now, not accomplishing her goals.

Priorities: finding a way to both accomplish her goals and to protect angel

Life philosophy: don’t be stupid, honestly

Greatest strength: her intelligence

Greatest vulnerability or weakness: she is WILDLY impatient.  she would also literally starve to death without take out.

Childhood

Hometown: Taos, New Mexico

Type of childhood: It was okay.  Not the best, not the worst.  She had *wanted* to join the program when the men came to her school to recruit her.  She was excited.  It seemed like a cool opportunity.  It was only now, as an adult, that she was realizing how fucked up it all was.  But she’s in too deep now.

Pets: none

core childhood memory: learning how to snowboard with her dad

Dream job: some kind of doctor.  pediatrics or some kind of surgeon maybe.

Religion: atheist

Present

Current location: nyc

Currently living with: probably alone, but very close to angel.

Pets: none

Religion: atheist

Sexuality: pansexual

Politics: socialist.  burn it all down, start again.

Occupation/education: student, pre-med / spy kid

Mode of transportation: a motorcycle

Family

Parent one: Paresh Anthony

Relationship with them: She loves him.  He’s a dork that watches jeopardy and yells the answer out before the contestants can.  He gave her her love of biology and taught her to snowboard.  She doesn’t know that he was the best dad, but she’s grown to accept him for who he is.

Parent two: Fatima Anthony

Relationship with them: Her mom is one of her favorite people, despite a bit of underlying resentment for the way they let her join this program.

Siblings: None

Relationship with them: N/A

Other important family members: Grandma Anthony out there thriving in New Mexico.  Pour one out for the coolest of the Anthonys.

Favorites

Color: blue

Music: She’s fine with most music types, but she does like instrumental music because it helps her focus.

Food: pancakes

Film: ET

Drink: Coffee.  37 shots of espresso a day please

Form of entertainment: Studying, decimating the competition at bar trivia, snowboarding when she can manage it.

Habits

Hobbies: studying, board games, reading, etc

Plays a musical instrument?: no

Plays a sport?: snowboarding

How she would spend a rainy day: doing her homework, pouring through piles of textbooks, working out

Spending habits: frugal.  she doesn’t spend a lot

Smoking/drinking/drugs?: she would do any of these things socially

Extremely skilled at: anything academic

Extremely unskilled at: being wrong and admitting it

Nervous tics: rambling

Usual body posture: she stands up straight

Traits

Optimist or pessimist?: realist.  logical to a fault

Introvert or extrovert?: extroverted

Daredevil or cautious?: daredevil 

Logical or emotional? logical

Leader or follower?: leader.  she’s not good at taking directions

Disorderly and messy or methodical and neat?: organized chaos.  she’s not MESSY though so much as cluttered

Prefers working or relaxing?: working.  she’d never sit still if she could get away with it.

Confident or unsure of herself?: confident

Animal lover?: from a distance mostly

Relationships with others

Opinion of other people in general: most people are good, even if they’re annoying

Opinion of the Scooby Gang: velma and daphne are in love, change her mind.

Does the character hide their true opinions and emotions from others? not really.  she’ll tell people what she’s thinking usually

Most important person in character’s life: she wouldn’t admit an answer to this probably.  maybe she’d say angel because that’s her job

Best friend/s: the other guards .  she’s known them most of her life.

Dating experience: she’s not inexperienced

Romancing: a hook up, fwb situation with riley that she is SURE no one else knows about but it’s probably obvious as hell.  she really likes them but she won’t be admitting that unless she’s sure they feel the same way.

[pokedocbedlam]

Senseless for the prompt thing

This took me a couple tries, but I hope you like the result!

---

Winter rakes its claws across the Coronet Highlands in the form of a rare blizzard. Warden Melli is unbothered, of course. He had the brilliant foresight to make preparations just in case. His hut is secure against the howling wind and fortified to resist snow, his hearth is warm and full of soup, and all of his Pokemon are nestled around him. Lord Electrode is safe too, as Melli had made him a similar hut for resisting the elements and stocked it with the lord's favorite foods. Truly, Melli has thought of everything ahead of time, and now nothing will interrupt his well-deserved rest.

"EMMET!"

Melli startles at the voice outside, booming loud enough to be heard over the storm. He knows that voice, even if the word is unfamiliar. Who, or what, is an Emmet? What is Warden Ingo doing so close by, instead of waiting out the storm with Lady Sneasler in her cave? How dare he interrupt Melli's perfectly serene evening?!

"EMMET, PLEASE WAIT! NOT SO FAST! I CAN'T KEEP UP!"

Ingo's voice is hoarse, and more panicked than Melli has ever heard it. Plus, either there is someone else out there with him, or he's chasing a wayward Zoroark that's wandered down the mountain with the storm. Almighty Sinnoh preserve him, this is unbelievable! The gall of this idiot to require Melli's intervention at a time like this!

"I should leave him to freeze out there," Melli grumbles as he wraps himself in winter gear. "A lesser man wouldn't bother. Oh, but I am so much better than most men. He better be grateful for this...!"

The wind stings his eyes and freezes the resulting tears as Melli steps into the storm, his Skuntank following him close for support. It's so hard to see, where is that fool...?

"EMMET, PLEASE...I'M SORRY..."

Right, follow the sounds of the sobbing warden, got it. For once, the man's lack of volume control is a blessing. Melli trudges through the snow and curses every minute of it, but he does not falter. No one will ever witness Melli failing at anything he puts his mind to.

Time loses meaning in the midst of winter's wrath, but Melli eventually catches the sight of a black coat and silver hair. Ingo's progress is slow, he's even more hunched over than normal...is he limping?

"Emmet...Emmet, I need to...I need to pull the brakes. Emergency stop. Please...wait..."

Before Ingo can collapse face-first into the snow, Melli catches him. Ingo's body is warm to the touch despite the frigid air. As if this couldn't get worse...

"Ingo, what do you think you're doing out here?" Melli yells, both to be heard over the wind and out of worry. "You're in no state to be in a storm like this!"

Ingo's glassy eyes refuse to focus on Melli, pupils swimming around without ever focusing. "I...I heard him. He's out here. I saw...his white coat."

"Everything is white right now, you fool! We're in the middle of a blizzard!" And so are Zoroarks, which also has the Diamond Clan warden on edge. Melli tries to pull Ingo to his feet, but the older man winces. Melli looks down at the snow. Red. "Ingo, you're injured, sick, and the biggest idiot I've ever met. I'm bringing you inside! Skuntank, help me carry him!"

The trek back feels just as long. Ingo is practically dead weight, and he keeps calling out for a man who isn't there. His senses and voice both depart him as the journey goes on. Eventually, Melli has to hold the man's hands down to stop him from reaching for this stranger. If Melli ever meets this Emmet, the white-coated bastard is in for a beatdown for making Ingo panic over him so much. (Not that Melli's worried, no. Not even a little. After all, The Great Melli can do anything, so long as Almighty Sinnoh wishes it.)

The inside of Melli's hut has never seemed so inviting, but he doesn't get the chance to enjoy it. He and Skuntank immediately set Ingo down and attend to the man's wounds. It appears the warden was attacked, with scrapes along his leg and a likely broken foot; the snow must have made him too numb to notice. This on top of a fever...

Melli isn't a healer. Far from it. But he is a warden, hardy enough to survive these lands and look after a Noble on his own, so he's picked up a few survival tricks over the years. He knows how to dress a wound, how to warm up from the snow and how to cool down a fever. Not that he's ever had to do all three at once, but what else is he to do? He can't leave someone else to die on his watch, especially not the only other human he shares the highlands with. So he wraps Ingo in blankets while delivering cool water in incremental sips, he cobbles together rudimentary splints and stitches a bleeding wound shut even if it stains his clothes. He works through the night and his hands quiver with effort and fear.

"Thank you," Ingo mutters at one point, clearly still delirious but at least conscious enough to see he's being helped. "You are...?"

Melli isn't sure what possesses him to answer the way he does. Maybe it's to keep his impromptu patient from trying to race back into the blizzard on a ghost's trail. Maybe because this is the first solid lead Melli has heard, and damn him if he isn't the tiniest bit curious to learn more. Maybe it is simply Sinnoh's will.

"...I am Emmet."

Regardless of reason, Ingo relaxes at the phrase, a rare smile blooming across his face even as pain pricks his eyes with tears. "Emmet...Emmet, I found you." He reaches and rests a hand on Melli's face. "I was afraid...I'd lose you again. Emmet, I lost you. Became uncoupled. I am so, so sorry."

"I know you are." Melli also isn't used to being soft or gentle, but just this once with no one around, he can allow it. "Ingo, I need you to stay with me. You're hurt and sick. Promise me you won't slip away."

"Promise. I'd never leave...on purpose." Unfocused eyes glowing with fever drift, never quite settling on Melli's face but looking at someone who isn't there. "You know that, right? That I...I didn't mean to leave you?" His eyes grow wet with tears. Truly, the man's truly lost all hold on his senses.. "Emmet, it's been so lonely without you. I've been...I've been so scared, Emmet. I want to return to our station...to go home."

Nobody but Almighty Sinnoh will ever know the way Melli's heart seizes at seeing his fellow warden so vulnerable. "I know you do. But you have to heal first, and I'm going to make sure you pull through this. So..." Sinnoh above, make sure Ingo doesn't remember what Melli's about to say. "Stay, ah, coupled with me. Remain on the rails."

A ragged cough rattles through Ingo's chest, but he's smiling again anyway. "Follow the safety rules. Don't forget...to smile. And aim for victory."

How foolish, for this fever-addled fool to keep clinging to these words. Yet Melli says with him "All aboard," as he gets back to work, so maybe he's a fool too.

[theonewiththefanfics]

Best Friends My Ass (one-shot)

Synopsis: Being in love with your best friend whom you’ve had since childhood can be tough. Being in love and being dumb can make it tougher. Meet the Reader and Harry. They’re the latter. And everyone’s fed up.

Pairing: Harry Styles x fem!Reader

Genre: fluff, maybe little bit of angst, tiny bit smutty, but not a lot

Warnings: swearing, two idiots pining for one another

Word count: 7524

Even when Harry was little, he’d known he’d have an odd path in life. Just because it was odd, didn’t mean it’d be bad, but it would make him absolutely stand out in the crowd.        When Y/N was young she didn’t see herself having any extraordinary adventures. Sure, she’d travel and explore the world with its secrets, but she didn’t have any plans to draw the attention of the masses. That was until Harry’d come into her life.        They were both young, still kids in that tender age where childhood crossed into teenage years, when they met. For Harry, it was like one of those scenes in the movies where the pretty girl walks into a room and a billion fans make her hair look like the wind is sweeping through it, and her eyes glisten like gemstones. Also known as the 'love at first sight' scene.        For Y/N, it was hard to keep her breakfast down as she walked inside the classroom, twenty pairs of scrutinous eyes on her, trying to figure out if the new girl was a predator or prey.        Luckily for Y/N, the biology teacher wasn’t a total witch and didn’t make her present herself to the class, and just pointed to the free seat next to a curly-haired boy. Luckily for Harry, that free seat was right next to him.        With a sigh, she dropped her heavy backpack beside the chair, giving the boy a shy glance, and was surprised to see a genuine and large grin right back at her. It wasn’t the kind people gave when they had bad thoughts. It was the kind people gave when they were truly excited and wanted to give a good impression. Y/N’s chest grew warm at the thought she might actually make a friend that day. And she did.        “I’m Harry.” He extended his hand for her to take, the grin never leaving his face.        She gave him a big, relieved smile. “I’m Y/N.”        Ever since then they were not only lab partners in classes they shared (which was biology, physics and math), but also in mischief. Together they managed to enrage Anne, annoy Gemma and absolutely horrify Y/M/N, and whenever one went down, the other made sure to go down as well.        So when a few years down the line, Harry had told Y/N about his idea to audition for X-factor she wasn’t surprised one bit.        “I mean, as long as you don’t trip and break your nose on stage, you’ll be fine.”        For that, she received a slap on her arm from him.        “I’m just saying!” Y/N defended herself. “You’re great at singing, Mrs Aberdeen certainly thinks so, you don’t have two complete left feet, and you’re alright to look at.”        That for the first time since the decision and application had been submitted, made Harry smile. He loved how easily Y/N was able to lighten the mood, to take his thoughts away from the bad, and just erase them with her wit and smile.

       “Besides.” She nudged his shoulder with hers and then intertwined their fingers. “I, Gem and our Mums will be right there for you. Won’t even blink until the end of the performance.”        With how her insides trembled in excitement and fear for her best friend, it truly seemed to Y/N she hadn’t blinked at all on that fateful day. Her breath hitched when the judges were talking. She couldn’t even remember what they said, all of it turning into white noise.        And then he got through, and Y/N screamed so much she was sure she’d blown out Anne’s eardrums, and had hugged Harry so tightly she was afraid she’d broken a rib. But with his victory also came a fear, because, for the first time in Y/N’s life, she was terrified as to where she’d stand in Harry’s. Since day one it’d been secure, but now, with the newfound fame of X-factor and who knows what kind of an amazing future, she didn’t know if he’d throw her to the curb, simply forget about the mundane friend from high school or maybe use her for something.        But it wasn’t like that. Not one bit. After insane hours of rehearsals, Y/N was one of the three people he always called. It was her, his Mum and Gem. Always. And he loved to listen to her speaking of what was happening at school, how the lessons were, which teacher turned out to be hooking up with which. As much as Harry knew he was made for the extraordinary, he loved the ordinary Y/N brought in his life. She was his safe harbour. But what he never agreed with were her own thoughts she was meant for a simple life, so he took it upon himself to bring a little bit of eccentricity in hers, as he explained how he’d gotten united into a band with four other boys, now going by ‘One Direction’, and it was his mission to join his newfound friends with the most important friend he'd had.        “This is Y/N,” Harry introduced her to the guys after one of their late-night practices, one where they weren’t being filmed. “If you do anything that even mildly upsets her, I’ll kill you in your sleep.”        The slap against his arm made him let out an ‘Ow!’ while the rest of the boys laughed and welcomed her with open arms.        In a weird way, Y/N became part of the band. She didn’t sing or play any instruments, but she was always around, gave her input on songs and setlists. That kind of closeness made all of the fears and doubts about losing a place in Harry’s life disappear. She was his personal hype-man while at the same time knocked him down a few pegs whenever the fame started to get to his head.        She was there for his highs and lows, for the break-ups and break-off in the band, and watched as he ventured into a solo career as much as she could with school and all, but when summer break rolled around it was like Harry couldn't get rid of her even if he tried. Not that he wanted. Sharing the success and happiness with his best friend was one of the biggest rewards he could have.        And Y/N would never admit it because it’d boost Harry’s already elephant-like ego, at least that’s what she said, but she kind of liked the attention she received because of him, especially because most of it was pleasant.        Had she been terrified that being known as Harry Styles best friend would make people think she was just a gold-digger, seeking fame and leeching it off from him? Yes. And there were people like that. But ninety-five percent of what people said on her social media accounts was actually nice, some even said ‘thank you’ that there was a person like her in Harry’s life to keep things real, and most importantly – cared about him through it all.        Harry also saw those comments; he loved to read about how people saw just how much Y/N cared, and it kind of stirred something in him. He didn’t know when exactly, but it was around the age of twenty-four for him and twenty-three for Y/N when he started looking at his friend in a different light. And it bloody terrified him. He didn’t know if she felt the same, and the thought of putting his heart on the line like that only for the possibility of it being crushed was the scariest thing ever.        He did, however, have an inclination as to what incident had prompted them to surface. The feelings that were. It was a night after a party. Y/N was on winter break from her master’s at uni, which meant he used every opportunity to spend time with her.        The hangover was real, I mean it’s what you got by mixing vodka, tequila and beer into an empty Sprite bottle and chugging it. Harry stumbled over sleeping bodies on his way to the kitchen in search for some leftover pizza he was sure he and Y/N in their drunkenness had ordered, as well as to make two cups of black coffee. He knew she hated the taste, but cold junk food and bitter coffee always did the trick with her. That was when he’d found her.        Although he’d woken up in Y/N’s room, she hadn’t been next to him. Instead, as it turned out, she’d gone on a food search sometime before him and had passed out on the couch, a Cookie Monster onesie on her body, but most importantly his signature pearls around her neck. And one of her hands even rested against her collarbone, as if scared someone would take them away from her.        That’d been the first time his heart had flipped in his chest at the sight of her, but most definitely not the last.        He did however keep this change in his emotions to himself. He wasn’t really sure what it was, so it would be unfair to dump that on Y/N and have her figure it out for him because he didn’t know where she stood on her own, let alone do the work for him.        Luckily, despite the tornado of feelings, their friendship didn’t falter, and when his Vogue cover came out, he was incredibly nervous for people to see it, but especially for those who mattered the most to him, like his Mum, sister and Y/N. Especially Y/N, for her opinion had become the most important one outside his blood relatives. After all, all his thoughts went to – if we dated, would she be as proud of me as she was of me as a friend?        Her support meant the most because he was away in the middle of filming; he had no way of getting physical comfort, so all of the messages, calls, social media posts and FaceTimes was the world to him, especially when Y/N sent a picture of herself with three copies of the magazine, two beside her head as she laid on her bed and one clutched to her chest, which she also posted on Instagram with the caption ‘Can’t hug you for real right now, so this will have to do. When I do get to you @harrystyles, I’ll crush your ribs with my love. And that is a threat.’        Then the comments came in from the rest, and one stood out more than the others.        Bring Back Manly Men.        At first, he felt odd about it. It didn’t really bother him, but at the same time, it made him sad. He knew that he was seen as somewhat of a controversial figure, as he painted nails, wore frilly blouses and now full-on dresses, which were all typically categorized as feminine things, but he never understood why a nail colour or the shape of a shirt suddenly became exclusively for just one gender. Which is why he was so grateful to have Y/N in his life.        “I mean, anatomically speaking, men should be wearing dresses and women trousers. It’s you who have all the dangly bits,” she said through a bite of food. “The Scots have been onto it since the beginning.”        Harry threw his head back in a laugh, shifting an arm behind his head. “So I assume your favourite pic is the one in the kilt?”        “Well, it did remind me of that awful punk phase I had back in school with all those safety pins, only in a more tasteful way, but no. My favourite one is you in that brown, grey off-shoulder jacket thing.”        “Why?”        Y/N wiggled her brows at him. “Shows enough of your cleavage but leaves enough for imagination.”        “Of fucking course.” Harry snorted, shaking his head. “Objectifying much?”        “What? I’m not going to deny that my best friend is a sexy beast.”        He wouldn’t say it out loud, but when she called him her friend, it made his heart clench in a painful way. Harry had been trying to be a bit flirtier around her, but given his open nature as it was, Y/N hadn’t seemed to notice it, nor had she seemed to notice how he looked at her while she was frowning at her computer screen.        Harry’d had relationships with some women who could be considered the most beautiful in the world, but if he’d had to say, in his opinion, who’d receive that title, it’d be Y/N. The way she snorted when she laughed too hard, the way small crow lines had already appeared next to her eyes from how much she smiled and the way her forehead creased when she was concentrating. It enthralled him to no end. He could read her life’s story on her face, how she’d lived and thought and experienced, unlike so many people he met who couldn’t move a muscle.        Though the reason she was so concentrated in that moment was because thousands of people had tagged her in a tweet of a woman, she’d heard of for the first time in her life (because Harry had been trying to keep that one off her radar), and what she saw made all the blood boil in her body more than any other hate comment had.        Without hesitation, Y/N atted her and tweeted “Bring back manly men. Please! Millions of people would let him raw them WHILE WEARING THE DRESS. I mean you tried, so I’ll give you the gold star you so desperately want, but that was pathetic.”        At that same moment, a notification popped up on the screen of Harry’s phone. He only had notifications on for one person, and when he saw what was written, he gasped, looking at Y/N. “You did not just do that!”        “What?” Y/N shrugged biting down on the chocolate bar she’d been savouring for the last half hour of their conversation. “I just said what everyone was thinking. Besides what the fuck does ‘bring back manly men’ even mean? Go chop some wood? Fight a bear in the Siberian woods? Have your ‘friends’ stab you to death at a political meeting?”        “You’re a menace.”        Y/N winked popping the last bit of the chocolate in her mouth. “Only to those who dare go for the people I love.”        His heart fluttered at the last word, but all he could do was mask it with a large grin and shake of his head.        For another hour they spent talking, Y/N kept hyping Harry up, tried to get as many plot details of the movie he was filming, while he avoided as many spoilers as possible and attempted to steer the conversation somewhere else, but when that happened, Y/N jumped onto his music, which he had told her all about. In fact, there wasn’t a music video made without her approval, and neither would his next one be. “You’ll fly out to see me film for ‘Treat People With Kindness’, right?”        Y/N sighed, giving him a sad smile. She hated disappointing Harry. “I’d love to. But you know with everything going on, I don’t think I’ll be able to.”        “Phoebe Waller-Bridge will be in it.”        She gasped, in real excitement. “Well, why didn’t you say so from the start?!”        “So that’s what this friendship has come to. I’m just your gateway to celebrities?”        “Harry you’ve always been just my gateway to the people living in LaLa Land.” But she let out a small breath much like she’d done before. “I really do want to come, Harry. You know that; I miss you like crazy. But Phoebe or no Phoebe, I don’t think I can.”        Harry bit his lip nodding, but he still needed to try one more time. “Is there anything I can say or do to get you here?”        “Get me a private jet and a quarantine mansion?”        “Deal.”        “Woah! Wait!” Y/N pretty much jumped up from her position in bed. “That was a joke! Harry Edward Styles, I swear to God, if you try an –“        But with a giant grin, he just blew Y/N a kiss and ended the call.        She was quite terrified if she was being honest, that Harry would do what she’d asked. He already had once. It'd been around Christmas time while she was still in First Year at uni, and she’d seen a glistening necklace at a jewellery store display. She hadn’t said anything, hadn’t even uttered a word, but just seeing the sparkle in Y/N’s eyes, was enough for Harry to make the decision and gift it for her.        When the next day, around five AM her time, she got a call from Harry’s manager Jeff, she was ready to rip both of them a new one, an e-mail with a plane ticket popping up in her inbox.        “I swear I’ll poison your drinks when I see you,” she’d grumbled, but couldn’t hide the excitement as she threw everything she could in the suitcase. “And no one will find your bodies, mark my words, Azoff.”        He snorted. “Yeah, tell that to the FBI agent listening in on this call.”        “Fuck. Gave myself away,” she said softly, giggling right after.        “You know he’s stoked beyond belief.” Jeff piped up. “He literally jumped out of the bed this morning, and during the dance rehearsals he didn’t miss a step.”        That made Y/N’s heart warm. “Well, you can tell him to curb it a bit. Otherwise, I’ll just stay at the fucking mansion – which, by the way, it was a joke, Jeff! I’m pissed enough he’s spending money on me as it is, let alone such a chunk on the plane, you didn't have to get me an actual mansion.”        “You know, for you, he’d give away all of it.”        “Yes, well, he might need it for his funeral, if he keeps spending it on me and on shit like this.”        The man shook his head but didn’t say anything else. He wasn’t the only one trying to drop hints to Y/N that Harry felt something more, but he’d leave it to the man himself. He didn’t need to possibly ruin everything, and have her decide not to come. His client was nightmare enough without her around, because Harry was like day and night when Y/N finally arrived on set for ‘Treat People With Kindness’.        To say he enveloped her in a hug would be an understatement as he didn’t let go of her for ten solid minutes, having grabbed her by the underside of the thighs and sat down on the ground just so he could prolong the feeling of being with Y/N.        The fact that she’d actually gone for it and hadn’t scolded Harry too much for spending that insane amount of money, for having brought a small piece of home to LA with herself where they were filming, made him now fully acknowledge the true extent of his feelings, especially as she didn’t pull away from their embrace, rather hid her face in the crook of his neck.        I mean, in the end, he did have to let her go because everyone had to get back to shooting, but not before Y/N had stripped the meticulous jacket from him, and went to have a glance at herself in the large mirror, one of the costume designers playing along and adjusting the clothing on her body, as if she was going to be the one performing.        Harry felt someone slide up to him and he looked over to his left, a smiling Phoebe standing there. She nudged his shoulder with hers. “You’re in love with her, aren’t you?”        He nodded, looking back over to where Y/N was still looking at herself in the mirror, wearing the heavy jacket as if it was nothing like it was made for her. “I’m a cliché, I know. But I can’t help it.”        “Of course, you can.” She squeezed his side. “All you gotta do is tell her.”        But it wasn’t that easy. Comparatively, getting Y/N to appear in the video was easier than coming to terms with the fact, all they’d ever remain would be friends if he didn’t do anything.        Yet the shoot for the video ended as quickly as it had started, and Y/N needed to fly back to the UK to defend her PhD paper, and Harry had to go back to filming ‘Don’t Worry Darling’, thousands of miles stretching between them once more. And Harry was a romantic, he couldn’t confess over FaceTime. Besides, he wanted to make it a special evening for her, plan something out, rather than risk a shitty connection cutting him off mid-word.        He hated it though. It’d been almost four years since Harry had realised his feelings had developed from just friendly into romantic, and still, he hadn’t said anything. Even the people who’d never met Y/N in person like Florence Pugh saw what was going on.        But unlike the cast and crew of ‘Treat People With Kindness’ who had to deal with his pining for maybe a couple of weeks, it’d been almost half a year for her at that point. Did she just want to call Y/N and tell her how Harry felt? Sure. She’d had enough of him coming into her trailer only to fall down onto her pillow and whine. But it wasn’t her place. So instead, she was going to figure out a way to get Y/N to the set and make him tell her himself.        Getting Harry’s phone away from him should’ve been the inspiration to the next ‘Mission Impossible’ script though, because it took her literally a whole day to fish it out from his coat's pocket, and she only had about ten seconds to find Y/N’s number (which wasn’t that hard given how it was the number with literally hundreds of calls next to it) and put it in her own phone.        Once their filming was done for the day, Florence rebutted Harry’s invitation to a movie night, saying a massive headache was coming on, so he wished her a good night and with slumped shoulders went to sulk on his own. Which is why she practically sprinted to her own trailer to finally call Y/N        An unsure ‘hello?’ greeted her ears before she responded. “Hey, this is Florence… Pugh.”        That stunned Y/N into silence for a few seconds before she spluttered out a greeting and said ‘hi’ as well. “Not to be rude, but how did you get my number?”        “Stole it from Harry’s phone. Look, he’s miserable. Keeps moping around, and I can’t take it anymore. Last night I found him crying in his pillow with your shirt over it.”        “What? Why?”        “Because it didn’t smell like you anymore.”        Y/N’s heart broke. “Why didn’t he tell me anything? We just talked, and he said he was fine. God, that man is so dumb sometimes.”        “Is there any way you could find a way to get here?” Florence asked biting down her lip.        She heard Y/N sigh at the other end of the line. “I’ll – I’ll try and figure something out. Have to know what’s going on at work, I mean it has been like two months since the video, so maybe…” She was more so talking to herself, but then remembered about Florence. “Listen, can I give you a message when I find out if my boss will let me?”        “Of course!” The actress was excited about the possibility of Y/N getting here, as long as it got Harry out of his depressive mood.        “Oh, and I’ll need to know what kind of restrictions are on set. I’ll figure something out with flights and quarantine, but I have zero clue as to what’s it like where you’re filming.”        Florence waved her off, even though she couldn’t see the motion. “Leave that to me. Just get your ass over here before the guy cries himself dry.”        It was a struggle though on all three ends – Harry was still moping, because not only had Y/N’s shirt lost its smell of her, but homesickness was hitting full force, Florence was getting more and more desperate as she attempted to take his mind off of things, but nothing seemed to work, and Y/N was trying to get on any possible flight to Harry while arranging two tests and an AirBnB she could self-isolate in for two weeks while attempting to set up her work from afar at the same time.        Two days after Florence’s call, Y/N sent her a message ‘Flying in tomorrow at 4 AM. Don’t tell Harry. He’ll feel even shittier cause I have to stay alone in quarantine. First test came back negative.”        She sighed in relief at the message and immediately texted back ‘i’ve got you a set pass ready, just need a picture. selfie will do. also, masks are mandatory on the lot, so bring those.’        Immediately Y/N sent a thumbs up, and a picture of herself she didn’t absolutely despise to be used on the ID card. All that was left was to pack. And spend two weeks in an attempt of not going crazy with anticipation before seeing Harry.        Those two weeks turned out to be worse than the two months between the music video shoot and going to the filming lot. Because throughout then, Y/N knew her only access to him would be through FaceTime, but to be about twenty minutes away from the man without the ability to touch him was pure torture, but at least Harry seemed completely oblivious to the change in her surroundings.        As they still continued on with their calls, not once did he mention her background, or how the paintings suddenly had managed to switch positions or the fact that Y/N didn’t even own paintings. She was sure she could’ve been missing an arm, and he wouldn’t have mentioned it with how tired he looked.        “Have you even slept, Har?”        “Not really,” he groaned, getting more comfortable in his bed. “We’ve had a bunch of early shoots and then late nights, ‘cause we need to get the continuity for the scenes, and then the day’s full of Zoom calls, and well, I can’t not call you.”        Y/N scoffed, scolding him. “You know damn well I won’t be offended if we sacrifice a couple of calls for you to get some proper sleep.”        “I know, but I will.”        Y/N sighed, knowing in a way it was her fault. She could tell him she no longer was hours of time zones away, but rather watched the same sunset and sunrise as him, but she also knew Harry, and he would be unable to stay away from her until her quarantine was over.        She was quite happy she’d sat through the fourteen mandatory days, because when she got on set, even though Harry was usually good at keeping his composure during a scene, despite the mask, he’d recognise Y/N anywhere, and all of the lines flew out of his head.        “Jack?” Florence’s hand came to cup Harry’s cheek, trying to bring him back on track. “You alright?”        But he didn’t even care about improvising to get out of the flub as his lips were split apart by a grin, and he dashed away, a loud ‘CUT!’ ringing throughout the set, but Harry already had Y/N in his arms, spinning the girl around.        “Best friends my ass,” Florence murmured as she went to the two.        Harry was speechless, Y/N’s face in between his hands as he looked her up and down. “How are you here? What? Why?”        “Thank Florence.” Y/N gave an attempt at motioning to the actress with her head. She set the whole thing up.”        Harry’s head whipped to his scene partner. “You knew Y/N was here for two weeks and told me nothing?”        “Your brain short-circuited when you saw her! You wouldn’t be of no use on set at all if I had.”        Harry scoffed, throwing an arm over Y/N’s shoulder. “Come on, let’s get away from this meanie.” But as he walked away, he looked over his shoulder and mouthed a grateful ‘thank you’ to her.        All Florence could hope for was that he’d get it together and confess, but it didn’t seem like he was in any sort of a rush. Y/N was set to be there for three weeks, but the thought of the woman leaving without knowing how Harry felt, leaving him in a sea of his own heartache, made her miserable, especially after a night they’d all spent together.        Harry really wanted Y/N to get to know the people he worked with so he invited the ones closest to him for a movie night, during which he himself had been the first one to actually fall asleep, of course.        For most of it, as ‘Westworld’ ran on in the background, he spent curled up in Y/N’s lap, his head resting against her chest with her fingers weaving through the shortened locks. She had to get used to the length, motion automatically wanting to go on longer than it was possible to. Soon enough, the soothing motions lulled her to sleep as well, their bodies leaning into one another and perfectly fitting together.        As tired as Florence was of seeing Harry, a person who’d become her friend now pine for someone so hard, it was absolutely heart-melting to watch the two interact. Everyone could see Y/N had the same feelings as Harry did for her, only she hid them a bit better. A little, but not by a lot.        No friends acted the way those two did around one another. Sure, people could be touchy, but not like that, not with such intimacy behind the motions. She felt like she was being a little creepy as she pulled out her phone to take a picture, but it was too cute not to.        A loud noise from somewhere outside set made Y/N shoot up straight, and Florence held her breath as she clutched onto her phone, having swiped it accidentally into video mode and filming the whole thing.        “No,” Harry whined, a hand reaching up for Y/N and grabbing at her elbow. “Come back. ‘S too early.”        She just nodded, grumbling something unintelligible but possibly along the lines of ‘don’t make me throw hands’ before laying down and snuggling into Harry’s chest.        Florence let out a large sigh of relief and decided to get some sleep as well before their annoying four AM alarm woke them up for set.        This time it was the other way around, as Y/N whined for Harry to ‘come back and keep her warm’.        Florence watched as Harry slipped out of Y/N’s grasp, but not before pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead and a whispered a promise to ‘see her when the Sun’s up’. The second the trailer door was closed, she slapped his shoulder, and Harry gasped in shock. “What'dya do that for?”        “Stop that! Stop that stupid dance!” She stomped her foot on the ground. “I’m sick and tired of watching you watch her with that dumb longing expression on your face. I can’t take it anymore. Why do you think I went through all that trouble to get her here?”        “I told you I would!”        She sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Look, I know it’s not my place or anything, but she does like you. A lot.”        Harry threw her an uncertain gaze. “And how do you know?”        “Because that woman spent two weeks in self-isolation just to see you! She’s gone through how many of those awful Covid tests just to go and visit you! She’s dropped everything for you, has supported you through so much, and never fails to boost you up.”        “That’s what friends do.”        “No.” Florence shook her head. “That kind of loyalty… that’s what people in love give. I haven’t talked to my best friend in like a month. What’s the longest you’ve gone without speaking to Y/N?”        And with that question, she left Harry to ponder not only his feelings but the girl’s he was in love with as well. Because if he had to be honest, the reason he’d been dragging everything out, the reason he’d stayed pining for Y/N for years on end was that he tried to write everything she did off as something a childhood best friend would do.        The truth was more terrifying than anything because once that came to light, it’d change everything, and Harry didn’t know if he was ready. He wanted it, desperately so if it meant Y/N becoming someone he could love freely and openly, but not if by the end of it, she'd disappear from his life, leaving a hole the size of his heart in his chest.        His thoughts were cut short as someone knocked on the ‘Hair&Make-up’ door, and an assistant let in a pouting Y/N. Well, he couldn’t’ see the pout behind the mask, but he definitely knew it was there, making a smile come on his own face.        She plopped down in an empty sofa and crossed her arms. “I was cold.”        Harry snorted, wanting to shake his head, but didn't as to not ruin the hair stylist’s work. “You’re always cold.”        “And you’re a living furnace.”        “ ‘S that why you like cuddling? Leeching off my warmth?”        The same assistant who’d let Y/N in handed her a cup of coffee, which she was ready to kiss the woman for, but opted for a ‘thank you’. “We’ve established I only use you to get to other celebs. What makes you think I wouldn’t use you for those sort of things.”        For a moment, the trailer settled into silence, as Y/N enjoyed her morning coffee while the crew kept doing their own work.        “It’s so weird,” Y/N piped up, eyes racking up and down Harry’s body. “Don’t even wanna really look at you like that.”        He let out a mock gasp of hurt. “What d’ya mean? Am I suddenly repulsive to you?”        “No!” she let out a laugh. “It’s just odd seeing you without the tattoos. They’re such a huge part of you, even the dumb ones. Can’t really imagine you any differently.”        “Would you love me any differently without them?” The question was bold, even though he knew she did love him, he had to start making moves.        “No,” Y/N shook her head. “I don’t think so. I believe I’d be a different person then as well, but I’d love you all the same. As long as you’d do the same with me.”        Harry nodded looking down at his hands then back up at her, catching her eyes through the reflection in the mirror. “Don’t think there’s a dimension out there where I don’t love you.”        “I mean that is a bold statement,” Y/N said, sipping on the remnants of her coffee. “What if I’m like a weird, cat-skinning psychopath in one dimension? Would you love me even then?”        “Jesus Christ, Y/L/N, do you just normally come up with those gruesome scenarios or is it a hobby?”        She wiggled her eyebrows, standing up and throwing away the paper cup. “There’s a reason I have a VPN and clean my search history. I’ll see you in your trailer?”        “Yeah.” Harry nodded and smiled. “I’ll be there in thirty minutes.”        The next half-hour he kept hyping himself up, about how he was actually going to do it, but Florence intercepted him right as he was turning down the way his trailer stood. “How are you gonna do it?”        “I – “ Harry huffed and placed his hands on his hips. “In the beginning, I had like a whole romantic outing planned, but… I’ve dragged this on long enough, so I think I’ll just tell her.”        “Okay, good.” Florence nodded and slapped his shoulder in approval. “And if I don’t hear that trailer rocking, I will throw you in a ditch.”        Harry’s eyes widened at the statement, fully knowing she meant her words, but she was already half-way down the track, blond hair swishing behind her back.        It was then or never.        Slowly he opened his own trailer door as if it was Y/N’s place not his, but by the looks of how she’d sprawled out on his bed, she had made herself right at home. Just like she’d done it on the first day of school, but just with his heart.        “Hey!” She smiled looking at him. “You ready to film?”        “Yeah, but umm… I kind of wanted to talk to you beforehand.”        Y/N’s brows furrowed at Harry’s serious tone, so she sat up, nodding. “Sure. Is everything alright?” “It’s nothing bad, at least I hope you won’t take it in a bad way... I’ve actually been wanting to tell you this since that winter’s break party you had while doing your masters...” He let out a small chuckle but seeing Y/N’s eyes widen in a panic he stopped. “Oh, God,” she moaned. “You have a kid! Oh my God.” “What? No!” Harry spluttered. “Why the hell is the first thing you assume that I have a kid?” “I don’t know!” She was now standing facing him completely. “We’ve never had secrets between us, especially for as long as you’ve apparently kept them, what am I supposed to think? Maybe one of the girls you hooked up with got pregnant, and you’ve been hiding the fact you’re a baby daddy because you know I wouldn’t be able to keep the fact I can be the cool drunk aunt to myself.” All of that came out as is she’d prepared it ages ago. “Well, no.” Harry shook his head stepping closer so he could be chest to chest with Y/N. “I’m not anyone’s baby daddy. At least I don’t think so, but umm... when that moment would come... when I have a kid...” He looked up at the ceiling and sighed before lifting a gentle hand to cup her cheek. I wouldn’t want you to be the drunk aunt. I um...” There goes nothing. “I’d kinda like if you were the mom.” “Of course, I’ll be the Godmother!” Both of them said at the same time, making the other’s brain stumble over the words said. “Wait, mom?” Y/N’s question was breathless. “Like donate my eggs or some shit?” “No like, I’ve been in love with you for close to four years, and I wanna try and build a future with you, where you’re more than just my best friend.”        “Oh.”        That was all that managed to escape her mouth as he fully opened his heart, and Harry couldn’t lie – it shattered. He didn’t know what he was expecting, but it was more than that. “That’s...” Y/N huffed sitting down on the bed. “That’s a lot to take in Harry. Like a lot.” “I know.” He sighed and sat down next to her. “Which is why I’ve been pushing this away for as long as I could, but... it was time. It wasn’t fair to you or me to keep on living like that. Look.” Harry took her palm in his. “Whatever you want us to be, we’ll be that. I - I mean I’ll be heartbroken if you say you don’t feel the same, but no matter what you tell me now, I won’t let you leave my life. I love you, and I’m in love with you. This is your choice which way you chose to go with.” Y/N shook her head, interlacing their fingers and finally looking up at him. “I don’t want you to be heartbroken. It’s the last thing, I’d ever want to see you like. And umm well, if it takes me using the pair of ovaries I have to admit I’ve been in love with you too to change that, I guess I’ll have to say it. I’m in love with you too.” Harry’s eyes glimmered with unshed tears of happiness, as he looked at Y/N like she’d hung the stars in the sky. Not that it mattered. He always looked at her like that. “You mean it?” “Yeah,” she chuckled, wiping away a few stray pearls from her own cheeks. “I guess I always thought I’d end up the drunk aunt in your life, so that’s why I thought you’d ask me to be whatever future child’s Godmother. But I love you, and I’m in love with you too.” “Can I – “ Fuck, Harry was too giddy for his own good. “Can I kiss you?” And when Y/N chuckled, nodding he swore he already was in heaven. “Yes, please.”        At first, the touch of his lips was gentle, almost afraid, but the second he pressed them to Y/N’s, and she gasped at the sensation, it became full of lust as passion, years of pent-up pining and angst and just plain old stupidity surfacing and morphing itself into a steamy make-out session.        In a split second, she was sprawled out on Harry’s bed, his toned body leaning over hers and teasing hands moving along her sides, making her squirm and ache for more of his touch, but she wasn’t the only one who wanted to explore a body with a new mindset of what was possible.        As Y/N moaned from Harry’s tongue invading her mouth, her hand couldn’t help itself as it slid down his chest, and her finger flicked against the button of his trousers.        “Can I touch you there?” Y/N whispered against his mouth, and Harry eagerly nodded.        “Please. Been dreaming about this for literally years.”        Smiling, she allowed him to continue and explore her mouth with his tongue, intoxicated on one another’s taste. In fact, Y/N was so far gone just from the kiss, she forgot how a fly worked and needed Harry’s help to open it.        “Get back here,” she grumbled as he chuckled, having leaned up a bit to make it easier for her to get the offensive piece of clothing off. “We’ll see how you fare with a bra.”        “Oh, I’m an expert.” His hands trailed to her shoulder where he snapped one of the straps against her skin, making her yelp.        “You do not want to do that when my hand is an inch away from your dick.”        But the threat had no merit to it, as she dipped her palm behind Harry’s boxers while his mouth went to soothe the sting and leave a little mark on her skin, which he’d get to admire later on.        The second, Y/N wrapped her hand around his cock an involuntary moan escaped into the air, as she gripped him. Fuck, she couldn’t wait until he was inside her, because, and it might sound a little cliché given how they were best friends who’d fallen in love with one another, but she was one hundred percent sure, he was made exactly for her.        But no matter how much she twisted her hand or how gently or roughly she rubbed the tip, he couldn’t get hard, and Harry was on the verge of tears, which Y/N saw and instantly pulled away, cupping his face.        “I’m sorry,” he choked out. “Fuck, I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”        “Hey!” Y/N cooed. “None of that. It’s alright. Shit happens.”        Harry nodded understanding that she was right, but he still felt shitty and well, he felt insecure about it. “I just. Fuck. Usually, when I think of you, I’m hard in like a second.”        And although all Y/N wanted to do was smirk and tease him about the fact that he thought of her while wanking himself off, that wasn’t the right moment.        “I promise, you turn me on, you do." He sniffled. "This had never happened before.” But Y/N wasn’t offended or sad, and her laugh wasn’t mocking or trying to hurt him.        “Harry you’re dead tired.” She cupped his cheek with one of her hands, and if he’d been ice cream he would’ve literally melted. “You had to wake up at four in the fucking morning and won’t go to sleep until two the next day. Let yourself rest a bit.”        “But,” he whined and then huffed. “But I wanna love on you. Wanna show you just how crazy I am about you.”        “And you will. You know I’ll always hold you to your word. But this won’t be fun for either of us if mid-fuck you suddenly collapse on me asleep. I don’t need to go to the A and E and explain the broken nose is because my boyfriend decided to take a nap while shagging. A nap on my face.”        But Harry hadn’t really heard anything she’d said after Y/N mentioned the b-word, a dopey smile on his face. “I’m your boyfriend? You really want me like that?”        “I mean I would prefer if you were Phoebe…”        Harry pinched her side, making her squeal before tackling her in a hug. “Shut up!”        And that’s how the two fell asleep (and were woken up twenty minutes later by an assistant in a panic given how Harry was supposed to be on set in five minutes)  – wrapped up in one another’s arms, smiles on their faces, and no longer best friends, but lovers.

Tags (crossed out wouldn’t take):

Everything tags: @lumelgy @palaiasaurus64​ @supernaturalbaesduh​ @breezy1415​ @crazy--me​ @thatawkwardlittlefangirl​ @sea040561​ @staryeyedgirl​ @deathbyarabbit​ @s-c-a-r-e-d-po-t-t-e-r @reblogger-not-a-blogger @m-a-t-91​ @dalilx​ @i-need-a-hero-i-need-a-loki @maladaptive-ninja-returns​ @averyrogers83​ @in-the-end-im-still-trash​ @gallifreyansass​ @dewy-biitch​ @avxgers​ @unlikelygalaxygiver​ @magicwithaknife @ollyoxenfrees​ @bnhvrdy​ @tvwhoresblog @celebsimagines @thatkindofgurl​ @sj-thefan​ @teenwolflover28 @lestersglitterglue​ @im-squished​

Harry Styles tags: @sarcasticallywitty15​ @breezykpop​ @girlboss99​ @harrystylesdoesntknowiexist​ @alliyjane​ @sirtommyholland​

A/N: I loved writing this so much :)

P.S. my tags are always open

P.S.S. I don’t take requests, sorry. Also, please don’t repost my story on other platforms (wattpad etc) without specific written permission. 

[delicrieux]

—MAKE YOU SAY “OH” EXTRAS: TINDER

extra meaning non-canonical occurrence; can be placed anywhere in the “make you say oh” timeline after couple (cha. 14) and before the final “oh”. 

pairing—corpse husband x f!reader warnings—tinder profiles, tw: men, swearing.  word count—2.6k. format— written. ─── ❥ req by nonnie​:  y/n makes a youtube vid/live stream where she's just swiping through her tinder acc and corpse literally blocks her lmao

author’s note—akldsljfs this was such a funny idea i could not not write it lmao

ultimate masterlist. myso masterlist

You have pulled the biggest brain move by setting up both a facecam and a screen recorder on your phone. All is beautifully displayed and visible during the stream. Your fanbase is particularly intrigued on what exactly are you planning on doing today, seeing as your tweet of “strea” had been a bit vague, if not downright ominous. No emojis. No elaboration. You couldn’t even be bothered to finish the word. Truly, a mystery. Everyone tuned in and are currently waiting with bated breath.

A few of your fans must sense upcoming doom because the overall mood in the chat turns from optimistically intrigued to...evil. It’s an entity all on it’s own now, clawing at you through the screen with various renditions of laughter and devil emojis. A few eggplants thrown in there for good measure, accompanied, naturally, by the scandalous water drops. At first the common consensus is that you’re biting the bullet and going through your camera roll on stream. Definitely an idea worth considering, though you frankly don’t know what lies at the start of the 11k photograph journey, and you are afraid to check in public. Could be a harmless meme, could be a salacious pic you had saved of an OF star. It’s really a gamble. Either way, you would definitely get banned. You might still get banned. Why do you insist on doing shit like this?

Because it’s funny. Because you’re kinda stupid. Because it’s just so absolutely laughably easy to do.

A smile quirks your lips, and while it is not explicitly smug, the look in your eyes sure is, “Greetings,” You utter lowly, dimming the lights--the budget for this stream! Ugh, you went all out, “my children.”

mother i crave violence

sensing evil energy rn!!

i do not claim the energy in this video for myself or anyone else watching this 💖💖

^with peace and love shut the fuck up

“I know y’all lowkey hoes-” Upon your words the chat splits into two: one side eagerly agrees (even shares a few OF accounts! How helpful, supporting small businesses!), whilst the other feverishly insists on innocence. You make a face stuck somewhere between offended and bewildered, “Now c'mon now-I know you. I know you all. We’re the same, don’t-what was that?”

You try to scroll back to the comment but it’s loss in the sea of incoming messages, “I swear to God I just saw-”

Corpse_Husband: i love late night streams it’s not like i have anything better to do.

“COOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOORPSE!!!!” 

rip headphone users

i cant feel my face when im with you by the weeknd but instead of face its my fucking ears

yall think full vol on pc is better?my parents woke up 😭😭😭😭

To think he’s spending his last waking moments for today with watching you (he probably still would have anyway, because you do not posses an ounce of shame or self-control and pester him relentlessly)! It makes your heart sing, and suddenly, a traitorous, fun hating idea barges it’s way through the crowd of incoherent buzzing and states: don’t do this. For some reason it also has the voice of Rae. As if that would work in guilt-tripping you- Rae never succeed, and her fictitious rendition in mind won’t fare much better either.

Still, you thought about it. That must count for something. Corpse will understand, won’t he? Why don’t you want to upset it in the first place? Men look so funny when they lose their shit, like hello, don’t you have anything better to do? But the image of Corpse just sitting there, hurt, distraught, leaving you on seen because he’s in his sad boy hours leaves a sour taste in your mouth. 

queen rly went from  🥺😊 to 😕 u ok bbgirl?

Corpse_Husband: no pouts cutie

akjdjoeijdfse cUTIE??? deadass boutta r.i.p.

Well that succeeded in eliminating everything from mind, doubts included. If this was an anime, the scenery would shift into something roseate, with flowers and bubbles and sparkles all around you along with a halo or two. Alas, not an anime, rather reality. The led-lights, however, seemingly possessing a will of their own, slowly turn from deep violet to pink. You smile brightly, like the absolute dumbass you are, and you are met with a ray of heart and blushing emojis. You are just so cute, a real cutie! Still in your disguise adorable state, you swipe your finger on your phone screen, the grin never leaving your lips.

There, among the plethora of apps, nestled sits a red square with a white fire plastered on it. The delicate calligraphy on the bottom reads: TINDER.

The mood changes once again- you’re giving the roaches emotional instability by how quickly everything flips over- and the chat spams eggplants vigorously; some, of course, bravely fight against the thirst.

nooooooo i thought y/n is gonna stream in a god honoring way!!!

^pack it up girl defined

“So, Charlie and I-” You note a few awfully curious comments and squint, “-yes, we talk a lot. Charlie is a really good friend of mine. We’re best friends. Brothers. Sisters. Cousins. The whole fucking family tree-no, that sounds weird. Delete. Anyway, Charlie, being the absolute fucker he is, said, hey, you know what would be funny? And I was like, nooo, what would be funny, Charlie? And he says to me, he says, says, making fun of men on Tinder. And if y’all need any more proof that Charlie and I are platonic soulmates, then dunno, my children, my roaches, I dunno-I dunno what more to give you.”

You can’t be bothered reading the comments, there’s too damn many. You also need to save your reading comprehension for the actual bios. It has a time limit, that darn thing. 

“Okay, so I made a profile earlier, but I hadn’t swiped on anyone yet-” Despite the fact, Tinder helpfully informs you that already 99+ people have swiped right on you, “So, this is me,” You show the pictures you have of yourself, and damn, not to be a conceited narcissist, but you look really good. Like if you saw yourself on Tinder, you’d super like instantly. “Uhm, so, my bio-my bio says: let’s sauce in the tub together, ya dig? splishy splashy, giggle giggle.” 

i cant believe we are witnessing y/n trying to form a coherent sentence live 

shes trying give her time

ya dig??? y not capeesh

what scene from the godfather is this lol?

“My anthem, is,” You laugh, covering your lips with your hand, “Corpsie, this is form you-” Proudly, you show that indeed, Corpse’s E-GIRLS ARE RUINING MY FUCKING LIFE is listed as your anthem on Spotify, “Hehe.” Yes, you say that aloud.

Corpse_Husband: you’re killing me Corpse_Husband: thanks baby Corpse_Husband: now delete tinder ❤︎

You ignore his last quip, deciding it’s finally time to get this show on the road, “Right, let’s do this shit. I’m not actually going to swipe on any guys that look, uh, decent? Yuck, can’t believe I just said that, uhm, because I-because I feel like some actually deserve a chance with someone? I don’t wanna get anyone’s hopes up, as I am currently in a long distance relationship with Chrollo. So I’m just gonna swipe on, like, frat boy assholes. Because I don’t care if I hurt their feelings. Quite frankly I don’t think they possess them in the first place.”

The chat voices their agreements. With the ground rules set, you, giddy, click on the first profile.

Does Tinder know what you’re doing, your plan? The FBI agent watching you through your phone must be working overtime, bless his heart. They must, because the the first guy to meet you is named Jason, and there he is, blond hair and blue eyes, holding up a fish the size of his torso. Marginally adequate in looks, pretty good muscles. A solid 7 bordering on 8. He’s the same age as you, 15 miles away, and he studies at some college you don’t care enough to look up. Bio reads:

I like to drive fast. Fishing is my passion, but if you can’t catch me by the ocean, you’ll catch me catching waves, bro! Love a good gym date. You do squats, and I’ll keep a close eye to make sure you’re doing it correctly ;) You probably saw me at a party. Leader of the The Phi Kappa Psi. I’m a Gemini, if that matters lol.

You, of course, read it aloud, dramatically; provide some constructive criticism-he seems nice, but he’s a Gemini, so naturally, you can’t trust him at all! Also, that gym date session leaves little to be desired. With your rant done, you swipe right, and shocker! (not), it’s an instant match.

“Okie, I still wanna swipe of some profiles, so I’ll see what he’ll text later-” For a second you wonder the legalities of this stream, but you’re having too much fun to think of it further, “guys, I won't get sued, right?”

NOW she considers it

well....

if you do, we’ll kickstart your lawyer dw <3

Onto the next profile. Kevin, 25, is seen fixing his car- or, you assume he’s mid-fixing it, you don’t really know why else he’d hold a wrench and be covered in oil. He’s shirtless, and the caveman part of your brain echoes something closely resembling AWOOOGA!, but...but!...blonde hair, blue eyes. You pout again, “I don’t...I don’t really like blond boys, ya know? With the blue eyes and all, it’s just not my thing, uhm, unless it’s like-like...Armin from Attack on Titan. Else I don’t care.”

Onto the bio:

You have to treat a car like you treat a woman: go on long rides, take the lead, but most importantly, keep her oiled up 😜 

“What the fuck did I just read?”

The chat is equally confused. You swipe right anyway- another match. Too easy.

The stream continues without incident for a solid thirty minutes- all of your matches, expect a few that genuinely looked like normal dudes that really couldn’t write a decent bio to save their lives, had been blond hair blue eyed gym rats with ranging forms of misogyny. Some opened with asking for nudes out right, some asked about your day first before asking for nudes. You prefer the former. Straight to the point! You admire the gall. 

But then, down the forty-five minute mark a profile popped up that made you still by your phone, your smile dying as your eyes bulged. Dear God. Lord in heaven. Who is this demonspiit lookalike and why is he so fucking hot? The neck tats, the skateboard, the clothes- holy shit, you gotta close your mouth before some drool dribbles out.

No bio, just his name, Tyler, and that he’s 23.

“He boutta be 23 in me.” You mutter, swiping right with lightning speed.

WHAT DID SHE SAYYYYY?????????

tyler is y/ns karma for relentlessly mocking that one guy that had a whole ass list on what his “female” partner should be

^he deserved it and also tyler seems like a typical fuckboi y/n grow a braincell

look at mom 🥺 her eyes are sparkling

It wasn’t a match right away. You somehow expected as much, but it still upset you. Simp behavior, pathetic. The stream continued bravely, and when Tyler messaged you a simple “yo” you totally didn’t sequel. You didn’t manage to text him back on stream: texting all those guys that you didn’t really find all that attractive was easy, but this...You’re a sucker for a man who radiates red flag energy. His whole profile is a red flag. He might just be a red flag himself.

What can you do? Suddenly becoming color blind is not easy. Once the stream ends, you unmatch with everyone expect Tyler. He you chat with for a bit, but a sudden craving for different company makes you abandon him, too. You don’t feel too heartbroken for him- you’re certain there’s already too many girls in his dms. You wish them luck.

Happily, you delete Tinder. You go to Twitter, notice you’re trending again- look at you go! Queen shit- and as you compose a thank you tweet, something strange happens. You go to text Corpse, but when you click on his profile you grow cold.

YOU’RE BLOCKED. You can’t follow or see @/Corpse_Husband ‘s Tweets. 

...Pardon? You hop onto Instragram and-also blocked. Seriously? And you thought you’re one petty bitch. Corpse is seriously prissy about everything. Damn, if he didn’t like your stream, he could’ve just said so. Didn’t need to, like, block you from his internet existence. So not cool.

You try texting him but no text go through. Well how will you let him know you deleted Tinder just like he asked? You relieve your frustrations by punching your pillow a few times. Later, you apologize to her, you didn’t mean to hurt her, it’s not her, it’s you. Fuck, 5 minutes of exile and you’re already loosing your mind.

“Raeeeeeeeeeeee!” You whine loudly. It’s roughly 2am now, but you don’t care. You’re too heartbroken to care. There’s a thump from her room, but nothing else, “Raeeeeeeeee!!!” You wail, wallowing in self-pity on your bed. You hear a very loud, very annoyed sigh from her room, followed by angry marching. Your door is abruptly thrown open, and in the dim, colorful light you see her scowl.

“What?” She grits.

“Can you please tell Corpse to unblock me from everything?”

“What did you do now?”

“I made fun of men on Tinder.”

She pauses, “...That doesn’t sound so bad.” She surmises, voice laced with suspicion, “What else?”

“...There was one really hot guy that I kinda sorta talked to after--”

“Y/n.”

“-But I totally deleted Tinder and honestly he was pretty boring, so, like, uhm, please?”

She sighs, the servery of which implies she is holding the weight of the world on her shoulders, and instantly you know that you won. She taps away at her phone, “You owe me one.” She states, and before you can reply, she exits your room and slams the door behind her.

Grinning, you text his phone again. The message goes through, oh gosh, you’re so relieved you feel like crying. This has been, officially, the worst five minutes of your life.

You Y DID U BLOCK ME LOSER!!! MAJOR LOSER ALERT!! I DELETED EVERYTHING IT WAS A JOKE r u still mad at me? y u always mad at me i never do anything:(

my husband You’re my baby, how do you think I’ll react when I see you publicly simping for some asshole on Tinder?

Oh no, he used the words, he delivered the killing blow. You’re finished. Your heart can’t take such a workout. 

Not that you would ever admit it to him, though!

You hehe ur jellyyyy u always dis jealous hehe?

my husband Not jealous.

Yeah, you might not be the brightest tool in the shed, but even you know that’s a lie. You send him an array of kissy emojis that he doesn’t have the decency to reply to. Then, completely unprompted and dead serious, you send him a simple voice memo, saying: “You really have nothing to worry about, you know? You’re my favorite, Corpsie.”

He responds via text, reiterating that he’s not fucking jealous and that he just doesn’t like when you show such outward interest in anyone but it’s not like he cares or anything. It’s just really, like, weeeeird to see his baby simping for another man like that totally ruins the whole dynamic!!! It was only natural that he should block you on every social media platform, including his personal number (which, like, was completely necessary! Doesn’t matter that his viewers can’t see it, it’s gotta be super believable!), and inform his followers of that, because it’s all a joke, like, for the dynamic, that Youtube grind, you know? Ya dig? No personal feelings were involved at all. He totally wasn’t upset that you found someone else cute, no way!

my husband I’m not jealous. Lol.

You ik u repeated tht like 50 times  u trynna convince me or??? lmao

my husband No comment. ...You don’t actually talk to anyone else like we’re talking, right?

You no one else calls me their baby if thts wat ur wondering at least not to my knowledge lol im all urs

my husband That makes me very happy to hear:)

Yeah, it makes you very happy, too.

hope you liked it!! xx

[falcor-thee-luck-dragon]

Tell Me A Story

Loki x f(magic reader)

Summary: Stuck in an Asgardian cell for your crimes, you meet an intriguing fellow prisoner who you can’t help but start to feel something for.

Warning: angst, fluff (you’re not leaving sad on my watch)

Masterlist

The ground feels hard. And your head feels incredibly fuzzy, like waking up from a deep slumber by some rude acquaintance who can’t mind their own damn business. Not to mention the throbbing sensation emitting from the left side of your cheek like two annoying disturbances. Were you smacked twice?

What in the bloody shitsticks?

The light in this place is so bright too, you have to squint when opening your irises for the first time to really get a good look at your surroundings. With the light in this awful place too much to bear, you cover your eyes with your fingers to lessen the harshness from above. Soon your gaze trails up witnessed a clean ceiling of pure marble white.

Wait. Are you dead?

Adjusting to the brightness, you slowly bring yourself into a seated position on the equally as shiny clean floor. To your left is a bed and a small nightstand while your right is a see through golden tinged barrier showing the other cells and a single guard walking down the hallway. Cells? Cells!

A prison? You’re in a fucking prison. Shit.

Letting out a dramatic sigh, head in your hands, you suddenly hear a knock on the white section of the confinement hold that turns into loud pounding. Thud! Thud! Thud! And a second later the white disappears, in place shows the same see through golden tinge. A guard on the other side.

“You’re awake.” He says, voice casual as an old friend.

You give him a puzzled look before feeling your face, “I think so.”

He takes a step into your prison where a sword is held in your face, maybe not so much an old friend after all, “As protocol, I must ask you three questions.” Delves the guard, stance never changing.

“Go for it tough guy.”

He remains unfazed, “Do you know your name?” Easy.

“Y/N.”

“Do you know why you’re here?” Uh.

“Well it wasn’t for stealing a child’s favorite toy.” You muse before quickly changing your façade, “But yes.”

He scoffs unamused, “Do you know where you are?”

Now this question you don’t have an answer for so instead do you give him your sweetest most innocent face possible, “uh, maybe you could enlighten me?”

The armored man rolls his dark eyes, “You’re in the royal dungeons of Asgard, placed here by King Odin for crimes against our realm. For that. You will remain until otherwise noted by the King.” Barks the guard, you stare up at him with wide eyes. Shocked and bewildered that you’re stuck in Asgard of all places.

“I didn’t even have a fare trial!” You protest.

“You didn’t deserve one, filth.” He counters before sheathing his sword back into its scabbard and off he goes into the golden tinged door. Out of sight in an instant. Rude.

Leaving yourself very puzzled and irritated at the whole ordeal, you never even got a trial to speak your side of the story. Nothing. Now you’re stuck in this dumb shit of a cell with literally nothing to do and no one around to bother, oh wait who’s that across the room?

Jumping to your feet, you swiftly walk over to the glass; there stands a man in green and black attire, leather bound book in hand as his slender face focuses onto the pages. He’s rather handsome in all honesty, with that dark shoulder length hair of his and the thoughtful expression across his face. You’re now fully intrigued.

Then your mind swirls with a thought, you’re in Asgard. So, this must be prince Loki, the one who failed to conquer Midgard. Soon a devilish smirk crosses your features, “What are you doing down here? I thought princes were the ones to put delinquents behind bars?”

Loki’s face shifts from surprise to amusement as he keeps his eyes onto the pages, “Kings.” Corrects the Asgardian prince.

You smile, “Well this king can eat shit!”

He lets out a breathy snort before finally drawing his gaze up to you, his expression quickly diminishes from amusement into star struck fascination when those beautiful blues land upon your beaming mischievous face. Loki has never seen someone so magnificently enticing in his whole entire life. But here you are, whoever you happen to be.

The raven haired man sets the book onto his nightstand before sauntering over to the glass wall, “And who do I presume you are? My new source of entertainment.”

Waving him off like a blushing maiden, you pretend to get all hot and bothered by his sly comment, “Oh wouldn’t you like to know.”

Loki smirks, “I would indeed.”

You curl a piece of hair around your finger, gifting him a shy smile as you avoid his steely gaze. “Sorry.” You mutter, “I only tell men who can take over whole planets in under three days.”

He immediately loses his humored aurora, replacing it with a slightly taken aback yet somewhat pissed off one. “Ouch. But I can’t image you’re any clever if you happen to be stuck down here with me.”

You point up a finger, “On the contraire, my faults are less hefty then your own. So who really lost here?”

“From the looks of it. Both of us.”

You nod, “That is a truthful observation, but what has gifted us a sentence in exile are two entirely different sides to the relatively same coin.”

“Mine being, failure to conquer and rule Midgard. And yours being?”

“Fine. I’ll satiate your appetite.” He raises a brow as you trail your hand down the buzzing glass, “I may have tried to steal some pretty gems downstairs. Blah blah and I got caught by some lady named Frigga who’s a lot more skilled with magic then I had first realized and now I’m here. Granted I don’t remember getting to said “here” but alas my body remains.”

Loki smirks, “My deer mother got the best of you. How is she up in the real world these days?”

“Oh you know, told me she loves reading, doing the usual witchy stuff, and she hates you so go burn in hell for eternity you shit head little boy.”

Loki could have choked on his own spit, “Pardon me?”

“You heard me, she said she loves you. Is that not what you heard? I really thought I was being pretty clear.”

The Asgardian prince shakes his head, “Forget I asked.” Turning around once again to find his way onto the comfortable looking mattress, new book in hand.

You pout at the lack of attention, what did you say to annoy him? Was it the little shit head boy? Maybe he’s just having a bad day.

——

There he is. That incredibly attractive Asgardian prince of Mischief, just standing there. Reading yet another book in his beautiful greens and blacks and golds as he chooses to ignore you. The insanely gorgeous but deeply irritating woman across the cell from him.

You’ve been in here for about four weeks now and Loki has not cracked once. You’re really trying too! All he’s done is gift you with some telling facial expressions or the wonderful side comment to address your theatrics or harmless shenanigans.

All you want to do is get to know him better. And maybe along the way get the fuck out of here with a little help, and then preferably take the prince along for the ride. If it was only that easy.

Levitating in your cell just because you’re tired of standing all the time, you keep your usual unabashed stare-down with the prince when a random guard marches by. He looks from right to left and forward again before doing a double take over to you.

“Hey! Stop that!” He shouts, lance raised at your smirking face while you continue to float, “You can’t do that here!”

You simply roll your eyes, “Who has made this new rule law?”

The guard pauses for a moment, clearly indicating that he just doesn’t want you floating because he’s a party pooper. He swallows, “By king Odin.”

“By king Odin? Doesn’t his son fly?”

“Huh?” He glances over to Loki who’s not paying attention to you two in the slightest.

“Not that one.”

The guard makes a frustrated grunt before removing his lance away from your face, no matter the safety of the glass, “You can remain afloat but only under my authority.” And with that does he stomp off down the corridor.

Idiot.

You beam a victorious grin as he leaves your sight when a sudden slow clapping can be heard from across the hallway. Immediately do you snap your attention up to the prince who’s already sharing one of his infamous smirks, “Congratulations. You’ll now have an enemy down here. And it only took you a few weeks.”

You scoff, moving yourself to float casually on your back, “It’s about time too. Things were starting to get unbearably dull around here.”

Loki hums, “Ever try reading?”

You snort, “No, no I haven’t. Hmm, but I’d love it if you could read to me, since I don’t happen to have any books within reach. It’s only fair.”

Loki raises a brow, “Only fair?”

“Yes. I have the guards annoyed with me, so, they won’t care much about you. And. You get to read, but also to me as well.”

“That’s a possibly compelling suggestion.” Says the prince, mulling over your words.

“I thought so.”

You close your eyes as a couple moments pass before he speaks again, “But I must decline.”

“What!” You shout in bewilderment as he lowly chuckles, “I might just about die of boredom, you want me on your conscience when I pass into oblivion from lack of entertainment!”

Loki smiles at your adorable face, “Make your own fun.” He teases, though you don’t realize this.

Moving yourself into a standing position, yet still without touching the ground, you press your hands against the golden tinged glass, “Loki! You are a beautifully great annoyance and if I wasn’t stuck in here I would throw all your books about! And then….then I’d knock down your nightstand!”

He smirks, “Charming.”

You pout while your fists clench in irritation, “Fine! I didn’t want to listen to your loathsome voice anyways!” He gifts you with a proud half grin as you turn from him to magically throw your wooden nightstand across the room.

You land, reaching a hand out to launch the nightstand back across the room once more before repeating this action again and again until the whole flimsy thing combusts when it crashes violently into the closest wall.

Breathing heavily, you slowly turn to face the irritation watching you do all of this, “Feel better Y/N.”

Pursing your lips together, you release your tight fists, “Yes.”

He nods, “What would you like me to read?”

“Something joyful…….please.”

Loki shares a handsome grin before giving you a respectfully small bow, “As the lady wishes.” Loki shares a small glance with your curious face before turning to search for a book. He kneels down and soon picks out a book colored in a deep blue, something foreign written in golden cursive on the front.

You slowly return to the ground, this time seated criss crossed as you lean half of yourself upon the glass as you try and get as close to Loki as physically possible. Which is difficult considering the hallway’s short distance keeping your cells apart, but you try anyways. He opens up the book and quickly looks up to catch your gaze before smiling and looking down at the first page.

Loki reveals the smallest blush before clearing his throat, “The Fox and the Raven.” You smirk at his adorable face, how focused and deep in thoughtful concentration he becomes as the words flow off of his sly tongue like molten gold. You could listen to him all day.

“Once there were two beings, equal in skill and game. Best friends since childhood even, but there was one thing that drove a wedge in their long relationship. Another. This beautiful being was beyond compare to that of any god or goddess alike. And the two friends where undoubtedly in love with them.

It began one windy day by the river, the beauty stood, washing their hair by the waters edge with not a mind to mess with anyone in their head. The two friends saw them and smiled. “I shall win their affections.” Claimed the dark haired admirer, Tala. “Not you silly fox, I shall be the one to draw their heart to mine.” Spoke Essek with great confidence, his bestfriend in the whole entire realm.

They looked to each other with clear frustration sculpted into their faces, so, the friends came to an agreement. Whoever failed to win over the water nymphs heart, that friend must stay in their animal form forever while the victorious one could live on as they always have. Maybe it was cruel. Maybe not at first.

Days turned into weeks, and weeks turned into months as the two friends would speak with the water nymph as often as they could. Tala in raven form and Essek as a dashing fox. All was going well as they played their little game of love until the water nymph began to grow quit fond of the raven for his talents in the sky and witty personality.

So much so that on the next full moon, the raven revealed himself to his true form before making love to the joyful water nymph on the rivers edge. And so the very next day when the fox arrived to speak with the nymph, he was surprised to find Tala laying underneath a weeping willow with the nymph in his strong arms.

The fox recoiled with jealousy before his heart shattered in two, Tala smiled a triumphant grin as the fox turned away in disappointment before rushing off into the woodland. Never to be seen again.

So that is why you can never trust anyone who is truly dear to you, for love is a fleeting thing and can turn friends into beasts for something as silly and pathetic as a beacon of affection.” Finishes Loki in an almost sour tone as you sit there on the cell floor, feeling a bit off and out of place from that abrupt turn of events.

You frown, “I thought you were going to read me a happy story?”

Loki closes the book, “I did.” Blue eyes on you in an instant.

“No. You really didn’t.”

Loki gives you an almost dumbfounded look, “The raven got to keep his original form and make love to the water nymph what else is there to want?” He questions like it’s the most obvious thing in the entire world. Not.

“The fox is depressed now. That’s not very happy.”

“It was happy for those two, was it not?”

You roll your eyes, “It was. But a happy story should have a happy ending for everyone involved. That’s the point of a happy tale being told.” You counter as he lets out a frustrated sigh.

“Not everyone gets what they want in the end, Y/N. That’s just life, some are fine and persist while others turn and run with nothing of any significance still clinging to them.”

You sit there a moment in bewilderment, soon rising to float threateningly by the glass, “That’s ridiculous! A happy story should be fucking happy! Love is supposed to be kind and beautiful, not this wedge that turns people against one another and supports a game that shifts into jealousy and disdain for one.”

Loki hums, “Well it is just a story after all. Love does that because it isn’t truthful ever, it’s a fleeting thing without any weight that only causes pain and disappointment.”

Your brows soon furrow at these dark words, “Oh and what do you understand about love?” You hotly challenge, voice accusatory and fierce.

“That it isn’t real.” Mutters the prince with a casual shrug, though his face flashes with uncertainty.

You scoff, “Is it now? You think love is a simple lie? A trick from the universe to keep races existing until their worlds collapse?”

“Yes.” Nods the Asgardian, “That’s what I believe.”

You take a breath, feet slowly touching the cool tiled floor as you speak, “You have no idea what it feels like then. So how can you claim it to be false?”

Loki crosses his arms, “True love isn’t real because that just cannot be realistic in any sense Y/N. Same thing as feeling happy or when you sneeze….the feeling is a feeling like butterflies in your stomach when you get excited. But like every emotion given, it leaves and the feelings are dulled or just dissipate altogether.”

“You’re wrong.” You bitterly mutter, voice low and filled with a somber hurt.

“And how would I be wrong then?” He wonders, truly curious to see how on earth you are able to counter this. He doesn’t wholeheartedly believe in love, though his growing affections for you seem to have him conflicted. He still wants to know.

“It is like magic, to be in love.” You reply, a faint smile ghosting your lips as you press your hands against the glass, “It is bright and brilliant and beautiful. It does not come and go like a fleeting spark from a dying flame. Love, like magic, forms from within when let into someone’s vessel. It is a power that always remains no matter where the person travels, or how old they become. Love, in the end and always through existence will remain. No matter what.”

Loki could have shed a tear at your beautiful explanation, yet his stubbornness persists, “A fairytale. Nothing more.”

“A fairytale? A fucking fairytale!?” You shout, voice rising in fury, “You don’t know anything but the lies you tell yourself you heartless bastard! All I wanted was a happy story that made me smile before I’m executed! And you couldn’t even give me that you selfish prick of a man!”

Loki’s heart grows cold as a winters morning, he blinks, forgetting how to properly breath at your heated declarations. He steps closer to the thin glass, brows furrowed in puzzled apprehension, “You’re being executed?” He asks, tone low and thoughtful.

Face falling into a deep frown, you lower your head in shame, “I have been condemned to die for my crimes above. Guess they’re not so simple as I had first claimed.”

“What do you mean?”

You let out a telling sigh, “I didn’t try and take the queens jewels, I tried to murder her..”

“You what?!” Whispers the Asgardian prince, eyes wide in shock, “What do you mean?”

Your gaze keeps trained onto the floor, “I am…well, I was….an assassin. Who, ultimately could not force myself to murder your mother Frigga, so I let myself be caught and taken. It’s the least I deserve for the life I’ve led. This is just how it goes, and I’m ready.”

Loki’s mind races, he never even suspected such a thing coming from you. Sure you’re indeed a beautiful mystery of a person who enjoys levitating in her cell for the hell of it. But your appearance and pose never revealed someone capable of homicide as their profession, least of all you.

And now, his father is condemning you to death rightly so, but Loki can’t help but think you don’t truly deserve this fate. Maybe, just possibly, he’d feel like he was losing a close friend. Someone who he never had any intentions of developing these strange new feelings for.

“I won’t let him end your life.” Suddenly speaks the prince, “You didn’t kill her, you actively chose not to, so I believe he could sway his final decision.”

You let out a breathy laugh, “Wishful thinking.” Just as three guards dressed in their true Asgardian golds walk to the front of your cell. Loki swallows, they dissipate the golden tinged force field, leaving you with nothing but air to keep you from their clutches.

“Y/N.” Softly calls the dark haired prince, voice small and desperate, he didn’t think they would take you so soon but what does he truly know anymore? Your sad eyes lock onto his as one guard snaps metal cuffs against your wrists, and another around your throat before he ushers you out.

Loki can’t tear his eyes from yours the whole time, and even after you’ve been dragged down the hallway and out of sight. He thinks, maybe you’ll return and it was all a big misunderstanding, a simple nightmare and he’ll wake any second now. But he knows this is foolish thinking, you’re never coming back. And he’s beside himself.

Loki bows his head in silent anguish, fists clenched tight as his heartbeat begins to race when suddenly he releases his grip and a small blast of green magic emits in the aftermath. Just enough power to knock some books onto the floor in protest. He doesn’t pick them up.

In the following days, Loki would pace around his cell like a nervous lion. Reading book after book to help pass the time though he couldn’t stop his racing mind from thinking about you. Where were you now? What had they done to you? Did it hurt?

He didn’t know and what’s worse is the guards only seemed to mock him about it, claiming your life was worth more dead then anything else. It stung like a heated iron spear left too long in the hot coals, he missed you beyond compare. How did you make him feel this way? When did that happen?

He missed your mischievous smile, your alluring eyes of curiosity and concealed chaos. The way you spoke to him like a person and not just a prisoner, or even a prince who’s disappointed his whole kingdom. You didn’t care, sure you lived to tease and pester him relentlessly, but you didn’t truly care about his current status.

You drew the attention out of him without even needing to try, brought a smile upon his face weather he was aware of it or not, and made him feel genuinely excited about waking up the next day. You became everything to him and more, and Loki hadn’t even realized this until it was too late.

But now you’re gone. And he will never see another Y/N for as long as he is to live.

Loki sits with his back against the wall, hair undoubtedly a wild mess closely matching that of the room about him. Books, clothing, furniture, and other personal belongings lay around his cell like the aftermath of a furious hurricane. He didn’t mean for this to happen, but when he got word that his mother was injured in the attack by the dark elves and freed prisoners. He new it was his fault, he led them to freedom after all.

With his mother healing from her non fatal wounds, and the loss of his dear Y/N to the axe. Loki has been doing less then tremendous these past few weeks, clearly. The prince now closes his weary eyes, breathing steadily as a new presence makes itself known across the golden tinged glass. He doesn’t care to look.

“Well don’t you look sad.” Teases a familiar voice, not condescending but just enough to make him laugh if he felt like it.

He opens his eyes to find your smirking face, body safe and sound wrapped in a cloak of white and intricately laced gold. How absolutely beautiful you are. His brows furrow as he mutters, “You’re just an illusion.” Voice horse and filled with doubt.

You raise a brow, “So is this?” You ask in reference to the clean cut illusion Loki is controlling, “I think not. I can see right through it.”

He forgot about the illusion he’s been creating since his breakdown, of course you’d see right through it, “You died. And my mother is hurt.”

“So you lost control within yourself and chose self deprecation? And apparently…chaos.” The trickster god rolls his tired eyes which causes you to chuckle, “I see my passing onto greater things has weakened your ego.”

He scoffs, “Your ghost form does not amuse me.”

Taking a glance down the vacant hallway, you step right through the golden tinged force field like it’s nothing more then air. “Loki Laufeyson, I am not a phantom or a dreary pigment of your imagination you foolish prick. I am Y/N, Goddess of Chaos and Magic. And someone who has missed you deeply.”

Loki frowns, blue eyes focused up at your truthful face as he sighs, “I….I don’t think I understand what is happening.”

You approach his side before kneeling down to reach his level, you two have never been this close before, “My tale was true as the forming of this realm itself. But your mother saw me for who I am, not what I have been enchanted to do with my life. So she gave me another chance to live, and so I did. To protect her and guard her until she deems otherwise, that’s why I’m still alive and that’s why your mother still has a beating heart.”

Loki reaches out for your hand that you gladly let him take, “Those prisoners..”

“I killed them. Every last one of those fuckers and the damn dark elves who attempted to crash their ship into the great hall. Let’s just say, it didn’t go according to their plans.” You explain, pausing for a moment to share a longing look with the Asgardian prince.

The corners of his lips rise into a soft smile, a deeply relieved one while you look down at your laced fingers, “Loki.” You whisper before drawing your head up to properly look at him.

“Yes.”

“I’m still counting on a better story.” You muse as he lets out a breathy laugh.

“Unfortunately none of these books happen to provide a decent tale, my dear.”

You gently squeeze his hand, “In that case I’ll bring you all the books stuffed in that giant library. There’s bound to be a good one, something happy.”

“I’d like that.” Nods the prince.

You smile, “But I have to ask you one thing.”

“Of course.”

“Did you miss me?”

Loki squeezes your hand right back, “More then I’d ever missed anyone.” Reveals the dark haired prince as he reaches up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear, though his fingers linger on your cheek a moment longer before he slowly pulls them away and into his lap.

You can’t help but snicker which causes his face to scrunch up in puzzled embarrassment. Immediately do you reach up to cup his cheek, “I felt the same way. And I think I might feel a bit more too, quit possibly a lot more. No. Yes definitely a lot more then I first led on from a few weeks ago in fact and all I must admit to you now Loki Laufeyson or Odinson..prince of Asgard I think I’d like to kiss you now if that’s okay with you.”

Loki blinks, did he hear you right? “oh.” He mumbles, clearly unsure of himself or whatever wonderful thing you just said.

You immediately remove your hand from his cheek, “Too soon. Sorry I just thought I read you right maybe I was wrong I can just leav….” You don’t even have a moment to finish your sentence when his lips press pleasantly against yours.

His hands hold your face while your own hands gently grip onto his forearms for support in your awkward positioning, with him sitting and you still crouched. But it matters not when his lips move in time with yours, he feels so lovely, like a hundred roses pressing against your skin.

Giving you that soft velvety feel, you could kiss him all day if he’d let you. Though soon enough the two of you must break for some air, and with that do you pull him to his feet while you float just inches off of the messy ground. Loki never once taking his hand away from yours.

“How can you….how can you do that?” Wonders the prince as he glances from the ground to your face.

You shrug, “How can you move things with your mind?”

He smiles, “I guess, I just can. A terribly lackluster explanation I know, but perhaps I’m not truly certain how either.”

“Well let’s not dwell on the unknown for too long, this moment right now is too sacred for anything else. And though I have to leave, I will return to you…..and next time with more books. Then you will have no choice then to read them all to me.”

Loki hums, “I don’t see a problem there.” Before whispering in your ear, “Maybe bring some wine, I couldn’t think of a better way to spend an evening.”

You share a bright grin, “As the spoiled prince asks, but it will cost you.”

Loki raises an intrigued brow, “Cost what?”

“A kiss. Before and after I do your bidding. Can you settle for those terms?”

Loki’s lips pull into an adorable smile, cheeks almost dusting pink at your new flash of boldness. He’s never met anyone quit like you in all his years alive. “I believe those terms are acceptable.”

You give him a wink, “Good. See you then.” And with that do you crash your lips against his for on more heated embrace before leaving one final kiss to his slender cheek and floating out of the cell you go. Stopping behind the glass to give your new lover one last fleeting look, “Miss me you prick.”

Loki smirks, “Always.”

[mrsalwayswrite]

Fight For You (Ivar x Reader)

This is my contribution to @youbloodymadgenius​ 1k celebration! Congrats, love! 

My prompt was: You had my curiosity. But now you have my attention. (Django Unchained)

Warnings: a smidgeon of violence, talk of premeditative murder of a spouse, some possessive!Ivar? my poor attempts at humor and flirting.

Words:3900

  The talking of the other earls, jarls and king grated on Ivar's nerves. Instead of threatening to cut out all of their tongues and make a necklace of them, like he strongly desired to do, he silently reclined in his seat fuming. It was both boring and infuriating to listen to these lesser men squabble amongst themselves like children. But like Hvitserk frequently reminded him, the others needed to be included in the planning. Even if Ivar despised it. 

 So he sat back, pretending to listen to the others as they attempted to make a battle plan. Even if it was a piss poor attempt and honestly, laughable. He kept silent for now. For he had his own plan and when he felt he had given them enough time to argue, he would share what they needed to know to fulfill it. He never shared the full plan; he would never give another that kind of power and knowledge. 

 King Harald Finehair was the least incompetent of the warriors and since at least half of their heathen army was there due to him, many listened intently when he spoke. 

 "If our scouts are correct, our army vastly outnumbers anything the town has." King Harald placed both of his hands on the table, drawing the attention of those under the meeting tent to himself. "I say tomorrow we attack with our full force. If they barricade themselves in, then we burn the gate down."

 "How great will our casualties be then?" Earl Liefson questioned, eyeing most of Norway's King with scrutiny. 

 "Did you not hear King Harald? We outnumber them! Those that die during the fight will certainly go to Valhalla to feast with Odin and Thor. Let us attack without fear or worry!" Jarl Haakon boasted, slapping a hand to his broad chest in emphasis. 

 This time Ivar did not try to suppress his annoyance. He rolled his eyes at the Jarl, practically biting his tongue to withhold a scathing comment. Looking to his left, he caught the gaze of his brother, Hvitserk, who at least was better at hiding his irritation. 

 There were many men that Ivar detested, many men he loathed. Jarl Haakon was most certainly in the top five. The man loved the sound of his own voice and any idea spewed from his mouth usually equaled in value to a pig's fart. At first, Ivar could not fathom how the Jarl managed to stay in his position of power. Sure, he fought like a berserker and thrived on bloodlust like many Vikings…. but he was a pompous, narrow-minded idiot. 

 Yet once the meetings started, plans being drawn for this great raid, Ivar figured it out. 

 It was you. 

 In the beginning, some of the other earls initially protested when Jarl Haakon brought you into the meetings; especially since you were no shieldmaiden, you were only his wife. But when he flatly stated either you came with him or him and his men left, their protests died down. Those very men were further silenced when King Harald greeted you warmly and welcomed your company. 

 At first, Ivar loathed your presence, thinking you were there just to satisfy your husband's ego, his continuous need to show off his beautiful wife. It was only after plans were finalized and Jarl Haakon looked down at you, his hand possessively on your lower back, that Ivar realized you were not there just to look pretty. 

 You surveyed over the "map" drawn into the dirt, eyes analyzing. Then you did the most unexpected thing. You critiqued the plan. Perfecting it in ways that even Ivar had not seen. 

 And the bloodthirsty prince could only sit back in shock and awe. 

 It was after that first encounter, whenever you were nearby, his gaze never strayed far from you. 

 Now, you stood silently next to your husband, focused on the plan being discussed. Instead of fully listening to the others, Ivar watched you. The way you bit your lower lip in concentration, the faint twitch of your right eye when someone said something you disagreed with, the quiet way you controlled your husband with a simple word or touch. It all mesmerized him. 

 What inflamed him the most was the few times your gaze would rise to meet his. The way you would peek at him through your lashes like a shy maiden, as if silently asking for his permission, then speak to the group of men. The power and intellect you kept hidden would be unveiled with your words. It was enough to make Ivar salivate every time. 

 Most women bothered Ivar with their whimpering or tedious nature, even most of the shieldmaidens made him want to plunge a dagger into them. But not you. You were not most women. Ivar swore on all the gods that you were a Valkyrie sent from Odin to bless him, to confirm his favor with the Aesir and his lineage tracing back to Odin himself. 

 Yet somehow you were married to that fool of a Jarl….and Ivar hated it. 

 "What say you, Ivar?" King Harald asked, drawing the prince back to the current conversation. The gazes of the other leaders weighed heavily once their eyes turned to Ivar, but instead of buckling underneath their inquiry, he thrived. 

 "I say why waste time and men? Let us lead a main force from the river like they expect us to do. A second force will attack from the north, hiding in the woods. My scout says there is a second smaller gate that their hunters use to leave the town. Because of its location, it is not well defended. Using that, there will be no need for a siege." He confidently explained his plan, looking around the meeting tent. A knot in his core tightened as he saw the corners of your lips turned upward in a brief smile and the bright gleam in your eyes. His plan was flawless, but seeing your approval bolstered his confidence, made him straighten further in his chair. 

 "Why did you not tell us about this second gate sooner?" An older earl demanded. His fingers tapped on the axe he wore on his hip, either purposefully threatening or mindlessly was yet to be determined. 

 The dark-haired prince rolled his head to the side, glaring at the man with malice in his icy blue eyes. "I waited until the information was necessary. If you sent your own scouts, they may have discovered it themselves instead of wasting their time drunk everyday we've been here."

 "A second gate is fortuitous for us." King Harald interrupted before the earl could respond. "We will lose less men. I will lead the main attack with my men. Ivar will lead the second attack since you were the one who brought this information."

 Ivar cocked his head for a moment then nodded. "Agreed." Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Jarl Haakon turn to you with a silent question in his look. Without hesitation, you give a single nod and your husband smiled. 

 "What are we standing around for then? We have Saxons to kill and glory and riches to earn. Let us prepare!" Jarl Haakon loudly proclaimed, making a couple of the earls chuckle. After that everyone began to disperse back to their own tents and warriors. Word would spread to prepare for battle the next day. 

 Catching Hvitserk's eye, Ivar motioned for his older brother to accompany him. Together, they walked out of the meeting tent and past groups of warriors, tents and cooking fires. The noon sun blared down on them, causing many to seek shelter under tents or tree canopies. 

 "What is it?" The flaxen-haired warrior asked, falling easily into step with his little brother. 

 Ivar hated how easily his brother could keep pace with him, while he stumbled along with his crippled legs and crutch. It was not Hvitserk's fault, but it was a resentment that Ivar still held nonetheless. Keeping his gaze forward, he grunted a vague reply. "I have questions."

 "Ah." Hvitserk ran a hand over his mustache as he surveyed the camp around them. After a moment, he spoke up again. "Anything to do with y/n?"

 Ivar snapped his head around to glare only to meet the amused look of his smirking brother. His upper lip curled up in a snarl but Hvitserk cut him off with a shrug.

 "What? You're not as subtle as you think you are. You're lucky her husband hasn't taken notice of your…. attention."

 "Shut up."

 "Alright…. we are going to see her though, right?"

 Ivar did not respond, instead he grit his teeth as he pressed on to his destination. Beside him, Hvitserk laughed but kept pace and any further comments to himself. 

 The two princes walked towards Jarl Haakon's tent. From observing, Ivar knew that the Jarl would be off with King Harald, talking to their warriors and finalizing their own plans. Without fail, he always postured himself to the forefront in speaking to their warriors, most likely to make sure his voice was heard just after King Harald and to boost his own ego. Even if his usefulness in making the battle plans was nonexistent. He was a warrior, through and through, but not a strategist. His value lied on his ability to wield his sword and axe on the battlefield.  

 To Ivar's surprise, you always retired to your tent right away after meetings. He witnessed on more than one occasion where your husband tried to convince you to accompany him, all to no avail. Oh, it was obvious your husband cared for you, but he also thrived on the jealous looks from others. His hand continuously rested on your lower back or around your shoulders, pulling you against him, dwarfing you with his larger frame. Frequently, he loudly proclaimed how he was gifted with a wife from Freya herself, making sure to steal a kiss as he laughed boisterously. 

 A coy smile danced on your lips but Ivar could see it hidden in the depths of your eyes, the annoyance and disgust by your husband's actions. You were a goddess on Midgard. That simpleton of a husband was not worthy of you. He should worship at your feet, begging for a moment of your divine attention. Yet, you were his lawful wife.

 And jealousy threatened to burn Ivar alive as he looked on.  

 The son of Ragnar was further enraged as he approached your tent to witness no guards posted in front of it. How dare your husband leave you undefended? He was even more of a fool than Ivar thought.

 With his usual arrogance, Ivar drew back the flap to your tent without calling out for your permission. As he stepped through, he could hear Hvitserk mutter something under his breath behind him, but still followed into the Jarl's tent.

 You stood next to a short table on the far side of the tent. Your hair was out of its typical braids, catching the prince's eye. An image of him running his hand through your hair flashed through his mind without warning. With the cloth in hand and the shallow bowl before you, Ivar knew he had interrupted your cleansing. 

 "Prince Ivar," you started, dragging the cloth down your neck sensually before setting it softly into the bowl. "My husband is not here at the moment. Would you like me to send for him?"

 "That's alright. It's you I'm interested in." He smirked as he watched you straighten further, a faint furrow between your brows. Your eyes continued to hold his, sending a thrill straight down his spine. He moved to the center of the tent, drawing closer as if magnetized by you. Leaning on his crutch, he tipped his head to peer at you. Lesser men would fear being alone with him, a Viking known for his bloodlust and cruelty but not you. There was no fear, no concern for safety in your eyes, only interest….and that amused and enthralled the crippled prince. 

 "I confess, I find your relationship with your husband…. peculiar. At first, I thought you were another pretty face, just another useless wife. But I see now, you are far more cunning and clever than you let on. Even now. Your husband is a fool, but he is intelligent enough to recognize he's need for you. So, I have been curious. Why are you still married to that oaf? I suspect there are far better suitors out there for you."

 You shrugged, taking a couple steps closer to the center of the tent. "It was the gods' will, and he is a good man." 

 "He's an idiot." Ivar deadpanned.  A muffled snort came from the direction of Hvitserk behind him but he kept his piercing eyes on you. 

 "Perhaps. He is still my husband."

 "Mmm….and do you care for your husband?"

 You glanced over at Hvitserk, who stood near the entrance, leaning against a pole casually, and then back to Ivar. For the first time, he saw uncertainty flash across your eyes but it was quickly subdued. "Why does it matter?"

 He moved closer until he stood before you, the sound of his crutch muffled by the furs covering the ground. "He is always touching you, but you never reciprocate. You are…. complacent. Tell me, honestly. Does his intellect bore you? Is that why you run back to your tent?"

 "Ivar…." Hvitserk said in warning, only to be ignored. 

 "Would you bore me?" You asked coquettishly, looking at him from under your lashes, making his heart race. "I find most men…. simple."

 "I think you know the answer to that." His mouth curved in an arrogant smile. "Is that why you steal looks at me during meetings?"

 "Or is it because I feel your eyes on me already?"

 Gods, he wanted to touch you. As you stared into one another's eyes, a silent conversation flowed between you two. It was now he finally saw what he hoped for, what he silently prayed for. A longing lay hidden in your gaze that matched his own. An understanding. A hunger that bespoke of adventure and passion. The torturous desire was enough to drive him mad with need but he refrained. He would make you come to him though, he would make you touch him first to prove your want for him. 

 "Is this…. are you two flirting?" Hvitserk suddenly asked, shattering the revealing moment. 

 "No, brother. I would never flirt with a married woman." Ivar took a step back from you, feeling the space like a chasm between you two. "I think my questions have been answered." He turned around and started towards the entrance. 

 In anger, most people revealed their true selves. He had learned that if he could say the right thing, push people the right way, their true selves, their true desires would manifest. So he decided to see if the meek wife you portrayed was accurate or just a mask, if he could draw that longing out from you. He turned his head just enough to the side to make sure you heard his next statement. "It seems you are just another pretty face after all."

 In the next step, the sharp edge of a dagger pressed to his throat froze his step. Shifting his head slightly, the edge dug further, almost piercing his skin. You stood just behind him, the dagger in your hand. 

 "I may not be a shieldmaiden but I am no helpless Saxon woman." You slowly, teasingly, dragged the dagger's tip further up his neck to his pulse point. The whole time he never removed his eyes from yours over his shoulder. The tension glided across his body, shooting a shiver down his spine. He wondered if the heated look in your eyes matched his own. If he licked his lips, could he taste the ardor saturating the air between you.  

 When you spoke again, it was with a low and titillating tone. Your breath brushed against his neck, the feeling of your body almost touching his- tormenting. His hand clutched his crutch with a white-knuckle grip, his self-control slipping away with each moment. "I always have at least three daggers on me…. would you like to try and find them?"

 "I do!" Hvitserk said, raising his hand, breaking the tension. "I volunteer!"

 You winked at Hvitserk before withdrawing the dagger from Ivar's throat and taking a step back. Ivar continued to watch you as your gaze met his again. "Do not assume just because you cannot see something, does not mean it is not there. I may look like the submissive wife but that is far from the truth."

 To say he was aroused was an understatement. Spinning on his heel, he faced you, not even trying to suppress the hunger bubbling up within him. "You had my curiosity. But now you have my attention."

 "And what does that mean, 'I have your attention'? Is there a prize?" You raised an eyebrow but the devious smirk betrayed your amusement. 

 "I always reward those who…. interest me." He shifted forward to gently reach forward and caress your cheek. A sharp inhale and the fluttering of your lashes at his touch proved his effect on you. Carefully, you tipped your head, leaning your cheek against his hand. Never before had he coveted you so strongly. His instincts screamed at him to take your hand and lead you back to his tent, to make you his forever. You were a free woman though; the choice was yours. He wanted you to choose him. 

 "You are too smart for that idiot. Leave him." He muttered, tracing a finger over the seam of your lips. 

 "It's not that simple."

 "It can be."

 You pressed a kiss to the tip of his finger. "And what will I do then?"

 "You can be my woman!" Hvitserk declared, placing a hand over his heart. 

 You giggled at the harsh glare Ivar threw his brother over his shoulder. 

 "What?" Hvitserk asked in mock innocence. “You know I would share, little brother!"

 "Hvitty, say another word and I will cut your tongue out."

 The flaxen-haired prince rolled his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest. "Both of you need to work on your flirting. I did quite enjoy the little display you gave us, it's been far too long since someone threatened Ivar. We could make a shieldmaiden out of you yet, y/n."

 You stepped around Ivar to approach Hvitserk, much to Ivar's chagrin. He watched you give a quick peck on the cheek to his brother. Red began to color Ivar's sight, the tight grip on his crutch borderline painful.

 "I could make you very happy." Hvitserk said with a flirty wink, making you giggle. 

 The innuendo did not go over both Ivar and your heads. You smiled though, walking back towards the center of the tent. "I'm sure but I would hate to take that opportunity away from all the other women since I don't like to share."

 Ivar reached over and grabbed your arm, pulling you closer to him. The sweet smile lingered on your face but now directed at him softened some of his jealous anger. He cupped the side of your face, gazing down at you in something akin to reverence and longing. Silently, you placed your hands on his chest, staring up at him. He wondered if you caused his heart to beat or it beat for you. 

 "You fascinate me." He whispered, as if scared to utter the confession. 

 A sigh escaped you as you glanced downward at your hands on him. "If only we had met in another life."

 "Leave him. He doesn't deserve you. You deserve to be worshipped and recognized. Not treated as something to be shown off."

 "Perhaps one day." You lifted your eyes to meet his once more. "But I can't yet. An alliance relies on our marriage."

 He nodded, running his tongue along his bottom lip. It made sense. That would explain how you ended up married to the foolish warrior jarl. Lifting one of your hands from his chest, he pressed a lingering kiss to your knuckles, wishing it was your lips instead. Without another word, he started towards the entrance to your tent. His mind needed to process what it learned and how to best utilize that information for his plan. 

 Just before opening the flap, he turned back to you, surprised to see you still standing in the same spot but now rubbing your kissed knuckles across your bottom lip. Warmth and determination welled in his chest. 

 "Will you pray to the gods for our victory?"

 A smug smile curled the corners of your mouth. "I always do, but it is not necessary for who can defeat Ivar the Boneless?"

 He could not stop the grin from spreading across his face. "And do you pray for your husband's safety?"

 "That I leave to the gods."

 With one last heated look sent your way, he ducked out of the tent and back into the sunny camp.  

 "What now?" Hvitserk asked, walking beside him.

 "I need to talk with King Harald."

 "Ivar, you can't…. that’s…."

 He stopped to round on his brother, a scowl directed at him. "She deserves better than Jarl Haakon. Do you disagree?" He spat out, his wrath directed at your husband blazing once again. 

 Hvitserk sighed. "No, but…."

 "Then it's settled." Without waiting, he started in the direction of King Harald's tent. 

 Hvitserk rushed back to his side, falling into step. "So you'll pursue her after?"

 Ivar kept silent, mind already finalizing plans on how to best dispose of your husband. The battle coming up was the perfect opportunity, as if the timing was ordained and blessed by the gods. 

 "You won't be the only one. You're not the only man to watch her."

 Ivar sneered at the thought. "They will find themselves with my axe embedded in their guts if they even try."

 "So protective of her already and she is still another man's wife." 

 Ivar turned on his brother but Hvitserk just sidestepped the dagger aimed at his chest. 

 "If it's the gods' will for her to be your wife then I will help you." His older brother stated with his hands held up in surrender. "You know this. Besides I think you found your match with her."

 "She is…." The crippled prince started but his words trailed off. How could he adequately describe how you meant to him, how he longed for you, how he knew with you by his side he would be unstoppable and maybe for once in his life, actually happy. 

 "Is that Ivar the Boneless speechless? It must be love…. or the sun is getting to your head and you're going to be sick."

 "Shut up." Ivar snapped but without malice. 

 They walked for a few more minutes in silence before Hvitserk spoke up again. 

 "It will be pleasant to not hear his irritating voice anymore in meetings. We may be able to find an earl willing to just kill him for us."

 Ivar chuckled darkly. His thoughts returned to you and how he would willingly do anything to make you his wife. You were his Valkyrie, his goddess, you would complete him. Soon you would at his side, come death or Ragnarök, he would fight for you. 

[theredsuzuran]

Douma x reader - Innocence

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Took me a long time to upload a new content am so sorry for the delay I was really busy with school assignments therefore I cannot manage the time to write. I apologize in advance for any grammatical errors on my behalf, I hope you enjoy.

Warning : Dark themes like gore, blood and violence, degradation and swearing, mature content.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The moon shone brightly above the sky as it's light leak through the branches illuminating the famous building of the eternal paradise cult. A new set of followers rushed into the dwelling in hopes of fulfilling their selfish desires, diminishing their agonies and enriching their possessions. However a particular human with her tattered kimono seem not to be interested to convey anything although the people around her would die to witness even a glimpse of the charismatic leader as for now she was busy running along the wide long corridors

The sound of thumping footsteps echoed throughout the building as a herd of followers attempted on catching the miscreant who disrupted the peaceful atmosphere prevailing over the supreme cult. The already annoyed and frustrated people were all worked up to catch the energetic human who on the other hand have thoughts of escaping this place they called paradise. If only she was careful enough to notice her mother's strange behavior soon as they entered the place but how can you possibly blame an innocent little girl like her, or so she thought. Afraid she might lose sight of her treacherous mother who abandoned her just moments ago she desparety stumbled her way out although that didn't concerned her simple thinking process but that's exactly how complicated the situation was.

Turning one last time to look behind if those weird people were still following her or not when suddenly she bumped into a Tall muscular figure standing infront of her soft delicate frame she must have missed him approaching while focusing on looking behind. "Please just leave me alone!" The girl fumed coherently still overwhelmed by the amount of people rushing towards her like waves something that she was not accustomed with as for eighteen years she lived indoors interacting rarely with anyone and playing with dolls most of the time.

"Watch your tongue brat" one of the men standing beside the tall man spoke with disgust hinted in his voice. "Crouch down you insolent woman, where's your gratitude it's because of lord Douma's benevolence that you are still here or you'd be rotting in the street thanks to your mother", the people around her started whispering and murmuring behind her back but she was not bother since her senses were filled with newfound wrath how dare they insult your angel like mother? No longer able to contain your anger you shouted with tears "Then take me to my mother, I don't want to stay here alone".

"Your mother abandoned you here so shut up and deal with it, now move your way for master" the man grunted irritatedly motioning the other followers to grab her and take her away.

"No don't touch me" she wiggled under their grip rushing towards douma blocking him from entering the room by grabbing his arm tightly "I am not going anywhere until I know where my mother is" she cried loudly making the demon flinch with surprise, how pitiful the creature looked in his polychromatic eyes. He have seen many humans crying before him for obvious reasons which honestly have become his monotonous routine but somehow this girl acted quite weird being her age, interesting him enough to investigate. As he was about to speak the man beside him pushed the girl hashly making her lose her balance and fall on the wooden floor.

"How dare you touch master with your filthy hands bitch" he lift his hand to slap her tight in the face but someone grabbed his wrist just in time to save the girl from further humiliation.

"Silence" all the questioning glances, judging looks and whispering stopped at once as douma spoke nonchalantly making the latter shiver in regret.

"I am sorry douma sama" the man uttered in pure horror having no intentions to displease his beloved lord. "I was-"

"I don't want to see that happen again, understood?" He replied coldly still maintaining his wide smile as the previous chaos shifted into complete hush. The man lowered his head down with shame nodding silently. Douma averted his attention and glanced at the figure underneath making the girl jolt a bit but his once frightening demeanor changed into a cheerful and optimistic one in matter of second upon seeing her.

"Please take her to my chamber and treat her wounds" the man clapped with a wide grin plastered on his face. A group of female servants came rushing to help picking her up. The girl being too bewildered did not protested and simply follow his tone as if she was hypnotized by his neatly decorated persona.

The girl was immediately taken away without delay and as per douma he needed to attend his cult duties. First of all she was washed and changed into a beautiful kimono as soon as she stepped inside, then she was escorted into a room filled with antiques and lavish items which she have never seen. Her face lit up with fascination as she began venturing those decorative pieces.

"Looks like you have ease down a bit, good good" A familiar tone struck in her ears startling her a bit only to turn back and view the handsome cult leader although it was a bit strange because she did not heard anyone approaching.

"Aww did I scared you?" He laughed covering his face with golden fans.

"No I was just- you came in without a warning, I was taken aback" she explained blushing trying her best not to act immature to which douma laughed uncontrollably as he found this human's expression adorable say entertaining in his words.

"D-dont laugh at me" she pouted crossing her arms in the attempt.

"I am sorry (y/n), you really amuse me" he replied still grinning. However there was a moment of awkward silence between them as he uttered her name abruptly.

"I didn't tell you my name.." after a long pause she replied to him with a confuse look in her face.

"I know everyone's name who are living under my supervision including yours besides what kind of cult leader I am if I don't have basic information about my fellow followers. Oh look I have been talking to you without giving the chance to let you talk my bad" he laughed again waving his fans creating another awkward situation. Causing you to sweatdrop on his remark.

"Say (y/n) how old are you?" to which she replied enthusiastically "I am 8 years old and will turn 9 soon"

"Ah you don't look like one" douma grinned closing his eyes in the process.

"Yeah I get that a lot" she remarked shyly.

"Your mother is one of my followers" he continued

"Really?" her eyes sparked with hope as she approached douma with anticipation grabbing his arms for the second time starling him, she really like holding hands eh? he have experiences like that but somehow this girl made him feel different so he allowed her but then she stopped halfway through her words "I really miss her it's been a week since she left me here" her voice dropped with sadness.

Douma felt no sympathy for humans or anything as such, he have learned to fake his emotions from a very tender age eversince he was born to the extent that even seeing his mother killing her husband mercilessly failed to evoke feelings within. He clearly did not understand what she was feeling he just stared at her with a blank expression only to replace it quickly with a grim look even faking few tears. "(Y/n) chan you know its okay you will still have me" he patted the girl in an attempt to comfort her.

"Friends?" (Y/n) replied between her tears.

"If that's how you want us to be" douma smiled at her gently shocking himself for a second because he didn't think of smiling?

Things escalated soon after that incident, (y/n) was a kind and compassionate person from inside and out and in not time the cult followers started loving her presence. As often douma would let her accompany him and most of the time she stayed by his side following him everywhere and he didn't mind that at all moreover he appreciated her company. (Y/n) was like a fresh bud to him who depicted innocence and purity he loved spoiling her with expensive gifts yet she never showed signs of greediness and genuinely appreciated his thoughtfulness slowly forgetting the past life she was in and cherishing her friendship with douma. At first she was reluctant and didn't like getting so much attention but in the course of time she bonded better with everyone and was quite content with the life she was leading. As for douma he began to depend on (y/n) to the point that not seeing her face for even one day would make him go insane and he didn't understand why not like he want to because all he cared about was how she made him feel so many varieties of pleasant emotions he wish he could feel. Eating her was out of context.

However all good things must come to an end for he is someone to not rest in peace after the sin he have committed for centuries. Seeing douma paying her more attention, spoiling her with a ravish lifestyle and even letting her stay by his side all the time made some of his cult members terribly envious they wanted to punish her for taking their chances of stealing the spotlight. There was this one room that he forbade his followers to enter for obvious reasons and specifically for (y/n) because he didn't want to repeat the same mistake. This was exactly what they wanted (y/n) to do break the rules and Douma's trust. Like that there would be no more favouritism on her with others.

"Ah (y/n), there you are" one of the female member approached her one fine morning.

"Yes how may I help you?" She asked cheerfully

"Lord douma have asked for your presence in the forbidden room tonight and he said its urgent"

"Aren't we all prohibited to go inside"

"Oh (y/n) it's true master have arrived today and he wants your presence"

Upon hearing that news her heart elated with happiness, it has been two weeks since he last saw douma around and she missed him but something felt off about the whole situation douma always sees (y/n) first before tending his followers then why did he not come meet her did he not miss her like she did?

She was lost in her thoughts until she found two hands waving and snapping infort of her face.

"Don't be late, okay?" With that said the female hurried back into other room leaving (y/n) behind even though the situation seem kinda odd maybe douma was busy afterall.

At night (y/n) went into the restricted area. She stood infront of the shoji door in absolute dilemma debating whether or not to enter the room or go back. There was her desire of meeting douma on one hand and not breaking his trust by entering the room on the other. In the end she decided not to but as she was turning back she heard someone grunting in pain behind the closed doors being a compassionate person, she decided to open the door and enter into the darkness adjusting her eyes in the process, a pungent smell hit her nostrils making her cover her mouth and to her absolute terror the scene infront of her made her puke in disgust.

A pile of Mutilated bodies, mostly women laid around lifelessly on the blood stained tatami mattress. Many having no limbs, some headless and organs missing from their body as if someone had ate all of that. The whole room was a mess full of unfortunate people. She felt sick and began crawling down her way back from the corpses. However she felt a tight grip on her left foot upon looking down she witness the sight of a woman her intestines oozing out of her stomach begging for help. (Y/n) stood there perplexed unable to say anything chocking through tears.

"I told you not to come here, why?" (Y/n) turned her head violently to see douma standing in a distance his countenance cold and sinister evident that he was highly displeased upon seeing his innocent flower disobeying his instructions.

"It's not... like... what you see" (y/n) cried fearfully but douma didn't seem to buy it well in a blink of an eye she found herself in Douma's arms as he aggressively dragged her out of the room.

"What's going on douma" no word came out from the usual lively douma.

"It's hurting me your grip" no reply again to which she forcefully tried to stand still with all her strength. This time douma stopped his features hidden under his bangs making her unable to figure the expression he was carrying.

"Is this why douma forbade us to enter the room" no reply

"Are you responsible for murdering those innocent people?" No reply

"DOUMA" she shouted

"Why you want to join them?" Douma finally looked at her his eyes glowing dangerously proving his existence to be something unnatural. (Y/n's) eyes widen at his remarks as tears rolled down her visage.

"I hate you.." she murmured

"What?" He tilted his head letting his guard down a bit at her hurtful comments.

"I HATE YOU" she pushed douma roughly and flew from the place running deep into the forest for she knew who he was and what he is capable of doing. Tearing down she constantly reminisce the moments she shared but she cannot allow herself to sympathize his heinous crimes. Why is it that the people I love are always taken away from me? She thought. Exhausted from running she halted in order to catch her breath while glancing back to see if he was following, there was no one indeed so a sudden feeling of relief gushed in her body. However turning her head back she saw him standing inches apart from her face which made her shiver and fall onto the knees.

"Why are you running away from me (y/n)" he said apatheticly his head lowered at her level. She did not reply and stayed quite.

"Is it true that you don't love me after all the things I did for you?" Covering his face with one hand his eyes glowing under the moonlight a look of dejection written on his face. There was complete silence in the forest except the sound of rustling trees.

"Answer me" holding her face now firmly he growled making her flinch under his breath. In one last desperate attempt (y/n) tried to stab douma with a tree branch she found laying on the ground but unfortunately douma was faster and easily dodged the attack and in a swift motion he hit her with immense strength causing her fragile little body to tremble in pain as she coughed mucus mixed with blood.

"How foolish of you" he crouched down her height staring intensely at the quivering figure of the miserable girl. As for (y/n) her body ached but more was the tightness in the chest that she was experiencing in the moment.

He pulled her by the hair roughly making her scream in pain although at this point all she could manage with her cracking voice were inaudible screams.

"Why did you disobey me? (Y/n)..." who knew beneath that friendly kind face was hiding a undeniably deadly and calculative demon and at this point it was clear for her that he was anything but human.

"Who are you?" these few words manage to escape from her shaky lips in between low grunts.

"I am the leader of the eternal paradise cult"

"Wrong" to which he tightened his grip making her shriek again.

"You humans are so dumb believing in the existence of primordial deities where in reality its just a myth, a fairytale, created for pleasuring the sufferings of mere human. Being superior than you mortals I wanted to make these pitiful existence happy and that's why I was born and what you saw there" his lips curved into a cheeky smile revealing his deadly fangs creeping the shit out of the already scared girl. "I eat them so that they can always be with me and attain salvation" a sinister laughter escape from his mouth as he covered it with his golden fans. (Y/n) unable to process the new sets of information knots formed in her stomach making her sick in the guts.

"I ate your mother too, oh she was ungrateful after all the things I did to her just like you" protruding her eyes with pure shock she felt her veins popping out and blood boiling in pure rage.

"You are a monster, you think your stupid morals would persuade people to think like you do, I despise you douma I thought we were friends and you took away the one I cherished the most?"

"You think your mother loved you?" Douma snapped. The duality of this was man was insane, all the things he does or says are plastic.

"She never cared for your life, you want to know why? I will tell you since you insist" douma dragged her out of forest holding a fistful of her hair tightly inflicting great discomfort to the girl while he continued with his harsh statements and deliberate insults.

"You were just a burden, behaving like a fucking child with the alluring body of yours"

"No my mother promised me..she would protect me.. you are lying"

"While you were crying everyday inside my shrine that lowly woman enjoyed her life indulging in adultery with various cult members leaving her sick husband and mentally retarded daughter in the dark" every word he uttered spread vemon into her ears.

"Still she wanted more and more and more, what a greedy whore" douma continued.

"Do you know how much difficult it was for me to control myself around you? While you sway your hips and act innocently making those hungry men lust over you, how much dumb can you be?"

"What do you mean I don't understand.. douma"

"I did everything I can for you yet you remain ungrateful, disrespectful? Well guess its runs in your blood and I thought you are innocent but it turns out that you are just like the rest of them, naive"

Her eyes widened with every hurtful remarks he made about her and she did not understand why she felt that way shouldn't she be resentful towards him for killing her beloved mother but here she is weeping constantly because douma was treating her like he never did before.

"But that's fine (y/n) I can not bring myself to hurt you I love you and we shall always be together whether you like it or not" nothing reached in her ears anymore as her body grew numb. Her eyes shut as she carried the unbearable pain in her heart slowly loosing consciousness and remaining sanity.

It would have been easier if she died but alas a mere human like her is doomed at his mercy.

[skulljackxiii]

Total Dangan Island

Contestant No. 1.5: Izuru Kamukura

History: He came from an unremarkable home with unremarkable parents with a lifestyle that wasn’t either tragic or rewarding, therefore of course a child of this background would be nothing special. Early in his childhood the boy knew this, he knew what he could do and what other people saw him as, so he felt why bother striving for things higher if he was already expected to be average. Despite the boy's content with his life, his parents were quite the opposite, they wanted more from him. This goes beyond just parents wanting their child to have a better future out of love, rather there was more of an underlying sense of greed and envy behind their motive.

Just like their son, they were unremarkable people that came from an ordinary background, but rather accepting who they were, they wanted more. Both of them despised losing, and others even more that were gifted that could achieve things that they couldn’t. They craved acknowledgement and valor more than anything that would make them stand out and could be used to exploit their superiority onto others. But they were not deluded from reality, they knew that they didn't have the capabilities to be rewarded anything. So their next big plan was to have a child, by raising a special child that could accomplish their dreams and more, that would ultimately lead them achieving the biggest reward that any parent would want. In their minds, every parent wanted to have a child that was special or had a unique talent to them that could be used for their own benefits and almost as a desired object that most others could only ever dream of having. But their grand scheme was demolished as soon as their son was born which was just like them, unremarkable.

Years later, both parents refused to accept the truth and persistently forced the boy  to practice, study, and train until they discovered what he was talented at. This was all the boy knew in his home; his face in books, exercising with various weights, and most noticeable of all was the disappointed faces of his parents who consistently berated him with lectures and complaints about him and all his flaws. This routine became so consistent that the boy became numb to it all and just saw it as part of his everyday life.

The boy always questioned why his parents were so desperate and acted the way they did, but he held no resentment towards them or anyone else. Though that didn’t mean that he wanted to uphold what they wanted or held himself in higher regards either. However, that was until he discovered this autobiography by an author that soon became this boy’s idol.

In the book it talks about how the author came from an ordinary and mundane household who was consistently underestimated and belittled by others due to his status and upbringings, but later became someone that could accomplish so much that most men could only dream of. It went onto further details that through his determination, hard work, and wit he was able to pass and overcome all challenges and diversities that came his way, thus discovering that he had innate talents that excelled in many categories. Then finally, it states that in his final moments he wanted to build an institution for young talents and give them opportunities that he was never given when he was younger. After finishing the book, the boy became infatuated with the author and adopted principles that reflected the author’s values. He soon treated the autobiography as his bible and uses it at times to help remind him of the tales of his hero that he wishes to be…”Izuru Kamukaura”.

With a fire lit in him and motivation driven to be like his idol, the boy sat down and seriously studied and trained in order to be the best. With days, weeks, and months pass by, the boy’s effort was unwavering and continued onward without stopping. His parents took notice of his change and their demeanor lightened after taking credit for their son’s sudden growth and change in attitude.

After his nonstop assault with his hard work, he finally saw results and was placed first in every academic category in his grade. Once he saw that, he felt completely different and was overwhelmed with joy after all his hard work paid off, but those feelings were nothing compared to the ones he felt once his parents found out about his results.

Despite knowing them his entire life and seeing them everyday, on that day the boy saw his parents as complete strangers to him once they knew of his achievements. Their mannerism and demeanor changed, and they showered him with praise and love for the first time in that boy’s life. The feeling was unreal to him, it was a warmth inside the boy’s chest that he never felt before in his whole life. As he continued watching his parents continue to embrace him with big bright smiles on their faces, the boy cried tears of joy and let it run down his face like a waterfall. That marked the moment when the boy knew that he wanted to preserve this feeling and maintain his parent’s affections.

As time moved forward and the boy continued his pace, his results remained in the top with no change in its order. Soon not only his parents, but teachers, relatives, and even other parents started showering the boy with praise like, “You’re amazing”, “Other kids should be like you”, “I wish my kid was like you”, and “You’re a role model”. But the praises that the boy would hear often and would stick by him the longest were “You’re so talented” and “You’re such a genius”. Those words struck the boy’s mind and filled him with such pride and confidence since those were the exact same lines used by others to describe his hero. Also the boy’s parents would often brag about their child towards everyone and explained that the boy’s exploits were only possible due to their superior parenting methods. Obviously, arrogant bragging like this would cause strain with other parents and relatives, but they had no room to interject since what they said wasn't entirely wrong. The boy had mixed feelings about what his parents were doing, but in the end he was still happy to see them so energetic and loving towards him.

Though his effort won him the affection of the adults, most of his young peers felt differently. It is because he tries so hard for results and the adults would often compare him to them, other children would feel irritated by his presence alone and start alienating him, even small acts of bullying would occur. But despite all that it didn’t affect the boy that much because he still had some friends left to play with, and his parents explained that those children were acting out due to how jealous they were since they weren’t “talented” or “special” like he was. The boy took all those words he received to heart and used them to help elevate his efforts in achieving his goal of becoming the next “Izuru Kamukura”.

But that wasn't meant to be as the phrase “all good things must come to an end”, rang in the boy’s head once he entered middle school. As soon as the boy set foot in that new school, all his previous achievements and efforts were meaningless once the boy met with real “geniuses” and “talent”, the true elites. His grades and performance kept on falling and falling until he was placed in remedial classes to help him from flunking all his subjects. Just as the boy’s performance dropped, so did everyone’s expectations of him as well. From stares of admiration to glares of disappointment, more and more people started mocking the boy for his wasted effort and even more so towards the parents after years of them bragging of how superior they were for raising such a “talented” son. Once the mockery occurred, the boy’s parents reverted immediately back to the state when the boy was small and younger; cold, disappointed, and full of dismissive complaints. Shocked by the setback, the boy refused to give up and sacrificed any means to get back what he lost. The boy discarded his remaining friends, destroyed his social life, and got rid of any meaningless free-time, all in order to use those remaining times to better himself. Alas nothing changed, the boy’s effort was wasted and not a thing has improved.

Now the boy is back where he started...no, he was in a much worse state than he was before. It’s true that his parents and everyone else around are back to thinking very little of him, but now he was completely alone and he even thinks very little of himself now. After experiencing that warmth from his parents and others, and following the footsteps of someone he admired, the boy can’t help but to feel empty and hatred for himself for not being special or talented. He would start questioning his own worth and see very little value in his own existence. There were times when the boy even thought of ending it all, but he would stop every time when he got these sudden flashes of “Izuru Kamukura” and thought about all the hardships he went through before he could achieve anything. He thanked “Izuru” every time for saving him from himself and giving him the strength to keep it together, but there was this other thought in the back of his mind if it was really right to compare himself to someone like “Izuru Kamukura”. Though he did have to overcome many difficulties, in the end he was actually talented, whereas the boy was not and was just ordinary.

A few years have passed and the boy is now of high school age, he was just another face in the background that had no one by his side. Though the boy didn’t stand out or got in anyone’s way, disdain and mockery still lingered towards him as his old peers still retells the stories about him and his past. With not much to do, all the boy did was get through it all and head straight home. At the end of the day, to no surprise there was no one there, the boy just bolted to his room and got started with his homework. His mind constantly wandered off and dreaded memories of his past, thinking up scenarios of his life where he stood out as “talented” and how content he would be with his life.

One day when the boy was reliving his past, he stumbled upon an online ad that advertised recruitment tryouts for a spinoff show of the infamous series “Total Drama” called “Total Dangan Island”. At first the boy wasn’t interested in the show or the prize since he knew of the show’s predecessor and its dangerous reputation, but there was something that caught the boy’s interest. In the ad it stated that only the top 16 most talented and capable youths of the World would be selected to participate in the contest. At that moment the boy had a sudden flash of realization, if he were to enter and win then everyone in the World, and especially to himself, would have to acknowledge that he truly is talented and special enough in order to beat the best of the best.

Once he finished recording and sending his tape audition, he went on and explained his plan to his parents. Despite the resolve he had for entering the show before, in his mind he was still scared since this show’s predecessor is known to be life threatening and is willing to endanger its participants for ratings by any means. So a part of him was hoping his parents would stop him or warn him that it was too dangerous to go out of concern for him. However they were ecstatic and were ready to pack all his things up, even though he was yet to be even nominated. The chances of him being accepted was between nonexistent to miniscule, the boy begged all his might to be let in.

After months passed by, the boy noticed a strange black and white envelope in his mailbox and tore it open. Upon reading the letter, the boy jumped in celebration as it was a congratulation letter from the show for being a following contestant. After telling the news, the boy’s parents quickly got his things together and was at the door ready to send him off. The boy was overwhelmed with various emotions clashing with one another; from joy, excitement, nervousness, terror, etc., and right before he took another step forward out the door his parents stopped him to say some final words. In the boy’s mind he was hoping to hear the words “We’re so proud of you”, “We love you so much”, or even a “Stay safe”, but all he got was “Make sure you win and get the prize.” After hearing those words, the boy’s emotions calmed down and silently nodded back at his parents in response. The boy then turned forward and walked away, at that point the boy was determined to win at any cost so he could finally put to rest all his fears and doubts and prove to everyone, especially himself, that he is worth at least something.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Bio/Extra Info: (Read Previous Bio) Early on in the competition during one of the first Challenges, Hajime and the rest of his team lost one of its members. They all agreed to scatter to go look for her, but there was no luck. It became hopeless until Hajime finally spotted her in the deepest parts of the island. As he went after and finally caught up to her, he noticed that they were at a strange location that was like a gravesite for dangerous and decaying machinery.

It was the Dump Pit, a junkyard area where all Monokuma's prototypes and rejected ideas were all discarded to rot away (obviously this was all done without Monomi's knowing). As he was about to reach out to her, the ledge that they both stood on crumbled. Once they fell and got closer to the site, they landed on this strangely-colored puddle that was leaking from something that looked like a large battery, some in particular landed on Hajime’s eye, and they were covered by this terrible chemical smell that almost seemed like it devoured any clean air surrounding the area. In a panic, both team members quickly got out of the site and escaped from the forest together without any visible harm done to them. After thoroughly inspecting themselves they found nothing that was wrong, at first.

After a course of a few weeks, Hajime’s eye continuously got worse as it became more bloodshot red and throbbing profusely, in which he could receive massive headaches that would cause him to collapse onto the ground. In that state, all his fears and doubts would loop in his head constantly, then during that he would hear a faint voice telling him something. He could never make out what the voice said and at times when he was about to decipher it, the headaches would stop and so would the voice alongside it.

Then one morning when he woke up, he noticed that all the pain was gone though was surprised when he got to a mirror to check his eye. He saw that the pupil of his left eye had completely turned red, upon the mirror he saw a figure standing behind him in the mirror. In a scared panic, he quickly turned around and asked who the stranger was, but as the stranger answered Hajime instantly recognized the voice as the same one in his head from his headaches. The stranger answered that he was Izuru Kamukura, but Hajime had a hard time believing that since Izuru was long dead and that he looked nothing like him. In fact the stranger actually resembled Hajime who dressed up ruggedly as Izuru Kamukura.

Hajime cautiously reached out to this Izuru, but he phased through him and immediately jumped back away from him. When Hajime asked what he was, Izuru took a pause and thought deeply about that question. After a couple seconds, after analyzing all the clues and data from Hajime’s memories, he concluded that he was a separate persona that was conjured by his psyche. As Hajime was dumbstruck to the possibility, Izuru continued theorizing that after being exposed to all that chemical waste has created this strainful chemical imbalance in his brain. The area that was mostly affected was amygdala, which controls fear and anxieties, thus causing all those serious headaches he had up until now.

In order to answer and compensate for all his doubts and anxiety, his psyche has created a whole new personality that embodied all his desires and wishes, thus creating this Izuru Kamukura that stood in front of him. After the explanation, Hajime was taken aback and shocked by what he heard. After that’s been done and over, now all that’s left is for Hajime to decide what he’s going to do with his whole new roommate in his head.

(Hajime’s) Goal: (Read Previous Goal) Same as before.

(Izuru’s) Goal: He is indifferent, he doesn’t care about the game, prize, or anything of that matter. He only acts or takes control over the body only when Hajime requests his help or allows it. Izuru could process images in an instant, has access to 100 percent of his brain, and was in complete control of every single strand of tissue that composed his body. Until Hajime calls for him, he’ll just stand on the side and watch him go through huddles and other challenges. Since Izuru views himself as a perfect being that could do no wrong, which makes his existence boring and meaningless, he finds watching others struggle to achieve their goals, despite their flaws and imperfections, a bit intriguing and entertaining.

[jessiebanethedragon]

White Sands Warm the Cold Sea

Star Wars, The Bad Batch Pirate!au (Hunter x Reader

Summary: the reader, betrothed to a disgusting Coruscanti Lord flees her home world and lands herself in a plethora of trouble, a ship of clones, and one pirate captain whose cold exterior needs much more than the tropical seaside sun.

Warnings: Swearing, takes place in time periods where women have dowery's and suchlike. The readers dad and bothered are asses.

chapter one

Chapter two: The Stowaway

It is a disgusting day on Coruscant. Hot, humid and you can’t help but feel something sinister in the air. You feel hollow, and it is only partly due to the tightness of your dress. The yellow and green material wraps around you in layers. Your face is blank but your mind is racing, if you cannot convince your father to call off the marriage, how else can you put a stop to this?

Very few people talk about the war, and so how Lord Nython made his fortune is a mystery to you. What you have gathered from whispers of those in your household it was through a lengthy siege that devastated republic and seperatist forces alike.

“And the weather today is perfect for sailing, I bet those ships at the docks will be itching to set off.” Your handmaiden Seil says to you, and you frown, since when did she have an interest in the docks. But she continues playing with your hair.

“I'll get you the most expensive jewelry in the house,” She says with a smile you’ve grown up with. Perhaps carer was a more accurate term, considering she seemed to be the only person in the world that wanted the best for you. She returns with a pouch of all kinds of gold, silver and gems.

“There is a way to the docks, it is so lovely for a stroll. Away from the busy streets and such like.” You frown at her obsession with an area crawling with pirates.

“Seil what in the name-” You start saying, turning around to slip your flats on. And you stop, in her hands are your boots, made for riding as you had done so many times before.

“I thought these would be fitting, as they are your favourite.” She’s talking about all the times you told her how much you love how sturdy they feel around your feet. And how when you would run the fields, how powerful they made your legs feel.

And then it clicks. The docks, the boots. The tears in her eyes. While you were planning on an escape from this marriage, Seil had been planning an escape from every marriage your father would force on you. She ties the boots tightly, and places a hand on your cheek as you both take shaking breaths to compose yourselves.

And with your father still passed out in bed, and the sun barely rising, you slip into the streets and into the areas less traveled, sprinting off towards the ocean.

The docks are infused with the smell of fish, and the workers barely turn a glance your way as you shift through the swarms of people. You come to a halt at a clearing in the crowd, and your brain catches up with itself. What are you going to do now? With no money, skills, or plan, you begin to second guess yourself. You have time to make it back to the household with no one being the wiser. But you remember meeting Lord Nython for the first time.

His hand latched to yours like a monster squid to its prey, you notice that unlike some men he doesn’t ask ‘may I’ before touching you, and you briefly wonder what about you invites his hand onto your own. But your fake smile remains plastered on as he looks you up and down like a farmer regards the sale of livestock.

Your gut had told you then that all he could bring you was bad news, confirmed by rumors and stories of his wartime expeditions, and when he told you about the war, and the pathetic Grand Army of the Republic he spared no detail in his murder of an entire army.

Of course it's not the same as killing someone like you or me, those kaminoans are devils, and those freaks are just the same. Like hunting the same dumb peigion over and over again. We surely must have downed hundreds of them that day, but they are rats you see, you have to kill every last one in order to rid yourself of the infestation.

Education had not taught you about the Kamino Clones, but experience had, every sepratist man who held power despised them. ‘Scum of the earth’ your father had said when you asked about them. Telling you they had their emotions removed, and blindly followed orders given by the highest bidder. And when the G.A.R had fallen, they scuttled into exile.

And now you stand on the docks of Coruscant, two paths in front of you. Surely if you left Nyhon would send someone after you, he never seemed to back away from a fight, and given his reputation for always getting what he wanted, you doubted he’d take to your absence kindly. So that left you with leaving the only home you’d ever known, and given that you cannot sail, nor pay for passage, stowing away was your only option.

You briefly wonder about the procedure of stowing away, does one pick a certain ship or choose at random?

“Can I help you miss?” A Togruta man asks you, only his blue face visible from underneath his hood and cloak, but the markings give him away, as well as the point in the fabric over his head.

“I...I…” you pause to gather yourself. “I’m fine, thank you.” and you quickly turn away from him, walking down the docks at a purposeful pace. There are so many ships all looking to either load or unload supplies, but none of them seem to be leaving shortly. You need escape now, and not later. The longer you dwell the more the bad feeling in your stomach grows. You must lose yourself again because before you know it a man is rushing past you and shouting

“Sorry miss!” as he goes, you catch the clanking of metal and a glimpse of eyeglasses as he disappears up the ramp of a large dark oak ship, the name Havoc Marauder painted in red at the back.

Perhaps you have found your escape after all.

You very quickly decide the ocean is terrifying. After having snuck up the ramp and into the depths of the ship, you found yourself in your current spot. Huddled behind stacks of crates sitting on the wooden floor and being violently rocked around as the water crashes into the side from all sides. More than once you’ve had to close your eyes in panic when something particularly bad happens, but you refuse to appear weak - even if you’re the only person to witness it.

And the footsteps, even though the men seldom come below decks but you can hear them step ferociously above you. They sound like an army and considering you didn’t get a good look at any of them, you had no idea how many people you were hiding from. They’re loud, and kept busy by the Sea, you have no idea where you’re headed, but as long as it’s far, far away from Coruscant you couldn’t care less. And there are no windows here, so you have no idea how long you’ve been traveling for.

Footsteps start to make their way to the set of stairs leading down into your hiding spot, the small nook of the ship that resides in the belly of the beast. The steps you hear aren't as heavy as others, but they seem to keep most of their weight on their toes, you never quite hear their heel make contact against the wood. And you press yourself tighter to the wall, a tall frame passes you by, lean and with ashen hair the man halls a crate away from the other end of the room, and turns to leave. Your panicked eyes can do nothing but stare back at him through the gaps in the boxes, and they watch him squint for a moment, before he turns and heads back up the stairs. Crate in hand, and your heart in your chest. He cannot have seen you, if he had, why turn away? Panic consumes you.

☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠

“Sarge,” Crosshair says, thumping the crate of bread and dried meat down in front of him. Hunter simply raises an eyebrow at his vod, and it confirms Crosshair's hypothesis. The captain is in one of his moods again, when shaking off the nightmares is impossible and the hate inside him grows and simmers at fantastical measures.

“There’s a woman on board.” He tells him, casually popping a pick into his mouth. And watching as Tech’s and Wrecker’s heads snap up.

“A woman?” Tech asks with judgement. Crosshair rolls his eyes.

“Yes a woman, you know, the things that look almost like you except for their b-”

“I know what a woman is!” Tech cuts him off before things get graphic. His brother never having the politeness nor the decency to hold his tongue.

“There’s a woman aboard the Murader?” Wrecker tries to confirm, and underneath his wide captains hat, Hunter’s eyes darken.

“Listen very carefully.” He growls, the midday sun shining its way onto an unforgiving face. “If there is a stowaway. I do not care if you have to drag her to me with her intestines hanging out. Get. Her. Off. My. Ship.”

“But…” Wrecker starts, taken aback by the aggressive imagery.

“But what?” Hunter snaps, standing up and seeming small compared to his brother, but nonetheless intimidating. “I want her found and I want her off my kriffing ship.” He demands one last time before stalking back to the captains quarters.

Below deck you hear the slamming of a heavy wooden door, the sound makes your skin jump crawl with dread. Something has gone very wrong indeed, and it is not long before you see boots standing at the top of the steps down into the hold where you thought you were hidden. It is difficult to tell how many, two for certain, the change in foot size tells you that much. None of them talk, making it even harder for you to mask your panicked breaths. But just as one foot begins to descend the stairs, a voice from afar distracts it.

“Ship off the starboard bow!” it’s enough to get the men turning away from your concealment, and towards the voice.

“What does she fly?” Another voice shouts, much closer to you.

“Looks Weequay to me!” comes the response, which causes someone else to grumble something about eyesight and crowsnest. Frankly it’s all gibberish to you, starboard could be another hyper-ocean speedway let alone a part of the ship, and while you are sure you’ve heard the term Weequay before, you can’t place where or in what context you heard it. Laughter breaks you from your thoughts.

“That’ll be Hondo’s ship then!” A loud shout settles in your bones. Not one in anger but perhaps more so simple loudness. And whoever or whatever a Hondo is, it is enough to carry the shoes away from you and rush to another, more pressing task. Which makes you think you just may owe this Hondo your life.

Taglist: @the-mandalorian-clone-lover @peacefulwizardfox @rex-meshla @s1st37 @and-claudia @kamino-mermaid @thelambandthewolffe @starwarsmeninhelmets

@bronvin @myeternalsin @sweetsunflowerkisses

comment to be added!

[ibijau]

Jin Rusong Lives pt12 / On AO3

Nie Huaisang discovers that it's not easy to kiss a pretty man when you have a job to do

When he was very young, a year or so after the death of their father, Nie Huaisang had wondered about his brother being single. Since he’d personally been something of a brat, and none too impressed with the changes that circumstances had forced upon his brother, he had come to the conclusion that Nie Mingjue just wasn’t nice enough for anyone to like him that way. 

Nie Huaisang, moved by pity, had promised his brother that he would stay with him all his life, but only if Nie Mingjue never made him attend sabre practice again. His noble sacrifice had been met with indifference, and Nie Mingjue had just sent him to train anyway, proving that he definitely was the hardest, coldest, least lovable person in the world, and deserved to be single.

Some years later, Nie Huaisang had once more wondered why his brother was yet unmarried. At that time, he had been mostly concerned by the fact that made him heir to Qinghe Nie’s leadership, a most horrible realisation to have when he only wished to enjoy his time in Gusu, kiss pretty people, and never learn a single thing in his life. 

He had at that time befriended Jiang Cheng, whose views on love and marriage were entirely unlike what Nie Huaisang felt himself. And then, there had also been that list of popular young bachelors. The second proved that Nie Mingjue was desirable, while the first offered the consideration that not everyone longed for a partner. Nie Huaisang had tried to accept his brother the way he accepted his friend, though it annoyed him that he'd have to be the one producing an heir. He’d already started taking notice of Lan Xichen around then, and no girl in the world could have been even half as beautiful.

Later still, after the Sunshot Campaign, Nie Huaisang once again reconsidered his opinion regarding Nie Mingjue’s situation. His brother wasn't quite as cold as he pretended, and it happened sometimes that he would let his gaze linger on a pretty girl, though never long enough to be noticed. Some of those girls would have made fine mistresses for the Unclean Realm, and could have given Nie Mingjue the heir which would ensure Nie Huaisang would never have to be sect leader. 

But as Nie Mingjue's temper deteriorated in the years leading to his death, after witnessing the violence with which he lost his life, the same violence their father had shown in his last moments, Nie Huaisang formed a new theory; if Nie Mingjue had never married, it was because he was scared of hurting others. 

For a decade, Nie Huaisang satisfied himself with that theory. It went well with the image he had of his brother, noble and self sacrificing. It also helped rekindle his hatred of Jin Guangyao by reminding him that it was his actions that had robbed Nie Mingjue of the loving family he deserved. But the truth, Nie Huaisang was now realising, might have been more simple than that.

It was just so damn complicated to have a sentimental life as a sect leader, and even more so while raising a child. 

Little Jin Rusong, bless him, was the sweetest child in the world, polite, obedient, affectionate. Considering how difficult his presence made things, Nie Huaisang felt immense sympathy for his late brother, who'd had to deal with a hellspawn like himself. Nie Mingjue might have thought that his little brother would embarrass him or throw a fit out of jealousy if he tried to flirt with anyone… and Nie Huaisang couldn't deny he would have taken great joy in doing just that. 

At least, Jin Rusong meant no harm when he'd cried out just as Nie Huaisang, after a decade of hopelessness, was about to be kissed again by the man he loved. With the rough evening he'd had, the little boy also couldn't be blamed for being worried about falling asleep alone, so that had ended any chance for Nie Huaisang to have more time with Lan Xichen right then. 

In the morning, Nie Huaisang had the pleasant surprise of seeing Lan Xichen enter the room at the same time as the servant who brought breakfast. Although they usually dined together these days, to spend breakfast together was entirely new. 

"I have been awake for a while," Lan Xichen explained before Nie Huaisang could ask a single question. "Even here I usually follow our rules and…" 

He trailed off, a touch of red blooming on his cheeks as he stared a moment at Nie Huaisang, before promptly averting his eyes. Perhaps he remembered that he’d boldly offered to break some of those rules only the night before. Nie Huaisang certainly hadn’t forgotten.

"I was awake and thought I'd come see you," Lan Xichen quickly finished. "I hope you don't mind?" 

"I'm always happy to have you in my room," Nie Huaisang retorted, delighted to see the other man's blush deepen. He'd missed flirting. It had been a long while since he'd done that, and he felt rusty, but he was sure Lan Xichen would be forgiving. 

The three of them sat down for breakfast. Nie Huaisang, quite innocently, tried to sit next to Lan Xichen rather than Jin Rusong, but the child protested against that, saying he wanted to be sitting close to Lan Xichen. He then proceeded to also monopolise the conversation, clearly delighted to have both of his uncles at his disposal. Both men still attempted to flirt a little, but eventually had to give up and settle for exchanging fond looks over the table.

When breakfast was over, Nie Huaisang helped Jin Rusong get dressed and ready for his day while Lan Xichen watched. They all three went to the classroom, and as they walked Lan Xichen stood a little too close, causing his hand to brush against Nie Huaisang every so often. At least, he did so until Jin Rusong grabbed both their hands, seeming in an excellent mood that morning and determined to enjoy both his uncles at once.

When Jin Rusong had been handed to his teacher, there was a brief moment of awkwardness. Nie Huaisang stood silent near the classroom door, suddenly as nervous as a teenager with a crush. His only comfort was to see Lan Xichen equally anxious.

“Would you like to go for a walk?” Lan Xichen suggested. “We could…” he hesitated, pink dusting his face, and finished miserably: “we could walk.”

“I’d love to walk,” Nie Huaisang replied with too much eagerness.

Lan Xichen smiled, looking more shy and uncertain than he’d done the previous night. Nie Huaisang also found it harder to think about renewing their old connection, now that it was light around them. Without darkness to soften the world around them, he could remember every reason he’d given ten years earlier to argue against their little romance, every fear of a political disaster, of blackmail if they were discovered, of losing the last true friend he had. And yet even like that, Nie Huaisang knew he could not resist his feelings, not this time.

He was tired of denying himself the things he wanted, he thought as he reached out to take Lan Xichen’s hand.

And that was when Nie Funyu found them, and scolded Nie Huaisang for forgetting that he’d agreed to see a local magistrate that morning about a series of mysterious disappearances in a nearby town. The magistrate in question had been waiting for a while already, and was quite unhappy about it. Nie Huaisang had no choice but to follow his first disciple, and could not even offer Lan Xichen a chance for a lunch together, as it had already been agreed he would eat with that magistrate.

“Duty comes first,” Lan Xichen said with a thin smile that lacked its usual warmth.

It was a comfort, Nie Huaisang supposed, to know that he wasn’t the only one irritated by this unexpected interruption.

The meeting with that magistrate went well. Once the situation was explained, Nie Huaisang offered different ways to deal with it, so that some important people who appeared involved would not be offended if they were innocent, nor allowed a chance to escape he’d they’d done something nefarious. The magistrate appeared satisfied by the solution offered, as well as by the meal. Sadly, the man was of a curious nature, and hinted very strongly that he would like to be given a tour of the Unclean Realm, admitting he was fascinated with cultivation, though lacking any talent himself. 

Nie Huaisang had no choice but to show him around. This, in turn, meant that the amount of work he would normally have done during the afternoon piled up. Even when the magistrate had left, Nie Huaisang found himself busy with correspondence, before having to give some lessons to the juniors, as Nie Funyu occasionally insisted he did, “so the little ones know who you are, zongzhu”.

Then some other business came up, so that by the time Nie Huaisang was finally free to join Lan Xichen and Jin Rusong for dinner, they were almost done eating and he was exhausted. Even if he’d still had the energy to think of flirting, Jin Rusong happened to be in a chatty and joyful mood, demanding to play, and Nie Huaisang had to oblige until both of them were too sleepy to go on. Lan Xichen was very graceful about it, and offered to keep Jin Rusong for the night so that Nie Huaisang had a chance to sleep more deeply.

The offer was immediately taken, and Nie Huaisang stumbled back to his room where he dropped on his bed half dressed, too tired to bother with clothes.

The following day showed promises of more contradictions to Nie Huaisang’s plans. While he would have wanted to finally continue his conversation with Lan Xichen, as soon as he was done with his breakfast, some juniors came to find him to complain about a problem they were having. Someone’s cousin had said something about someone else’s fiancée, who happened to be close friends with the young master of a small sect who now threatened everyone with a duel. 

It was only a small dispute, but Nie Huaisang had seen what happened to arguments allowed to fester, so he gave the situation his full attention and wrote right away to some of the people concerned in an attempt to make everyone calm down. But then, since he had gone to his office to write those letters, Nie Funyu found him there and took the chance to make him review some bills that he thought were not quite right.

It was nearly noon when Lan Xichen knocked on the door of Nie Huaisang’s office. He appeared slightly disappointed to find that Nie Huaisang was not alone, which Nie Huaisang thought funny. Nie Funyu did not share his amusement, and his mood turned sour when Lan Xichen asked if he might keep them company. Nie Huaisang promptly agreed, which annoyed his first disciple. It would take a while until Nie Funyu no longer resented Lan Xichen for his former friendship with Jin Guangyao, but he would have to get over it. Nie Huaisang intended to keep Lan Xichen in his life.

He just wished they could have half a shichen to themselves to decide how to make that work.

An impossible wish, it seemed.

Still, at long last, lunch time came to free Nie Huaisang from his work. Not only that, but he knew that Nie Funyu was teaching all afternoon, meaning it would be that much easier to avoid work for a little while. 

Lunch was unmemorable. Some elders insisted that Nie Huaisang and Lan Xichen eat with them, complaining that their sect leader had neglected them lately. It was not entirely untrue, but Nie Huaisang wished he could have neglected those elders today too. It wasn't even possible to chat with Lan Xichen in such company, though since they were sitting next to each other, their hands accidentally touched frequently. 

After they were done eating, Nie Huaisang promptly asked Lan Xichen if he would mind checking something with him in his quarter. Just as quickly, Lan Xichen agreed, and they both walked there a little more quickly than was dignified for two sect leaders, worried about more interruptions. 

There were none. Nobody stopped them on their way to Nie Huaisang’s quarters, and they were allowed to finally be alone together again. Nie Huaisang felt like a mischievous teenager trying to escape parental supervision to get naughty with their crush. He found that he quite enjoyed that. He hadn’t felt this young in years.

"I'm glad you're taking your duties more seriously, but surely your sect can function without you sometimes," Lan Xichen said as they closed the door behind them.

His voice warried with such petulance that Nie Huaisang almost laughed. 

"Xichen, were you getting impatient maybe?" came the teasing answer. 

A slight frown appeared on Lan Xichen's face, before he stepped closer and took Nie Huaisang’s hand. 

"Yes, I was." 

He said it so simply, as if it were evident. Perhaps it was, after having waited so many years for this. Nie Huaisang was hardly any better. Patience had been his main quality for a while, but now he was tired of waiting.

"Well, we're here now," he said, breathless. "I'm all yours, Lan Huan." 

Lan Xichen shivered at the use of that name, a first between them, and squeezed Nie Huaisang’s hand, with a tender smile on his lips. 

That smile disappeared when there was a knock on the door and Lan Xichen glared at it. Nie Huaisang felt just as disappointed, but was starting to find some humour in the situation. He almost laughed as he freed his hand from Lan Xichen's. 

Nie Mingjue was well avenged for every bit of trouble his brother had caused him. 

“Come in,” Nie Huaisang ordered. “Oh. Jin Yixin, is there a problem?”

Jin Yixin came into the room and bowed with cold elegance, while at her side Jin Rusong tried to copy her posture. He looked very serious, the way he always did around Jin Yixin, clearly trying to impress his teacher and prove that he was a worthy student.

“I come to Nie zongzhu to make a request,” she said. “Some of the concepts I’m trying to explain to the young master would profit from outdoor demonstrations. I was hoping you would allow me to take him outside of the Unclean Realm? I’ve tried using the gardens to make my point, but they are too touched by human minds and it does not work.”

The request made Nie Huaisang frown. 

It was nothing particularly strange, Nie teachers also took the younger juniors past the walls of the Unclean Realm sometimes, just for a shichen, to show something about… energies? It might have to do with energies. Nie Huaisang hadn’t paid attention as a child, and he still struggled with some of those concepts as an adult. What he understood, though, was that those concepts were important to cultivate in a solid, healthy manner, and he didn’t want to deprive Jin Rusong of a chance to learn well.

“Where would you go? And when?”

“There is a little field behind the Unclean Realm that’s uncultivated, and well within your borders,” Jin Yixin explained. “I was thinking of going there. Perhaps this afternoon? Of course it can wait if you’d rather check the place yourself first.”

“No, I think I see what you mean,” Nie Huaisang replied. “I used to go there sometimes to admire the view of the mountains, and to watch the birds that live around. I suppose there’s no harm…”

He hesitated. The idea of letting Jin Rusong leave the Unclean Realm, however briefly, however well accompanied, was deeply unpleasant. At the same time, a little field trip like that was likely to tire out the child, and if he could be convinced to go to sleep early…

They wouldn’t be going very far, he thought, and Jin Yixin came with the approval of both Jin Rulan and Jiang Wanyin. Nie Funyu, who had seen her train and even got to spar with her once, also vouched for her being a very strong cultivator. She’d taken part in the Sunshot Campaign even. Clearly she was someone who could be trusted with Jin Rusong’s safety.

“Take some of my disciples with you,” Nie Huaisang ordered. “And take some distress signals too. I don’t think Qinghe Nie’s reputation has fallen so low that anyone would dare to cause trouble so close to the Unclean Realm, but let’s take every precaution. SongSong, you will be very good and listen to your teacher, won’t you?”

The little boy enthusiastically promised, and was still grinning when Jin Yixin and him left the room to go find some people who might accompany them.

As soon as the door closed, Lan Xichen pressed Nie Huaisang against the nearest wall and kissed him, unwilling to risk any further delay. After a brief moment of surprise, Nie Huaisang wrapped his arms around the other man’s waist and pulled him closer, melting into the kiss.

It felt nothing like that miserable kiss they’d exchanged on the day of Nie Mingjue’s funeral. Back then it had felt like a farewell between them, while now Nie Huaisang could hope there would be more of this in the future. Lan Xichen’s passion in kissing him, the way their bodies were pressed together, certainly promised more.

They kissed against the wall for a while, impatiently clinging to each other. Then Lan Xichen, always so clever, suggested that there was a sofa right there, which might be more comfortable than to remain standing. Nie Huaisang felt tempted to point out that if comfort was an issue, his bed wasn’t very far either, and it would be even more comfortable. But the sofa was closer, and there was no urgency. They had found each other again at last, and had the rest of their lives to explore all they could want from that.

Although they’d started sitting on the sofa, before too long they were lying on it, Nie Huaisang straddling Lan Xichen, kissing him more slowly now as they allowed their hands to wander, enjoying accidental brushes of skin on skin, but making no effort to discard their layers of clothing. There was no rush, not now that they had each other, and Nie Huaisang thought he could have happily spent the rest of his life like this, nestled on a sofa with the man he loved, lazily kissing him.

Time passed around them without their notice, until a knock on the door forced them to return again to the world around them.

Nie Huaisang’s first thought was that he had to be cursed to never enjoy a single moment of peace. Then, noticing how the shadows had grown longer, he realised with some embarrassment that they’d been together like that for a long while, and it wasn’t so surprising that someone should be needing him for something or other. He tried to get up, only for Lan Xichen to hold him by the hips, keeping him in place. Nie Huaisang almost laughed, and seeing how handsome Lan Xichen was like this, flushed and with his lips so red, he couldn’t resist leaning for one more kiss.

Another knock on the door, insistent enough to make it shake, put an end to that. Nie Huaisang, surprised by such urgency, stood up. Lan Xichen did not stop him again, looking puzzled as well, and followed him when he went to open the door, both of them trying to put order to their appearance. 

One of his disciples was on the other side, looking distraught and breathless from running. 

“Nie zongzhu, there’s a problem,” he explained, speaking so fast it made him hard to understand. “The men who went with Jin Yixin and Jin xiao-gongzi have returned. They’ve been beaten up, they say they were ambushed and attacked.”

“What?” Nie Huaisang gasped, so shocked he had to support himself against the doorframe. “How…" A thought crossed his mind, and he grabbed the man's collar. "Where's Rusong?”

The man shook his head.

“Zonghzhu, he’s been taken.”

[starshipsofstarlord]

remember my name

steve rogers x ronin!reader / masterlist

summary; five years is a long time, but now there is hope of returning those that turned to ashes to the reality. as a former member of the avengers, steve sets out to find you, finally seeing what you had become / warnings; death, angst, murder, mentions of sex, smut, flashback, captain kink

blood, it ran like a serpent on the cement, curving its red spine to elaborate the cracks in the ground. steve watched with distaste on the street, his patriotic orbs following after the crimson lines, watching lewdly as they met with the hood’s feet.

steve’s expression was one of exasperation, concurred in a waver of disgruntled shock. there were remnants of the kill dripping from blade, descending to the ground. once, the weapon had been used to allege a fight for a good cause. oh, how times had changed.

now it was served a purpose to subdue execution, slicing the air ways of men that deserved no more than have been turned to dust along with their previous victims. now, they could disdain no more damage onto society, their numbers were dwindling, as each was taken down, with the retribution of their loyal followers.

his blue eyes were given no option to look away, not as the inflicting murderess dropped her hood, revealing her face; it was you. the rain spattered the street, clinging your follicles to the surface of your face, it had gotten longer since the last time he had seen you, the parting of one side of your head was shaved, it was a modern style, and well, different than what he had been used to.

“y/n...” it felt as though he were uttering a stranger’s name, it had been half a decade since he had last witnessed your presence, after everyone had vanished, you had ventured off, taking the lives of many as you attempted to move on and satiate in your sorrow.

“it’s been a long time steve.” you smiled, as you watched his blond locks drown in the weather, though, he paid no mind. his eyes were locked upon you, his pupils dilated as he studied every difference to your exterior. you appeared a little older, as was a given, there were dark circles bothering the ponds of your under eyes, stating that you still struggled with nightmares after you had lost the battle.

“for you too, as i can see.” he sadly smiled, watching intently as you put the katana back into its slip, stepping inherently closer as he grasped your cheek, noticing how you tried to turn out of his grip. he didn’t allow you that luxury, he held your face steady as he nervously panted. “why did you leave, and do this as an alternative of all things?”

“avenging is no longer an accomplishment, we lost, and this way, i am abolishing the bad guys before they get their rise to global terror. don’t you understand?”

“no, i didn’t mean the compound, i meant that night.” even him mentioning it had you freezing up, aware of what he was promoting at. “we had our moment, and you disappeared, you weren’t there in the morning; i needed you, and i thought you needed me too.”

“who i was back the did, she really needed you, but she’s gone. she had to go, if she hadn’t, then she wouldn’t have survived the aftermath. now why are you here rogers?” your tone was stiff, demanding an answer.

“steve.” his name was a safe haven on your lips, he laid atop of you, his beard brushing the sides along your neck as he planted sloppy kisses upon your delicate skin. fighting against thanos and all his force had essentially been a failure, people, your friends, had obliterated into piles of ash, blowing away whence the wakandan wind ushered by, like a whisper in the air.

the captain rutted his hips, as the pair of you laid in a combination of explorative limbs on your bed within the compound, sufficing sounds of pleasure withering out of your lips. he too needed to release some steam, using your body and it’s warm grip, as you did the same in turn.

there was pain lurking in the depths of your emotion conjuring eyes, reflecting in his blue orbs, as he opened them, glancing at your face to fuel his movements of anticipating release. “i’m close captain, don’t stop.” he brought his hard working hand down, fiddling with your sensitive nub between his fingers, coercing you into spiralling over the edge.

he himself didn’t last much longer, grunts of emphasised endorsement radiating off his chest, as he placed a heavy and heated kiss upon your poised lips. a ground shaking tending of his shoulders indicated that he was stiffening up, getting close to relieving himself, and the stress that harboured his shield of a heart.

he had been through so much already, same as you, and thus when he rolled off of you, he brought your body to lay against his chest, raking his fingers through your hair, planting a tender kiss upon your forehead.

“we’ll get them back darling.” he promised you, as you all relished in the company of one another, some more than others, as you waited to hear something, anything, from tony, wherever the hell he was in the abyss above. it was a promise of steve’s part, but as time went on, it became doll.

like an old movie, it lost it’s future optimism, disappearing into a blithering of new coming titles, fawning you into remembering all their names, and how you would never see them again. they were all gone, your family vanished, and there was nothing that could be done.

it was a long shot, but it was the best chance that they had been handed. scott had informed them of quantum physics, and how it protected him from the blip and all its pain; time worked differently in the realm that he had delved into, and it gave them hope.

not to mention, they had yet to see tony, and make his mind revisit the prospect of reversing the affects of the infinity gauntlet, and thanos’ thu’um. and if steve managed to bring you aboard their hopefulness, he would take you with them, and show you the cabin that tony resided in.

it would be his way of informing you that you could have it all, the life that you wanted. a home, where you would no longer have to run, finding shelter and attacking the enemy from dark corners, preying on them like a predator, disguising yourself in a black attire, so that you could blend into the deadly atmosphere almost undetected.

and not to mention, the marriage and the kid. they were things that you had sworn off, revelling in the life of a skilled mercenary, never wanting to ever endanger loved ones in that way, knowing the wrath that your job and potential could cause.

“we have a chance to set things straight.” he responded, noticing how you had stepped away from his hand, and instead focused all your senses into listening to him. “there is a way to bring them all back.” a chortled laugh echoed off your chest, as you crossed your arms over your chest.

“if there was, we would have found it years ago, don’t give me hope where there is none.” you insisted, the emotion straining through your words. “that night, i left all reminders behind, don’t return them to my brain when i am finally able to comprehend what i need to do.”

“what you need to do y/n is have a little faith, you trust me, don’t you?” a moment of silence enveloped the two of you, the falling of the rain filling in the tense air, as steve continued to reprimand your agenda. “i know you do, so, so come home.”

the avengers compound; home. “tell me it will work steve, i can’t lose them again, not again. false efficiency concerning this will only make it hurt once more, possibly worst than the first, where i saw their bodies descend into nothing more than specks.”

“it has to.” those words were the same thing that he had been telling himself. “and if not, we’ll have each other to lean on again, i know it’s not much but-“

“it’s enough.” you finished for him, a pained smile expressive on your complexion. “because this time, i am really going to need you, i will become who i was once more. and if i crumble, i am going to need you to be there for me, to catch you when i fall, and most probably if we do get them back. i still feel overwhelmed about everything, and thus all that bothers my mind is images of you.”

how you wished he had stayed, but alas he had to go back in time, and unite with peggy, alternately allowing you to spiral. it made you regret, only partially of course on a somewhat selfish scale, ever continuing on with the due path. whilst you had gained your family back, you had lost one vastly import member.

you’d remember his name, for good and bad. he had hurt you, but helped you altogether, reminding you of your duty once more, that was avenging. a part of you wished that you had never left him that night, maybe then, his actions would have been different, and he’d have stayed, but again, it was only a theory, something you could never be certain of.

[sanghyukstattoos]

City of Major

Summary: Major Yoo Taeyang makes every excuse he can to see you, he likes you but unknowingly, he has also fallen into a plan intricately crafted by you and Captain Kim Youngkyun

Genre: Mystery au? [Warnings: descriptions of anxiety (fear of death; recurrent traumatic memories and cues for them to resurface whether verbal or situational; repulsion towards an individual concerning sex + the individual's involvement in a sexual crime but not the principle offender), mentions of guns, death (murder and death of another team, many witnesses), sexual assault (also referred to as rape) and physical assault (refers to the physical assault as a punishment, implications of reinforcing hierarchy in a derogatory manner) references to being dispatched in the military, result of civil wars/indirect reference to poverty]; Fluff-flu; smut (so brief that if you blink, you'll miss it)

Characters: Yoo Taeyang x reader x Hwiyoung I Kim Youngkyun

A/N: None of the images in the collage are mine, refer to here for more; For more SF9, read here, for iKON, read here and for optional bias writings, read here

As he steps outside the building and slips past the guard, the cool air becomes his. He adorns a striped shirt with subtle colours so that he does not stand out particularly in the dark, except for the occasional illumination by the streetlights over- head. His steps are light, careful not to alert the two people ahead, in this case, he makes sure to tread lightly. One eye is out on his surroundings, for stray animals or motorbikes. A third carefully watches him from the back, smiling at the unknown.

There's nothing in sight, at least for the next metre or so. Youngkyun's first time following a pair just so happens to be the two of you. One of the two is Major Yoo Taeyang, not forever defined by his numerous accomplishments but by his dutiful services to the military. The second of the two is you, never sought-after despite your unlawfulness, but penned by your achievements towards the community.

Now that Youngkyun's been drafted to this base- coincidental occurrences, not anything that either he or the Major would wish for, he can tell the truth. Some people will believe him like the higher-ups who have let their doubts about the Major's reports fester for months but wave at him when they see him. Ruthless killer. Others will doubt but come around. There's nothing Youngkyun can do now, but sit and wait on his pot of gold.

For every moment that he remains in the proximity of a place that worships an individual such as the Major, Youngkyun is reminded, very frequently of what he had to undergo whilst he was taking orders from him. He's close when you and the Major pause, right in the middle of the street as if you have done this many times before, automatically, with no fear of being interrupted. Then again, it is the place itself. It is deserted for miles with boundless high-rise buildings. Youngkyun slips into a dark corner, watching you from there. It's the side entrance to one of the buildings, two staircases to navigate in the dark.

Your safety has been on his mind since the first time you've been involved, with him, in this plan. Except him, everyone is in the right place. He is supposed to be in bed, snoring to the lull of soothing dreams. But when he remembered what was occurring today, his eyes snapped open with a blurry view of his ceiling. Half asleep and just like that, he got out of his bed and dressed in a hurry, not bothering to question the rationality of his actions.

His eyes squint to make out the figures, looking away when they meet, connecting their lips in the dark of the night. They pull apart and exchange something, most likely words of affirmation. Guiltily, he begins to move when they do. He pulls back, slithering back into the unlit corner. Further down, away from the figures, close to Youngkyun, he sees an automatic light perk on from the corner of his eyes. There are no alleyways either. So, there is someone else behind him.

Youngkyun sighs, he can't move unless whoever's following him does. He looks both ways, making sure that he doesn't lose the direction you headed in or get caught in a two-way intersection with the person behind him. Ahead is an alleyway, narrow and enclosed by two large green bins with black tops. Youngkyun makes a run for them. He looks behind as he runs, twice turning his head in caution before slipping into the small space.

He sighs when he gets there, he's locked. The bins are against the wall and he's standing in between them. It feels like he's floating, an obvious interpretation because although little light catches his figure, anybody could see him. 'I'm not great at this'., he thinks, racking his head for a solution. The figures now disappear out of sight. Not being able to crouch or look past the wall, he turns his attention to the figure that was following him.

You've left, he sighs. He also takes two steps back, quickly, out of extreme caution, instinctively raising his hands. A figure clutches the gun with both their hands, pointing it at his face. Their posture is relaxed, far from the average- not bent at the knees or directing a glare at Youngkyun. There's real fear that fills his system, freezing his legs to the ground and hands at the side, unable to reach for his gun. A hand pats his trousers and it's taken away.

The fear is much more prominent now, clutching Youngkyun's throat, squeezing it. It's more of a tug than a squeeze. A figure, enshrouded in black emerges from behind, swaying a little as it makes its way to oblivious Youngkyun. It presses into the tufts of his hair and touches the scalp. ''Don't move'' a scruffy voice says from behind him, walking to the front where Youngkyun can see him. The figure that made himself apparent never leaves his gun's aim on Youngkyun’s tummy when he clamours Youngkyun's pockets for any weapons that he may be carrying.

Youngkyun's throat runs dry and his fingers begin to tremble. He looks at the figure in front, not tearing his eyes off him. They finish, chuckling as they pocket his weaponry, only weaponry.

The one on the left has black hair, brown eyes, and wears a skin tight shirt, made from the material of gym clothes along with cargo trousers. Youngkyun knows who he is, by face not by personality. He tailed Youngkyun and his group- peeking from behind buildings, on foot rather than in a car. Everybody wanted to see the husband of an undercover cop that day. They have contacts everywhere, from the owner of the restaurant in the building to the guard sitting inside, payment to the gang in the area perhaps.

Youngkyun can take the two but is outnumbered by weapons. The figure on the right is unknown to him. His dark circles are prominent, uniform worn-out, maybe from a recent mission. Youngkyun had heard of it but they could not track them. 'Or maybe that isn't it', Youngkyun thinks. The figure is bulky and imposes his presence by towering over Youngkyun's one point seven nine metre frame. He has a scar on his chest, a diagonal line, peeking out from his shirt and an unshaven beard.

''Come with us, our-'' the one on the left speaks.

''Why'd you search me?'', Youngkyun asks.

''Formality. Our boss wishes to speak to you, over.. certain misunderstandings.''

''What misunderstandings?''

''Over Major Yoo Taeyang's report, from the next state over.'' he said, whispering the last bit.

''I can't give you that information, details are confidential.'' Youngkyun says, pushing the most terrible of memories away. They came first.

''You murdered that reporter didn't you?'' he says, predetermined, rehearsed, as if he knew that they would come to this point.

Youngkyun feels a slight chill run through his hands in the warm, damp air of the night. Sweat clouds his back, staining his top in various places. He feels cold, his blood freezing. They sound so convinced about it.

''Come on, soldier'' the one on the right impatiently grabs Youngkyun's hand, hustling him forward. He's stopped by the one on the left.

Pulling his hand from the bulky man's grasp, Youngkyun states, ''You have some misunderstandings as well. That man is dead not because of me.''

The man makes a face as if he has heard everything he needs to. ''You have all the reason in the world to deny it. Let's go.'' he says.

The gun pointed at his torso, an easy angle to just pull the trigger is only out of sight when Youngkyun sits in the car. It's classy, a contrast to the two men.

They are efficient but not by much of the standard. From hasty steps behind him to the accidental flickering of the light, everything was predictable, save for the man hiding in the pitch black of the alley. Neither of them caught him flinching then.

''You'll meet her.'' the driver says, he was the one on the left of medium height and novice, almost- professional with this new experience. Youngkyun jumps at the word her. The driver chuckles, ''Slow down, she's not enthusiastic to see you.''.

The bulky man sitting next to him speaks up, ''Just a formality.''.

Youngkyun repeats the words, staring out of the window.

The driver drops the passengers off outside a dark blue building, decorated with luxurious apartments. A ground floor apartment's lights are on and people are moving about, happily dancing and giggling to music that can be heard by Youngkyun and the ruffian man.

The two pause to stare at the scene, Youngkyun is unimpressed, motivated by other feelings but the other guy is in mock awe. They press on, the guy says nothing all the way up the three flights of stairs. They pass by an elevator each time but make no move to use it. Easier to run away if they were being shot at.

You sit in the apartment, taking in a deep, good breath after hastily preparing for Youngkyun's arrival. Youngkyun knew you way before you were indoctrinated into your family's business. You were stubborn, righteous and had a few sets of rules that you lived by, no matter what. You were also justice-loving, ironic given that your family's business wasn't selling groceries or something, it was one of gangs in the area.

Youngkyun knew that Yoo Taeyang wanted to use your family. But that's as far as he knew. It was only half the story. If you were not going to use Taeyang back, you would not hesitate to shoot him. You wouldn't kill him to honour one of your principles. That did not mean that you wouldn't harm him towards the point of death.

You proved yourself with all the experience your family could provide you with. You knew that Taeyang was climbing up ranks in his head and trying to make it reality too, by buying off your family. It went from little stocks in the business to sleeping with you, every time he had a day off. He wasn't a bad guy either, just a little narcissist with twisted values from his father.

He insisted that he had good intentions. But people committed the worst crimes in humanity with their good intentions.

The figure nodded to you, leaving Youngkyun at the door. Youngkyun was relieved to see you but that went away quite quickly. Much more was what you were wearing, night clothes. Lace loose at the shoulders fell shortly below your buttocks, another strip tied around your waist. You left the door open and turned to the living room.

He shut the door behind him, locking it, taking his shoes off and admiring the open space. There was very little in the middle except for an antique glass table on a large, comfortable rug. Plush red sofas with jewels embedded in the handles stood out against the wall, two tall glass cupboards filled with ornaments and foreign gifts from around the world were placed in the corners.

You sat on one side of the glass table with your back against the sofas while Youngkyun took the opposite, crossing his legs and placing his hands firmly on his knees. His breath stopped short when you raised your arms to remove your hair tie, letting hair fall all over your shoulders.

You noticed his eyes following your movements. You chuckled, ''What do I have for you? Is that your question.''

''Uh-yes, yes it is.'', he says, clearing his throat.

You chuckle, wondering why this nervous behaviour of his. ''Is your behaviour flighty because of those men?'', you question.

''Yes you should stop doing that. It scares me every time.'' he says, with more confidence, leaning on his palms.

''I'm sorry, maybe next time.'', you say, carefully taking into account his anxiety. ''You weren't supposed to be there today.'' you continue.

Why were you there? is the question.

''I've made my mind up. The recording? Push the date up further, today. I'll do it today.'' Youngkyun almost rambles on. He'll kill two birds with one stone today.

''You don't-'' you start. He really doesn't have to. He should take his time and prepare.

''I have to, you should now. The full story.''

You sigh, ''come with me.'', standing up and walking in the direction of your room.

Youngkyun walks past you to inspect the room, purely out of instinct. You motion with your hand and tell him to do as he pleases before he turns to you and apologises. He had this right. A surge of anxiousness overcomes him, for many reasons.

Youngkyun had been with you before and you had been there, to see him break multiple laws. Him. You were a middle ground, neither here nor there or a grey area between your rival gang and the police. You knew snippets of what Youngkyun had been through on his missions under Yoo Taeyang. You needed to hear the full perspective from him. From someone who had observed and been through it all.

Youngkyun knows that you want to help him. Nothing of semblance to push his anxiety further down the edge, like hidden cameras or audio equipment, the newest probably hidden somewhere, in something easy to look over like an ornament.

You had no ornaments in the room, except for the paintings. Painted by you, having taken over hours and hours to complete, to reach that stage of luxury. Taking a seat to calm his spinning head, he faintly clutches the rich covers underneath. They give him warmth, which he doesn't need in this weather and the urge to fall asleep on them.

You haven't moved from your place behind him, watching him search the place with inquisitive, trained eyes, meant to detect things. ''It's safe here'' you are soft about it, trying to encourage him, coax it out of him.

''He will go to jail.'', he says after a pause.

''Evidence?'', it can't be circumstantial.

''Eyewitness testimony.''

''Who?''. He is one of the witnesses.

''Can't say now.'', protecting them.

''What did he do?''. Another way of asking, How did he do it? Earn his rank plus the commendation of his seniors?

You sit next to him, holding a recorder in your hand, urging him to say it again as you begin. ''Major Yoo was the one who sent those soldiers to stop the raid of a gang on the resources held at another base. They expected them to be armed but they did not expect them to know that they were coming.''

''Where was this?''

''Past the front entrance of South Central, two blocks down.''. It didn't mean anything to you.

''Did he give those orders himself?''

''That he did.'', a preamble to all of Taeyang's troubles.

''What happened to those soldiers, Captain?''

''They died, we have reason to believe that they were ambushed. A reporter working in the area colluded with the gang, soldiers- ten individuals sent there to stop the attack on a high status official. Presumably a raid on the base's resources, had tons of it all stacked and going nowhere, not to the hungry people in the village. Major must have not known, none of them made it back because of the information he had shared with the reporter. The failure was the result of planning irresponsibly.''

''How?''

''He must have changed his report when he realised his mistake. They noticed so many people missing and investigations were open for quite some time. But Taeyang's elaborate, smart as hell, first reason he got that position, that and his capabilities in the field, calm and composed. He reported it differently, worded it in a way that allowed him to evade responsibility. It was premature, they didn't have enough information to go in in the first place but they were still sent.''.

Easier to control his wrong-doings from there, once you are high in status, people will come for you. Being high-status is also the fastest way to lose your job, if you aren't careful, you think. It is one of the cautions you are aware of as a leader.

''He's done it before.''. Youngkyun thinks. He isn't actively working on this case. They need a draft, someone to summarise it up. Surely they have asked other members of Youngkyun's team to do the same. Investigations into the Major have been conducted for sometime now. It is only now that they made themselves apparent.

''Done what?''. The closer you get to the truth, the harder it is to ask him questions. Especially given the fact that you were new to this. You didn't know what questions to ask. You wish he would just tell you everything, straight up.

''Frame someone else for his mistakes, must give him immense anxiety.''

''Anything is relevant right now.''.

''When I was under his orders, he made the mistake of replacing a code book. Going out would make it look like our country was in a pretence to the other, they had a contract or something. It was burned when we got it back, he was let off, save for his assistant.'', he clenched his teeth about. You knew about this.

''Pinned it on him?''

''I don't even know if that's possible. He had officials gloss over their reports, to cover for him because of what they believe he can achieve. To escape like that, he murdered once and he'll do it again, trust me.''

''Murder?''. You held back any visible frustrations now. Pushing him would gain nothing. ''Anything else?''

''He let go of a man from the same place as where the soldiers were killed. Committed sexual assault and homicide but Major let go of him.''

''Why is that Captain?'', you said, horrified, already unsettled, finicky, nervous at the hair tips.

''The man was protected by the gang- high in status, high enough for them to intervene and protect a life. Major could not start a war so he cut a deal, 'let go of the village and they'll release him'. All went well.''. Ironic for them to protect a life. Could it hint that there were discrepancies in the leadership?, you ask yourself but don't say anything about it.

''It's not out jurisdiction if the individual is not from here.''

''oh, but she is, was, the head of the resistance group, dual-nationality.''

''That's a lot of things to tie him for.'' you murmur, sighing at the boat-load of information.

''Tie him?'' he asks, curious. Are you considering punishing the Major by the law?, he thinks. You always did say that the law moves slower than it should.

There is no answer from you. You want to deny his question that you know he is currently asking. You could give it a try, again.

''Why were the resources held up?'', you continue.

''Take control of the resources y/n, take control of the village. Probably used it as leverage but not sure what. They don't have a lot to offer but the gang does, information on other gangs. Taking other's out would risk them gaining more power and we couldn't have that.''

''You think Taeyang has something to do with this?''

''He doesn't run the tide on that, his friend does, childhood friend. But you can't assume that she's going to help him, I know her and she wouldn't. She's got a mole in camp.''

''We'll have to come back to that.''. Human nature. It isn't even in your intention to come back to this topic. You want to know.

''I'll find out about it.''. It's a place to start, to wrap the mission up in bow tie and send it off.

''Don't get yourself into danger.'', you say, genuine about it and eager to prove him wrong. He thinks that you could care less about him. The like has always been there.

He nods, resting his head in his palms, elbows digging into his thighs. He takes your advice to heart. At this moment, he finds it harder than ever to separate you in his world from his profession. He wants you but how does he tell you about it?

''If you knew and you yourself did not die- were there groups?''

''Three, back up and because the villages are huge too. More soldiers means that work can be carried out in a time efficient manner. I wasn't in their group, one day- a day after the first four weeks were over they came and told us. They relayed the news, ''They're dead''. It was so professional, they answered the how's. It hurt y/n, it hurt all over. I wasn't in the same group as them but I ate with them, joked with them, worked with them outside of our team, together. We are one team less, y/n, one team less. That was a lot for us to think about, compartmentalise but we didn't have enough time to do it. We ended up covering for them, breaking our backs, taking orders while some bullshit went on in the background.'' Youngkyun ends it frustrated, referring to the rape and the injustice that that man was let go. Tears rim his eyes, he clenches his fists at the thoughts, recounting those painful memories.

You grasp his hand, soothingly running your finger over the clenched skin, waiting for him to relax before you pull yourself closer and take him into your arms. He tries his best not to cry right there. He lets go of his tense posture and snuggles into the warmth you have to offer which you take as a good sign.

You find yourself unhappy for him, pained rather. That he holds all of that, in there, this sensitive guy with un-coped, heavy amounts of emotional trauma at the back of his head. You feel for him. You run your fingers through his hair and kiss the side of his head, letting him go to sit up straight.

You want to say something but nothing is to be said. Words are meaningless right now. You sit in silence for some time, enduring the harsh humidity that makes your skin dry, waiting for him to snap out of it- everything, when he is ready.

'Let's go!'' Sanghyuk would have said, pulling Major Yoo towards the restaurant to ease the awkwardness they felt with him. Lee Sanghyuk was one of the few soldiers killed in the blast of gang members and weapons. Taeyang tries his best not to think about it. Better profile for lying, he thinks.

He walks alone to meet a different correspondent. The staff politely greet him but turn their heads down and ignore him. Perhaps they have heard the nasty rumours about him. He finds you sitting on the far side, right in the corner, wedged in a seat for two and he smiles brightly. He can't tell if he really likes you or not, lines are beginning to blur. Some things are just not part of the plan.

He greets you, wrapping his arms around you in a loving embrace. ''You visited! Is this your first time at the base?'', he asks. You like to think that he's put a lot of effort into this relationship. Sometimes you like to think that he sits on his bed at night, runs over the conversations he's had with you and picks apart little details. You find it humorous. But it's a real possibility.

He loves your lips, especially when they touch his skin. He lingers over yours, pressing softly, feeling you for the first time this afternoon. Your hand curiously travels his uniform when he pecks your cheeks, your neck. You know where this is going.

He swoops in for your lips, taking you by surprise. Again?, he thinks. Delectably, he wonders why. He thinks of nothing; his groin stirs. ''Do you want me to show you around? Or go home?'' he whispers.

Your coffee, not touched at all, full to the hilt, is left there. It's a short walk to your car. He tugs you along, looking back and smiling, very obviously excited. The next question is car or home? He walks faster than normal, something callous is on his mind.

Pretence or not, in this relationship, the both of you want something out of it. His motive is far more clearer than yours. That's what Youngkyun had also asked you, ''What'd you want out of this thing, with him?''. It was hard to explain. You wanted almost nothing and you were not stuck so why were you here?

He takes you home, yours more specifically. It's in the same building as the apartment that Youngkyun had visited but a couple of floors away. If he was to find you, he would look in the wrong place, not ever knowing that you were nearby. In the elevator, upwards, he firmly clutches your waist. You try to squirm out of his gasp. It's the moment of truth. About the man that he let away, it comes to mind and you are repulsed.

You feel the need to get away from him. He's behind, slipping his arms around your waist, feeling your tummy, pressing kisses of air at your neck and you can't take it. You endure it all the way up, occasionally cracking a smile, hoping he's not going to ask about the gloom on your face on the ride up. You'll answer his questions, but not his arguments.

The doors open, without a hitch or some noise, closing away when you step into the extra bright sunshine that decorates the hallway floor and it's walls. Your mood is ruined but his? Strong and going on. He tugs you to your apartment, flashing back a smile which credit is due, momentarily makes you smile. The feeling his smile evokes is temporary, replaced by visual flashes of what he must have done.

You push them away, cautious enough on your feet to alert yourself of what he has done. You have distance because you never saw it with your own eyes. They were not your family members, nor your friends or distant relatives. You have to hand him over to Captain Kim but not whilst torturing yourself in the process.

''Let's go'' he says in a genuine tone of voice. You are surprised and have to remind yourself. Anticipation builds up, creeps into your skin with goose-bumps or tiny tremors, maybe only tiny to you. You chuckle and throw a smile that you hope looks like one, entering your apartment. ''The chapter can close here if you want too'' Youngkyun had asked you, out of concern for your well-being. He had told you what he had to, the same disgustingly gruesome but life-changing details as on the night the two of you had recorded it.

It would be given to them, the team consisting of high-ranking members, higher than the Major, someone that Youngkyun and his team know and trust, enough to find something in their investigative line into Taeyang's immoral doings. Youngkyun knows that he can't hide it anymore. He will be punished for holding back information. However, you will always admire his efforts to save his team and pull through, even when under the harsh gaze of secrecy that threatened to break their backs.

Taeyang doesn't miss the shadow of the figure sitting on the sofa as you kick off your shoes and enter the apartment. He's not shaken, just walking in like you'd walk into a store or something, curious. That is all. Kyun has confidence, the one that had been previously broken down. That estimation of how far in the future Taeyang will be behind bars as opposed to the confidence in Taeyang which he has none of.

Taeyang looks back, not as menacing as the manner in which you thought he would appear. He smiles. Like a knowing kind of smile. It makes your shiver from behind the counter. Kyun is closer to Taeyang than Taeyang is to you. Kyun could reach over the table if he attempted something. It could turn into a fight and he would be off with you- for negotiation or worse, since neither of them had weapons.

Which is why you choose the kitchen. It's open, giving you a view of both of them and contains all the objects you can turn into weapons in one place. It's also close to the front door. You could reach it in a couple of steps. If you ran fast enough. Taeyang is silently thinking as he pulls a chair and seats it opposite Youngkyun with only the barrier of the coffee table in between.

Taeyang smiles. You can see the curve of his cheekbones rise, even from behind him. He's not threatened, that's for sure. There is no hint of exasperation present. He moves to say something but doesn't, anything could give him away but none would be enough to implicate him. Some sort of unrivalled anger is provoked within you at that thought.

It's painful to watch this. They stay silent, waiting for the other to speak or maybe they have some unspoken agreement to stay like this. Placing all the weight of your palms on the marble countertop, you shift to the other foot, easing the pain you feel from standing. Youngkyun momentarily leaves his focus from Taeyang to look at you. He sees frustrated eyes but misses the look in Taeyang's.

There's a splodge of anxiety that belittles Taeyang. It nags at him for letting a loose end like Youngkyun onto the base, save for the fact that he has no control over that. Then it is for letting Youngkyun run his mouth. When you are in a position so high, people just wait for a chance to grab you down. He feels furious towards Youngkyun but also understanding. There is conflict. But eventually, the growing resentment wins.

When Youngkyun loses focus, out of concern when he hears you sigh, Taeyang stops thinking. He takes it as a moment of opportunity. It can't save him, but it can make him feel better. Seeping violence in and dismantling his opponent when at their weakest is what he was trained to do. That kind of mindset isn't trained but forced, coerced upon in circumstances of extreme danger and high mortality rate.

It's so fast. So sudden, in fact, too sudden. In your eyes, Taeyang gets up, only half way. His knees are still bent when he leans across the table, not by much. And swings a crack at Youngkyun's face. More specifically his jaw. The area between his ear and chin, not landing completely on the cheek. You don't see Youngkyun wring back.

First is a sound, a groan like the time he had come to you. He was bleeding from a fight, the closest place to come, he had said at the time but now, it is less worse. Your breath hitches. Perhaps you've been holding your breath for so long. You aren't sure. Taeyang could go feral, you aren't sure of that either.

You begin to take a step back. Only a second or two or three later, Youngkyun reels from the shock of being hit. He sits upright, fuming internally, displaying stern patience. His face is almost expressionless, save for the occasional unclenching of the jaw that was hit. He doesn't instantly react, waiting. You don't know what to think.

It’s like a power move, for Taeyang to put Youngkyun in his place before Taeyang would be sent to a worse form of hell, one below dignity for him. Like a punishment, you deserve more than this but this is all I can give you, Taeyang said in other words. Youngkyun reacts instantly when Taeyang gets up with his legs straight and feet tipped in the direction of the door.

He wouldn't run but he could come for you. You had feared it and now, it is about to come true. Youngkyun looks at you as he stands up, telling Taeyang, ''Don't do it.''. Taeyang instead chuckles, disarming Youngkyun, ''I'll walk''. Just then, as Taeyang hits the last syllable, soldiers arrive. Straight through the door. You hadn't heard the lock turning or boots thudding in the hallway.

First sight of them has Taeyang gritting his teeth. He complies, like a mouse in a game of chase. It burns him. He complies, seething at Youngkyun who chuckles. After he leaves, Youngkyun takes a seat, dropping his head into arms. He sighs, partly in relief, partly in the party that had just begun and maybe because, the bigger part of his deal was to keep Taeyang away from you.

You are stuck there. Where you chose to stand and where you are standing now. You try to move, to go to Youngkyun but it feels like Taeyang could burst through the door at any moment. In the face-to-face sense, you didn't know what Taeyang could do. Youngkyun senses it when you don't move. He expects the shuffling of footsteps but not absolute silence.

He gets up, coming to you, reaching for your hand and clasping them together. You hum, looking at him, shifting weight from one foot to the other. You try a smile, failing and then laughing at it which has him smiling too. ''You're okay, he's not coming back. That- what you saw, he can't try anything.'', he softly drops off to your listening ears, reaching to grasp your cheek and like turn-taking, you pull yourself closer to him too. He reaches for you in that moment, connecting your lips to his, softly moulding to yours.

He feels relief in letting you pour out the fear you felt, discarding it away in favour of being in arms. Letting him pick you up and take you to the sofa. Letting you gasp for breath when he lets go, placing you on the sofa with your legs on his thighs. ''I want to help you.'' he says, almost stumbling over his words to try and explain to you that he wants to help, only if you want.

He pauses after his whispers, his lips so close to yours that if you were to give a response, no matter how subtle, he'd know. You mull at his prospect, mind blank, looking like you are thinking. ''Stop asking.'' you say, so soft that it came across as a request, although feeling like a command, one stop sentence. He nods, instantly, absorbing your words, having his breath taken away by how you bring him down on your lips, knotting your fingers through his hair.

''We'll get you out of this gang, this place.'', he murmurs, sitting you down on his lap.

Taeyang could come back, there was a high chance that that event could occur. He was what? The best or second-best rumoured equal to the one in first place? With these people who you called soldiers beguiling you to stay, drawing you till you suffocated, now was the wrong time for Youngkyun's plans of staying with you.

''How? There's no way out, Kyun. They won't be so happy, to drag me back this time.'' you say, sucking in a sharp breath, fiddling with his clothes. He doesn't have a plan, at least not right now. All he wants to do is to get you away from here. Set up life somewhere else, away. The two of you don't have a plan, not yet.

Fervent whimpers leave your lips and desperate fingers clutch tightly at the bedsheets, pleasure overwhelming your sex with the way his cock pulls out and fills you again. He's sweating, core clenching from snapping his hips against yours, absorbing every detail of your body beneath him as you ask him to let you release. The sound of skin slapping and the smell of sex coats the room. Fragrance leaks onto your inner thighs at the end but it doesn't stop him, not from kissing your lips and leaving a trail of heat all the way to your inner thighs, and repeating it, again.