#he still unconsciously followed in the mold that was set out for him

[renatvvs]

👑 CROWN - what does your oc want to be remembered as? why?

oc emoji asks // accepting.

He does not want to be remembered as Cillian—the son of a priest, heir to his father's legacy: a village far removed from civilization, filled with people that clung to his father's every word. Cillian, who was a kindhearted man. Who listened to the confessions of those who needed a guiding hand. Who was never allowed to be anything but.

He wants to be remembered not as these things, but as his own person. Whatever that person may be. Someone to be reckoned with. An aspiring socialite. A handsome man. A murderer. Anyone but the person he'd been told he was.

[morning-star-joy]

Babe congratulations on your milestone! You deserve all the effing followers in the world for your amazing talent and sweetness. I would like to request ✨every✨ kiss prompt for ASHWAH please 😌 just kidding (not really) but seriously: slow kisses prompt for my babies cause they deserve all the long, passionate and slow kisses after a whole fucking year of holding back 🥹

Thank you so much my dear!!! I'm so glad you requested a kiss prompt for ASHWAH, because I am dying to write all the kisses for these two now. You're right, they absolutely deserve it!

Pairing: Joel x F!Reader, established relationship, set in the ASHWAH universe right after Chapter 20.

Warnings: Pure fluff. That's it.

Wordcount: 701

Part of my 700 follower celebration. If you want to send in a request for a drabble, check out the prompt list here!

That night when you first kissed Joel, after so much time spent longing for him, he had taken you to bed just like you asked him to, wrapped up in each other’s arms until you fell into a deep, blissful sleep.

Waking up the next morning to being curled up in his arms may have just been one of the most cherished moments in your tumultuous life. Head resting on his chest as it rose and fell slowly with his deep breathing, you listened to his heart beat steadily under your ear, smiling against his skin as his strong arms tightened around you each time you shifted slightly.

You lifted your head, glancing over how the hard lines of his face seemed softer as he slept so peacefully like this, the wrinkles on his weathered face less prominent as he held you close, his affection for you now palpable even when he was unconscious.

It didn’t take long for your eyes to travel down to his lips, so full and pink, still slightly swollen from all the kisses you had shared last night. Once you had started kissing, you had hardly been able to stop, and you bit your own puffy lips, unable to resist temptation as you pushed yourself up to gently kiss him again now.

The kiss was chaste and soft, not wanting to wake him up when he looked so peaceful like this. But the longer he slept so soundly, the more restless you got, almost desperate in how you craved his attention so soon after you had experienced it fully in all its unashamed fondness last night.

You pressed gentle kisses over his face then, mapping out each wrinkle under your lips, tracing the scar on his temple and the one over the bridge of his nose before your mouth met the scruff of his beard, a rare giggle escaping your lips at the scratch of the facial hair against them.

Joel began to shift then, his arms subconsciously tightening around you, and you nipped gently at his jaw, smiling against the mark you soothed with your tongue at his quiet grunt before leaning up to press another slow kiss to his lips.

This time, he reciprocated, kissing you back without a second thought even as his eyes had yet to open.

After a few long kisses where you just cherished the way your lips molded so perfectly together, you pulled back, smiling down at him as he finally blinked a few times, vision focusing on you hovering above him.

A lazy smile curled onto the corner of his lips, and you couldn’t help but grin down at him, feeling an odd sort of giddiness you had never experienced before just from the way he was looking at you now—so openly fond, making your heart race and toes curl with anticipation not even for sex, but intimacy.

“Morning,” Joel rumbled, deep voice thick with sleep, and you hummed, kissing him again, sucking his lower lip into your mouth and eliciting a quiet groan from his throat that made you giggle into his mouth again.

“Morning, cowboy,” you murmured, slipping your tongue into his mouth to kiss him sensually now, passionately, his hand reaching up to cup the back of your head, fingers threading through your hair as he gladly returned your affection first thing in the morning.

“Never heard you make those kinds of sounds before,” he said quietly, nipping at your lower lip as you giggled again, too overcome with happiness at this step forward in your relationship to focus on the way your cheeks heated with any lingering uncertainty.

“Guess we have all sorts of new things to learn about each other now,” you whispered, humming happily as his hand shifted to cup your cheek, pulling you back so he could gaze up into your eyes.

“Guess so,” he whispered, brown eyes large and so soft, and you sighed, leaning your face into his palm as you couldn’t bring yourself to ever look away.

This level of intimacy was new to you, but, fuck, it felt good. 

Because it was with Joel, it felt perfect.

Like you were where you were always meant to be.

Home.

[kastlequill]

ii/v. unearth without a name: the world that hardens as the harsher winter holds

pairing: keegan p russ x f!reader word count: 1.8k synopsis: the second time you hallucinate keegan tags: whumptober, psychological warfare, blood and injury, brainwashing, hallucinations, hurt no comfort, established relationship, ghost!reader, 4+1, no y/n warnings: canon-typical violence, torture, non-consensual drug use ao3: read here ← prev | next →

II.

A semblance of a regimented schedule formed shortly after those first couple of days.

Two goons would begin the cycle with a visit, using you as a human punching bag until your ribs burned and your frayed nerves went numb. Then came the waterboarding and the breaking of bone, be it a rib or a finger. Last, but certainly not least, Rorke would work on molding your mind into something foreign, though whatever drug he’d administered on Day 1 hadn’t made a reappearance yet.

Yet.

You didn’t have it in you to treasure that simple blessing because your captors were constantly swapping one torture method for another, determined to keep you guessing. Recently, they’d started to get more creative; extreme sensory deprivation was still a favorite of theirs, but they had now added physically-intensive beatings into the mix.

Time elapsed strangely in this hellscape. With no sun to denote mornings and no moon to introduce nights, you had to measure its passage in terms of the damage inflicted upon you. Which was to say, what marked the beginning of a day wasn’t the sunrise; instead, it was the piece of stale bread that you received only after your captors made you beg like a dog.

And to determine when you’d reached the end of another day having survived, it was Rorke, not the setting sun nor the rising stars, who served as a useful metric. Night began in the moments following his departure from the chamber once he’d satiated his raging appetite for sadism, leaving you to succumb to your injuries and fall unconscious.

Eventually, those unfulfilling few hours of sleep would be interrupted by the force of the tossed bread hitting your head. Like clockwork, this cursed routine repeated again and again, though you couldn’t discern whether or not these recurring events were consistently scheduled at a specific hour. It would come as no surprise if they’d been staggered to hinder you from adapting to your new normal.

Such was the way of the Federation.

Regardless of the truth, according to your unconventional form of tracking time, nightfall was nearly upon you. Rorke had been here for what seemed like an eternity, putting forth a valiant effort in beating you into submission and breaking your will.

You just had to bear this pain a little while longer. Then, you could allow your body to recuperate through a bout of fitful slumber.

“Still got some fight left in you, eh?” Rorke wiped the sweat off his brow with the back of his hand. Hands that had spent the last however many weeks tenderizing your flesh and splintering your bones. “First, let me express my gratitude. I appreciate you makin’ this fun for an old man.”

You wanted nothing more than to kill him slow, to watch the crazed gleam fade from his deadened eyes, but you’d decided on Day 2 not to engage him beyond what was strictly necessary. If you managed to keep the talking to a minimum, then perhaps Rorke wouldn’t linger for too long. A flawed logic built on desperation.

It worked on occasion, boredom striking him sooner rather than later, ending the interrogation session without much fanfare. Though that wasn’t always the case.

The man was a loose cannon. He lashed out on a whim then switched up before you could process what he’d originally done. Even his co-conspirators avoided being caught in his blast radius, but no such hope existed for you, the prisoner who still breathed only because he willed it.

“Now, with that out of the way—”

An uppercut collided against your chin, sending you reeling, doubling over, stretching the muscles in your arms as the ropes that dangled you from the ceiling strained under the pressure. The impact rattled your teeth, and the metallic taste of blood doused your bitten tongue.

The bastard possessed an absurd amount of power for his age. And you, half-starved and broken in one too many places, were the lucky recipient of said power.

“What are the Ghosts plannin’ to do near the Gulf?” He forced your gaze to meet his, yanking your head backward by the roots of your hair. Resolute in your fatal desire to safeguard your comrades to the best of your abilities, your mouth stayed stubbornly shut.

If you couldn’t be of use out there by their side on a battlefield, the least you could do was stop the enemy from obtaining crucial intel. You couldn’t give the Feds the upper hand, not when that ran the risk of landing Merrick, Hesh, Logan, Keegan in some shallow grave.

Rorke sneered. “So that’s the kinda game you want to play? Alright, little martyr, keep your secrets. But listen up, and listen good: when I find all ‘em out, because I will find out, you’ll wish you hadn’t been so blindly loyal to those damn mutts. Better hope you’ve still got most of your fingers when that day comes ‘round.”

The grip on your hair relinquished, and your head dipped low, too fatigued to support its weight on your own. You were content to stay like that, crumpled and weak, but the sound of rustling fabric bid you to remain present and raise your lidded gaze.

Your stomach dropped at the sight of Rorke pulling out a syringe from a pocket on his tactical vest.

“Remember this?” Its needle glistened menacingly in the dull lamplight. The man must have seen the brief panic that flitted across your face because he gave a wry chuckle. “Hell, of course y’do. No need for a reintroduction, then.”

Without further delay, Rorke jabbed the syringe into a bulging vein in your neck, dehydration making it appear more prominent than usual. Your fear spiked as he injected its contents into your already-fragile system. Compared to the previous dose, you began to experience the drug’s effects much faster, blood suddenly afire, choking on hurried gasps, jaw locked. It held your body hostage while it hijacked your biological milieu and scrambled your brain.

The bombardment on your five senses was so overwhelming that you had to close your eyes, the surrounding visual stimuli too abrasive to withstand in your compromised state. When you did finally blink them open again, the scene that greeted you was of a different man, a man whose presence you greatly welcomed.

Decked out in full gear and face lathered in greasepaint wherever his mask failed to conceal skin, Keegan stood several paces behind Rorke. Arms crossed, feet shoulder-width apart, cold stare devoid of any affection but flowing with disappointment. Before, he’d spoken everything you had never wanted to hear; this time, however, the apparition uttered not a single syllable.

A flash of white heat diffused throughout your body from head to toe as rage superseded pain.

Did he really think you were a failure, a disgrace? Was that why he opted to hold his tongue, finding you unworthy, an utter waste of his breath?

You recalled the days when he had barely spared you a glance beyond ensuring you weren’t falling behind. When he had gradually begun to reference you as an irreplaceable part of their established collective; when eliciting a low chuckle from him had been considered a victory and earning his praise had become something of an addiction. When he had listened to your whispered confession then offered up a weakness of his own; when he had agreed to learn bit by bit how to give you his heart and how to take yours in turn.

Looking back, the two of you had come so far. And yet, the fruits of your labor would go uneaten. You weren’t foolish enough to assume survival was still a possibility after a few more rounds of torture; if your mind didn’t break first, then your body would surely shut down.

Two good months. That was all you had gotten with him as a lover.

Just two months.

Another punch to your liver yanked you from your spiraling thoughts. “You ready to talk? No? Suit yourself.”

The onslaught resumed, ripping old wounds anew, further bruising already-sore skin, weakening calcium-deficient bones. Truth be told, you’d been ready to talk for the past eight cycles of this shit, but loyalty prevented you from squealing like a pig. Regretfully, this very same loyalty was beginning to feel misplaced.

Were they even searching for you? Was he? Had your comrades so easily written you off as KIA, unable to justify expending valuable, scarce resources on a mere stray?

Sure, Keegan’s last visit had been cruel, biting, but at least he had acknowledged your existence, your situation. The exchange, though agonizing, had reinvigorated you with purpose and determination to make it out of this hellhole alive. Now, if this fabricated Keegan would only address you, then the cracks in your composure and willpower could be rectified, bestowing upon you the strength to persevere, to suffer in silence until either your rescue or your death.

If he would only speak to you as a human being separate from this current timeline of misery and monsters among men, then maybe you had a real chance here. Maybe, you would again bask in the warmth of a glorious sunrise.

Say something.

He didn’t, of course. It shouldn’t have surprised you; he had never been the type to fill the quiet with nonsensical chatter. But you needed this, as starved of him as you were of food and water. You’d wait three seconds for him to correct himself, or else you would give him a piece of your mind, a proper tongue-lashing, scratchy throat and raw vocal cords be damned.

A well-aimed kick in the calf triggered a mental countdown.

Three. . .

Continuous heavy blows struck your temple, the resulting craters spouting a stream of blood, its damage producing a shrill ringing in your ears.

Two . . .

Forgetting the sound of his voice, struggling to replicate the unhurried yet impassioned cadence with which he spoke, gone was his deep tenor—

One.

“God, make it stop,” were the words that left your cracked, chapped lips. But there was no God to answer your pleas; not down here. Still, you begged. “Please, just make it fucking stop.”

Keegan said nothing, content to continue his silent appraisal of the scene before him. Scrutinizing your weaknesses, judging how much more damage you could endure before your total destruction. A sentinel, a voyeur of your rawest pain.

Rorke, looming above like impending doom, a deadly omen, simply laughed and laughed.

And in that moment, you couldn’t decide which of the two men you hated more.

tbc.

[villainessprefect]

~Tell It to My Heart~

title: Whisper of the Heart

Prompt #3: Telling them “I love you” while they’re asleep.

Azul x gn!reader

Read on AO3

You truly must be a very fortunate soul. Not just anyone is granted entry into the Azul Ashengrotto's dorm room. And being offered the opportunity to stay the night too? Perhaps the sea witch had blessed you.

His room is quite lavish compared to yours. Although, that could be said for any room outside of Ramshackle. But it felt as if you'd stepped into the room of a five-star hotel. It's spacious, well-kept, and not a speck of dust in sight. It's grand yet simple at the same time. Not overly decorated but has his personal touch. The coin collection hanging on the wall is what really catches your eye and you have to admit that it suits him perfectly.

The bed is big enough for two and he offered the spot beside him. You were his guest after all and he wouldn't have you sleeping on the floor or anywhere else. You wanted to decline, but the housewarden insisted. Eventually, you cave.

When your body meets with the fluffy bed, you find yourself melting into the sheets. It's soft and molds to your body. It's almost too comfortable for you. Luckily, you have nothing to be afraid of, no one to fear while here. Sleep comes easily tonight.

Despite the comfort, you still find yourself waking up in the middle of the night. Whether it's just due to poor sleeping habits or adjusting to unfamiliar territory, you can't return to the land of unconsciousness.

Slowly, you remove yourself from the bed. You're careful not to upset the one beside you. A quick glance shows that he's curled up on the other side of the bed, back facing yours as he remains still. With quiet footsteps, you make your way to get some water. A spare glass is brought for him. It's set down on his bedside. Before you can make your way to your side of the bed, you pause.

His features are captivating. Azul is beautiful. Just the mere sight causes your heart to pound against your chest. You place a hand over it in an attempt to silence the beating. He is a man of many talents. He's hardworking and devoted. Never succumbs to any bumps on his neatly woven path.

Yes, you're aware that he isn't perfect. Despite his gentlemanly ways, he can be quite shrewd. While his deals can sometimes seem innocent, he's always thinking ten steps ahead and knows it will benefit him in the end.

Despite it all, he's made his way into your heart.

You shouldn't test your luck. You're lucky enough to be here. But this is a chance you have to take. A hand reaches out to push back a strand of his gray hair that had fallen over his face. You're granted a better view of him now, so peaceful and different from the serious, hardworking look he wears so often. Oh, how this is a sight you wish you could see more often.

Seeing as your faint touch hadn't woken him up, you go for a bolder approach. Light fingers push back his bangs as you press your lips against his forehead. They brush against his skin and while you learn to linger, you pull back.

"I love you, Azul," you whisper.

You smile and take a step back. It's as if nothing ever happened. He still remains asleep, blessed by your magical touch. You can feel your cheeks burning, but the darkness permits its safety and not just for concealing your blush. Deciding that it's best not to indulge any further, you return to your side of the bed.

Little did you know that your movements had caused Azul to stir. His mind urged him to wake up while his body fought to stay in place. Worry racked at his bones. The fear of what would cause you to leave his side struck his mind. You weren't the type to leave unexpectedly, you would have a reason. But why leave him?

The sound of returning footsteps put him at ease. And just as he was about to drift back off to sleep, he felt something touch him. And then he heard your voice utter those three little words followed by his name.

He has to be dreaming, right?

He doesn't move, doesn't react. The slow realization that he's conscious and your actions were real settled in his mind. Only after you've settled back beside him does he open his eyes. Everything is in place and for a moment, he thinks it is all a dream. But then he catches sight of a glass of water.

Azul holds his breath and a hand moves to clutch at his chest. His heart races rapidly and he feels as if he could scream out in joy at the truth. But, you're still here, it's still the dead of night, and he can't dare to wake you and make a fool of himself. Besides, if he did then he would be making your secret known. The octopus needs to play his cards right and get those lovely words out of your mouth again, but at a time when you're both fully conscious and he can give a proper response.

Sleeping is an impossible task now. It hurts that he can't turn around and pull you into a loving embrace. To keep you close and feel your warmth- that would be a dream come true. Now he has time to plan for tomorrow. You've unknowingly asked him for a wish and he will grant it. Without a price.

[silvrash-797]

Glassbound

Prev | Next

Read on ao3

Chapter 2: The Rescue

Disclaimer: I'm trying to stay canon-compliant with the way Jojo says Four's colors work, that they're his 'true colors' and not individual beings. That said, I've read a lot of fics with the Colors as separate individuals, so I can't say I haven't been influenced.

So, I like to think that, when Four mentions one of his Colors, he's not actually talking about the Color, but the feelings he associates with the color (like how my oldest kid used to associate her internal anger with yellow dragons). Therefore, Red's mentioned a few times because of how relieved Four is to find Hyrule :)

Four crept on silent paws through the abandoned keep, nose twitching and ears swiveling for any sign of trouble. The Forest Minish he’d been visiting had mentioned seeing some scary men dragging a boy inside, and with no better lead to go off of, he’d made the trek, hoping to find Hyrule.

His feathery tail swished behind him in consternation as he came to a crossroads. Exploring this place would be much easier as a Hylian, but he hadn’t found another Minish portal, and it was much easier to stay unnoticed when he was the size of a mouse.

Left, right, or straight ahead? He didn’t have time to make a mistake – Hyrule had been missing for almost four full days, now, and if this place was as empty as the Minish seemed to think, then Hyrule'd been abandoned with nothing to sustain himself.

He wrung his paws together as he thought, looking around the floor for any clues. The barest, dusty remnant of formerly muddy footprints led down the hall to his left, and he made his choice. His heart pounded as he scampered down the hall, following the traces of mud as they wound deeper into the keep.

The trail ended at the top of a steep set of stairs.

Four sniffed cautiously at the air wafting from below – stale, musty, a bit of mold or mildew, but just underneath, Hylian.

Hang on, Rulie! he thought as he carefully slid down the stairs, chattering quietly to himself as the cold enveloped him.

Taking a moment to let his eyes adjust to the relative darkness, Four finally looked around. The room appeared to be a cellar, although no scents came from the barrels and boxes. A cracked, overturned pot hidden in the corner sent a thrill of excitement through him - a Minish portal!

Once through the portal, his additional several feet of height allowed him to see another room annexed to the main cellar. Still alert for any disturbances, Four crept on cautious feet through the boxes towards the new room.

Rounding the corner, he let out an involuntary gasp. “Rulie!” No response from the Traveler, but after this long alone he hardly expected one.

Heavy manacles encircled the Traveler's wrists and bare ankles, holding him suspended about a foot off the ground. Weak breaths rasped through dry, cracked lips, but he was breathing, if unconscious.

Hesitantly, Four reached up and patted Hyrule’s cheek. “Rulie? Link?”

Dull, exhausted eyes fluttered open, and the rasping breaths hitched slightly. “…Four?” the Traveler slurred painfully, voice dry as the desert winds, “’s that you?”

Four was already reaching for his waterskin, carefully holding it to the Traveler’s lips. “Shh, it’s me, I’m here. Drink. Slowly,” he advised, as the Traveler attempted to inhale the water his body had been denied for so long. He pulled the skin away slightly, heart breaking at the desperate keen that followed, until Hyrule was aware enough to sip at the water without drowning himself.

Four pulled the water away again after a few minutes. Hyrule, survivalist that he was, grumbled a bit but didn’t chase after it again, instead giving Four a watery smile. “Missed you,” he whispered.

The Red part of Four's soul wanted to hug the Traveler tight and never let go, but to do that he had to get him down. Reaching for the lock picks he kept under his belt, he set to work. “I’m so glad I found you, Rulie, we’ve been worried sick,” he admitted, wincing at the bruises that were revealed as the manacles around Hyrule's ankles fell away. “What happened? Are you hurt anywhere else?”

Hyrule made a noise of uncertainty. “Can’t tell,” he murmured. “They weren’t gentle, but I don’t remember anything more than some bumps and scrapes. Can’t feel my shoulders, though,” he smiled wryly.

Four winced, looking around for a suitable box to drag over, both to support Hyrule and allow him to reach the manacles around his wrists. “Has anyone been by since they left you here?” he asked as he shoved the box in place, climbing up.

“Once,” Hyrule hummed, staggering as his arms fell.

Four caught him around the waist, sneaking in Red's hug as he helped the Traveler sit.

Hyrule grimaced as he leaned into the Smithy's hold. “They brought a bit of water…made sure I wasn’t going anywhere…” he sighed, drooping in exhaustion. “Then they left. Not a word spoken.”

Four offered his last potion – the red liquid glistening in the bulbous glass bottle – and his waterskin again, and Hyrule took them gratefully. His eyes were clearer when he finally handed them back. “Thank you, Four.”

Four smiled back. “Don’t mention it. Are you ready to get out of here? How’re your shoulders now?”

Hyrule sat up and stretched cautiously. “Much better, thanks. Let’s go.”

Four led the way through the boxes in the cellar, opting to stay Hylian for now. “I didn’t notice anyone nearby while I was looking for you, so hopefully we’re in the clear.” They reached the base of the steps and began the ascent.

“That’s good,” Hyrule breathed, “I can’t wait to get back to everyone. How long have I been gone?”

“Nearly four days. Not even Wolfie could get a lead on you; if I hadn’t met the Minish I don’t–” He stopped when Hyrule tugged on his arm. “What is it?”

Hyrule’s eyes were wide and scared. “You said four days?” he whispered.

Four blinked at him, confused. “Yeah, why does that…” A shadow fell across Hyrule's eyes – no, that was a shadow across the whole stairwell!

Four turned, hand on the hilt of his sword, ready to defend his brother from the hulking giant of a man that obscured the head of the stairs.

“Little rat,” the man growled, gimlet eyes narrowed, “how’d you get in here?”

[simplegenius042]

It's hard to choose one wip to ask but, may I know about UnTitled Venture: Village Of Shadows (Resident Evil Village)?

This particular WIP is part of my prequel saga for The UnTitledverse, called The UnTitled Ventures saga.

UnTitled Venture: Village Of Shadows is the third installment of the saga and follows the events of Resident Evil Village. It is still early in WIP but I have a rough idea where I want to take it. Though this isn't set in stone, things might change.

Shortly after the events of UnTitled Venture: Evil Residence (canonically Resident Evil Biohazard), 35-year-old Joaquin Lockwood unfortunately drew the short straw in fate between his small family (which only includes Eveline and his dead best friend/partner's daughter, Elise) and the Winters when being forced by the BSAA, Umbrella and his old pals from Taskforce ECHO in relocating.

So he gets sent to Romania with a regular three-year-old and a BOW ten-year-old while Ethan and Mia go to Hungary. So close and yet so far.

Unfortunately Joaquin and Ethan can't continue their vitriolic bromance that started at the Baker's home anymore so they do so long distance. Sometimes they even visit one another.

Fun fact! Joaquin shares the "godparent of Rose" title with Chris Redfield, which is most definitely not due to the lack of either Ethan's or Mia's families being alive or that interested in their married lives.

Anyway, both Joaquin and Ethan are fungi bros, and are very aware of this considering last time Joaquin checked, he saw Ethan die in the Baker's home and proceeded to be killed afterwards so that's more or less a secret they keep from the BSAA and continue to support one another through their fungus troubles (it's like, "you died in the house, I died in the house, Eveline gave us a miraculous recovery... let's tell no one else about this").

Four years later in February 2021, Joaquin is turning 39, Eveline is 14 and Elise is six turning seven in September.

On the drive home from the Winter's house, Joaquin and his kids' car is hit by wild Mother Miranda and stuck in a ditch, knocking Joaquin unconscious and chasing after Eveline as the young teen runs off into the woods with Elise.

Why would Miranda do this? Because Rose is safe in Hungary and Joaquin's got Mold in him, so its only logical that Elise would too right?

By the time Joaquin wakes up, its still snowing, so he crawls out of the wreckage, takes a duffel bag, and follows after the trail... or more he follows the voice of the fungi screaming from within him to go towards the Village that is going to kick his ass for teaching the Romanian Mold his Aussie words.

He'll be able to call Ethan at the most inconvenient times to his own expense and explain the situation he's gotten himself in, and while Ethan goes prepare a drive to Romania while getting Chris, his BSAA team and Taskforce ECHO together to save his brother from another mother, Joaquin goes to search for his girls in the village, and learns empathy, gets chased by wolfman, loses his dominant hand, becomes best buds with the Duke for giving him a neat prosthetic, appreciates the unnecessary and unhelpful aesthetic of having cool shades in a dark snowy climate, is forced to have tea with the Lords and manages to hate someone more than he does Madame Callaghan.

Overall, its a wonderful family experience that no one with more than three braincells should have to go through.

That's all I got.

[schleckermaul]

𝙙𝙧𝙖𝙗𝙗𝙡𝙚 — 𝙬𝙞𝙣𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙛𝙚𝙨: 𝙛𝙤𝙧𝙚𝙨𝙩 𝙤𝙛 𝙖𝙞𝙧𝙖𝙞𝙨𝙖𝙡

why is he here?

   maybe the forest is close to his home. or the noise of the night before drove him to take a walk in the quiet cold of winter. enjoying the silence for what it is, reveling in the chill in his bones.

   maybe he doesn't have a reason. perhaps he just wanted to escape the space of a home that isn't his own, and yet it is.

   the mansion is as familiar as he'll ever get, a brush away from being real. but the voice of his lady lacks, the morning tea he used to have with her. reim's knock on the door, curt, bringing wine and treats in the evenings they didn't have to work.

   and more often than not, lately, the chaos of two rabbits and their guardian, a raven with ruffled feathers. noise in its own right, but one he grew used to. one that made the silence of his home, here on this island, unnatural, grotesque.

   leaves crunch under his boots, a crisp and clear noise. the sound of snow is muffled, molding to his steps.

   to grow greedy, in his old age?

   he has zhilan. and oz, oz is here too. he reminds break of himself, sometimes. smart and cunning, sensible and self-critical, in the worst of ways. in a span of time so short, he's outgrown the hatter, and he continues to grow still.

   so greedy, in his old age.

   perhaps he should tell zhilan. he's so hopeful for break, all the time, a light that lightens the heavy load of guilt on his chest, over his heart. should he know, that break's passed? that he disregarded his own death up until it happened, burdened by the sins of his past? he's known zhilan enough to know it won't push him away.

   will break push him away, if he tells him?

   the path opens up around him, leading him into a glen. unconsciously or not, he's taken a path that's leading him in turn, now. after a short pause, the tip of his cane rustling through leaves, break continues on, follows where it wants him to.

   there is a different set of footsteps, up ahead.

   mad hatter stills, in his mind. something like panic has break send out a burst of its power, to gain vision where his eyes won't allow him. before it ever reaches the other person, he speaks, and break knows who it is in an instant.

   " did we save them? "

   up ahead, on the other side of the glen, stands kevin regnard. he rises from his knees as break approaches, sword in hand. there's a dripping noise, the sound of drops of blood hitting the snow beneath the two of them. his voice is young. demanding. angry.

   he used to be so angry.

why is he here?

   ' did we ... ' break takes a step forward. slow and deliberate, calculating his odds. he'd stood face to face with this younger version of himself before, when yuri was with him. but that version ... he didn't have the clarity that this one seems to have. the burst of power he'd sent out sticks to kevin for a moment, before it flickers, disappears. either mad hatter can't help ... or maybe it doesn't want to. ' ... save them, that's what you asked? '

   he's too old for all this anger.

   break unsheathes his sword.

   ' that's what you want to know? if we saved them? '

   kevin is younger than him. stronger. break is old, and he's dying, all the time, whether he wants to or not. mad hatter does not listen as he pushes forward, their sword clashing. kevin does not react in any other way than defending himself, his sword steady against break's. when yuri was with him, he almost lost this fight.

   does it matter? should he tell this kevin? that they did so much worse than they ever thought they could, that lady sinclair died because of them? their greed, their selfishness?

   so greedy, so greedy.

   " did we? " kevin takes a step forward, forces break to take a step backwards, before he can put more force into the meeting of their blades. " did we save them? "

abyss. the audacity to be so—

   ' stupid, ' break hisses between clenched teeth, ' you'd throw yourself onto your blade if i told you the truth of it. '

   he releases the tension between the two of them, dodges the inevitable thrust of kevin's sword. another step back. and another.

   kevin does not advance.

   there's silence, for a long moment. no crunching of leaves. only the blood, clinging to kevin's sword— clinging to his own, now that they'd met. when the younger man speaks up again, his voice is ... still. heavy. tired.

   " isn't that what you're doing? "

   break recoils.

   ' i— '

   " am i mistaken? if you're me— " kevin's boots leave bloody prints as he steps to meet break, who walks backwards in tandem, " and i'm you. shouldn't you be dead? if we failed. "

   break raises his sword. both of them freeze. but he doesn't speak. suddenly, his breathing is laboured, and his lungs feel stiff and wet. when he coughs, he sputters, blood dripping from his lips. when he raises his free hand to catch it, he finds his hands already bloody.

why is he here?

   " tell me, " kevin says, and if break didn't know any better, he'd say he sounded sad. " do you want to die because we failed to save them? or because you're too scared to face it? "

   kevin walks forward, into break's raised blade. the hatter makes a noise that's startled, half drowned out in the blood in his mouth. an awful squelching noise as kevin takes step after step, until they're almost nose to nose, and the blade has driven through him entirely. and yet, the young man speaks as though nothing has happened. as though he's been standing just like this for his entire life.

   and maybe he has.

   " why are you here? " kevin's hands wrap around the blade in his stomach, squeeze until the skin rips open. break can do nothing but stare at him, wonder if the pain is the same as the one—

   which one?

   " if you should be dead, and you aren't? why? "

   ' because— '

   because of morning tea, with his lady. because of treats and wine in the evening, with his best friend. because of the ruffled feathers of a raven when teased, the delighted laughter of two rabbits.

   because of zhilan, back in the mansion.

do you want to die? once you're dead, you'll be at peace, won't you? but you just want to be saved, right?

   break lets out a noise between a guttural sob and a sharp hiss, spitting blood onto kevin's face, and wrenches his sword from his midsection.

   as soon as the blade is free, kevin is gone.

   falling to his knees, break spends a long time on the floor of the forest. eventually, he wipes a hand across the blade of his sword. it's wet. like his lips. like his clothes. like his hands.

   bloody palms pressed against the snow beneath, and then against closed eyelids, break breathes in as much as he can, lungs rattling with the effort of it, breathes out in a foggy, pink cloud.

   but he breathes.

   when he makes his way back to the mansion, he hopes the blood won't terribly disturb zhilan.

[bokubear]

hq boys when you’re “distracting”

feat. (timeskip!)sakusa kiyoomi, oikawa torū, iwaizumi hajime, atsumu miya

warnings ; hot men, suggestive behavior

notes ; this mental image had me reeling .. bear with me

☇sakusa found himself unconsciously glancing at your lips, tracing his jawline as the cafe you frequently enjoyed together bustled in its usual rush. “and seriously .. i can’t believe he gave me that much paperwork ! it was so stupid !” you groaned, taking a sip of your coffee with a long awaited sigh. ah, worse. the residue of foam sitting so tempting on your bottom lip. he couldn’t get enough today huh. “kiyoomi ?” you scanned his focused stare, curious to know what was going on in that head of his. “you’re .. clumsy.” reaching forward to brush his thumb against your lip in a doting notion. “be mindful next time, i might not be able to hold back my urges.” he clicked his tongue, a tut of disapproval escaping those soft pink lips, folding his arms like a troubled mother. the catch, he was a bright red.

☇oikawa couldn’t help it, perfectly ridiculed hands practically meant to grasp your hips. almost possessive, leaving you to give him a hard stare, especially in public when the daring setter found a way to poke some fun. and it seemed you’d set yourself up for failure the moment you step from the house in that tight top. he was addicted, a better word—needy as well. “mi amor, you look irresistible right now y’know.” yet no matter how much you acted irritated, you fell prey to just how right it felt. knowing your body was not lying to you. pressing a sweet kiss to your cheek, he gave a teasing squeeze, earning a rewarding squeal of surprise. “i take that back, you’re always irresistible.” you could hear the smirk, he the exact buttons to push. needy fit better.

☇iwaizumi. that’s it. the entire headcanon is just him. but can we talk about his hands and your thighs ? they just .. mmm good match. tinder could not with this man’s hands. the way they mold into your flesh sends goosebumps crawling along your skin, not to mention the gravelly chuckle that follows soon after. “quit haji, we’re on the subway.” it was enough that he’d convinced you to sit in his lap from the minimal space, but the way he was acting was so petty. “don’t worry babe, i’ve gotcha.” he purred, right behind your ear; more goosebumps. “i told you quit.” the words coming out whiny, what are you going to do with him. he’s a child. in the meantime, he finally adjusted you to lean back more, aiding to the comfort. “alright alright i’ll stop, but you can’t expect me to not want to hold you like this with those shorts on.” he rolled his eyes, caressing your skin with a hearty laugh.

☇atsumu finds your face to be his weakness. by weakness i mean when he sees you at his games he falls over himself, frantically trying to impress you while he makes an utter fool of yourself. that bright smile, my god. kills him right then and there. rip #2 miya twin ( sorry tsum ). the alders vs. jackals game still haunts him to this day, mainly because you literally watched him trip on the middle of the court from just seeing you in the stands. nonetheless when he knows you’re there. every ace, every point he’s looking up at your frame in the hundreds of thousands of people, only you. when they win ? you’re the first person he goes racing up to, scooping you into his arms with a massive grin. “you’re the reason we won ! my good luck charm !” he marvels, so happy.

-maak

plagiarism, repost, and editing is prohibited

[comatosebunny09]

Quixotic

Genre: Romance, Fluff

Warnings: Sexual Content

Is this what it feels like?

To love and be loved in kind?

If so, you can get used to this.

It’s intoxicating, much like the man behind you. His velvety hair tickles your neck. Sinewy arms hold you close, molding your body to his. Mahogany mixed with burning cedar permeates your lungs. A quiet smile takes up residence on your face as you nuzzle your cheek affectionately into his forearm.

“—juro,” you begin, surprised by the huskiness of your own voice.

He groans in reply; a throaty sound rivaled by the chorus of the birds perched on your windowsill. Warmth creeps through your chest, up your neck … You can’t deny that his voice is incredibly sexy first thing in the morning, having stirred the butterflies in the pit of your gut. You clear your throat, trying again.

“Kyojuro,” said with more conviction this time.

Another guttural moan behind you, followed by the tightening of arms around your torso. You sigh, smacking your forehead with the heel of your palm. He can be unbearably clingy at times.

Oh well.

You can at least compromise.

You twist in his embrace. He loosens his hold a bit, allowing you to face him. Your room-darkening curtains mute the sunlight. However, they allow just enough to spill in so that you can make out your lover’s ethereal features.

Flaxen hair finds your fingers as you tuck crimson-tinged tendrils behind his ear. Your fingertips glide deftly over the honeyed, taut skin of his cheek; end their journey at his petal pink lips. Your eyes zero in on his mouth. How easy it would be to lift your head this way and just…

Unconsciously, you stamp a kiss to the corner of his mouth. His lips twitch, eyes still shut beneath curtained lashes. Heat pricks your veins. You kiss him fully on the mouth this time. His lips quiver beneath yours. Large, scorching hands languidly move to curve around your buttocks. He spreads your legs just enough to slip a thigh between yours. Your lips move in tandem as he allows you to set the pace.

Always so considerate.

He never tries to push you too far.

Emboldened by his response, you nip his bottom lip, eliciting another melodious groan from him. Kyojuro’s lips part the slightest, allowing your tongue to lap inside his mouth in delicious, experimental thrusts. His hands on your ass squeeze lightly, urging you forward. His sweltering hot tongue joins yours in a carnal waltz. He swallows the small mewls that flee from your mouth, slanting his possessively against you to deepen the kiss. Your fingers bury themselves in the fine hair at the nape of his neck. Inwardly, you berate yourself for being so weak-kneed around this man.

You always do this to yourself; let him work you up into a frenzy with hot make-out sessions that always end with you dizzy and enflamed, begging for more ...

As if on cue, the jarring sound of a blowhorn startles you both apart. You whip your head in the direction of the nightstand, wishing you could blow his phone up with your glare alone. Kyojuro ensnares your chin between callused fingers, pulling you back towards him to pepper your mouth with chaste kisses. He reaches behind you, silencing the infernal alarm.

“Sorry, my little flame,” he drawls, ingesting you with incandescent eyes. He taps the tip of your nose playfully. With but a hairsbreadth of space between your mouths, you attempt to draw him back into another lip-lock. However, he inches away, wresting a frustrated whine from you.

“Kyo—”

“Duty calls!” he bellows, an insufferably wide smile splitting his face in twain.

He stamps your lips with another quick kiss before tossing his legs over the edge of the bed and standing, starting towards your bathroom.

You throw yourself back into the plush, glacial sheets of your bed as the sound of rushing water fills your room. With an exasperated look bleeding into your features, your eyes dart toward your nightstand.

Looks like it’s going to be yet another morning of you and the lovely neon, six-speed instrument in your drawer.

Masterlist

[hopeamarsu]

Congrats on your follower milestone you deserve every single one!!! 💖💖 For a request, could I please have "I need your help, please" with Benny Miller? Maybe some hurt/comfort and protective!Benny and a happy ending please 💖💖

Hi!

Oh my, thank you so so much .

For this, I will admit going very light on the hurt/comfort, it's more emotional than physical but I do like how this turned out. I hope you enjoy!

2am in the hallway

Benny Miller x gn!reader

Word count 2,4k

Rating Teen/Mature

Warnings: Drunken men, demeaning language toward the reader (not by Benny), kisses, fluffy

Summary: It's 2am and Benny can't sleep again. But what is that noise coming from the hallway of his building? Using the prompt "I need your help, please"

Insomnia was a bitch, Ben Miller groused in the blue light of the TV. It always was, especially the night after a match. Too much adrenaline, too much energy, too much replaying each and every move he and his opponent had done after the bell had rung. 

It was both a good and a bad thing. Good, because he could analyze everything while it was still fresh in his mind and it would be out of his system so he could form a plan to bring to Frankie and Will later to improve his training. Bad, because he could really use the sleep honestly. On a good night, his PTSD usually granted him four to five hours of sleep, but on a fight night, he was lucky to get two. 

But he was used to it, his body long ago accommodating to the fact that it was perpetually sleep-deprived, compensating that with excess energy only to keep himself upright some days. He couldn’t even remember when he had slept the entire night without nightmares or insomnia battling for first pick. Benny and late night infomercials had become good buddies because of it, so at least there was that, he sighed. 

Setting deeper into the couch and pulling the heated blanket on top of his legs (orders from his physical therapist), Benny flicked the channels to see if he could find an infomercial about cooking to occupy his mind. He’d just found one about a slowcooker when a loud sound in the hallway made him whip his head up. It sounded like someone was running across the space and looking for something. Curious, Ben threw off the blanket and let his long legs carry him to the door. 

More sounds followed, like someone was jumping from door to door, looking for the right one. His curiosity took over completely and Benny opened the door, leaning forward to look into the hallway. The brightness of the hallway lights made him take a second to focus his eyes, but when they finally settled and he saw a figure round the corner, his eyebrows raised high. 

He’d seen you in the building multiple times, mostly in passing at the courtyard and the occasional residential meeting, but he thought you lived a few floors down. Why were you running in the hallway of his floor at 2 in the morning? Were you looking for someone or running from someone? Something fierce and protective flashed in his chest and he took a unconscious step closer to you. 

“Benny!” You sounded both scared and relieved at the sight of the MMA fighter standing in front of you. “I’m…” You seemed to ponder your words, maybe figure out how to say what made you run barefooted in the hallway, when a second set of footprints, heavier this time, sounded near. Your eyes widened, relief pushed aside when fear took over. “I need your help, please,” You whispered quickly and he let his instincts take over. 

A strong arm wrapped around your middle, letting the bandages of his knuckles rest on the low of your back, feeling the heat of your body seep though your clothes. Gently he pulled you more firmly into his embrace, the other hand rubbing soothing circles on your shoulder and turned his eyes and ears to track the sound. 

His treacherous mind told him how good and right you felt against him, how your bodies molded together perfectly, but this was not the right time to ponder such foolish notions. The first few times Benny had met you, you’d been with a partner, so his little crush he might’ve developed for your laughter and easy banter was just that. A simple crush, something that would pass eventually. 

But he hadn’t seen that partner in a few months, had he? His mind and the devil perched on his shoulder whispered. Before Benny could tell the devil to suck it, said partner rounded the corner, hugging the walls but eyes blazing with hatred.  

“You fucking b…” The rest of the slur was swallowed by a loud burp as the man pointed an accusing finger in your direction. You hunched in, burrowing deeper into Benny’s chest. “Fucking give me BACK WHATS MINE!” He bellowed, the finger shaking possibly both because of the anger he radiated and the alcohol Benny could smell in his body even from a distance. His nose wrinkled at the smell, but he quickly schooled his features into a calculated relaxed position.  

“Calm down man,” Benny spoke, moving his hand to shield you more and keep you close. There was no tone in his voice to aggravate the man further. De-escalate first, he heard his brother’s calm voice in his ear and he followed that guidance. “There’s no need to shout.” 

“Yes, there fucking IS!” Your partner - former partner? - bit back. His beady eyes tried to focus on you and Benny moved a little, before stopping himself. It would not do any good to charge first, his words would have to do. The movement did bring you even closer to you and Benny could practically see the the gears move. 

It seemed that your former partner was connecting some dots within his few braincells functioning as he eyed the picture presented to him. His voice got lower, more dangerous. 

“You fucking him already?” He hissed. “Fuck you, first you throw me out of our apartment and now you are shacking up with… him? A fucking meathead? You surely sunk down low, but I guess I should expect that from a lousy fuck like you.” 

“That’s enough,” Benny suddenly growled, his blood pumping at the insinuation. Anger began to seep into his vision and despite the wounds in his knuckles, he fisted his hand in preparation, not even feeling the skin twist around the scabs. “Watch your mouth.” 

But the man was not finished. Instead, he turned his drunken eyes to look at Benny, craning his neck upward. “Tell me, man, does it feel good? Fucking a cold, dead fish who can’t even moan properly? Just laying there, not moving a muscle to help out your release. Blowjobs? Fucking pathetic, a wet towel feels better. Man, good luck with that.” 

Had you not been in his arms, Benny might’ve charged. Well, he would have charged, no question, the anger now a full flame in his eyes. His insides roared, demanding retribution. Your head snapped up with the hateful words and you turned in his arms, pinning the man with your gaze. “Fuck off, Z. Just… fuck off. You are not in my life anymore, nor is your limp dick. And I don’t even have your guitar, you’ve probably pawned it off in your hunger for more to pour down your throat. Just leave me alone.” 

The man, Z, narrowed his eyes more, the beads disappearing from view and he took a step forward. It was enough for Benny. In a smooth move, he transferred you behind him, straightening himself to his full height and width. He watched with glee of how Z now realized just what it meant to be a professional fighter. Good, the man now knew what he was up against. 

“Say one more thing about either of us and I swear, it’ll be the last thing you’ll say for a while.” He rubbed his hand over his bandaged knuckles, a grim satisfaction spreading through him when his intended wordless threat registered in the other man’s eyes. 

Almost as an afterthought, Benny gave a shark-like grin, teeth flashing in the fluorescent light of the hallway. He too lowered his voice, matching the intensity of his eyes glaring daggers at the drunken man. “And… For the record. I won’t stop until my name is screamed at least twice in a night. While you can’t use your dick, doesn’t mean the rest of us can’t. I leave my partners breathless and satisfied. Time and time again.”  

With that, Benny turned and ushered you inside his apartment, closing the door behind him. “You okay, cupcake?” He asked quietly, guiding you into his living room. 

“Cupcake?” You cocked your head in surprise and Benny could feel heat creep up his neck. He palmed it, eyes drawn downward. “Yeah, well. You brought those chocolate cupcakes to one residential meeting and uh, you looked as good as a cupcake then too.” He confessed. “Sorry, won’t say it again if you don’t like it.” 

“No. I, uh, I like it.” Now it was your turn to look bashful before your eyes widened in surprise when you took his appearance in. 

“Oh, Benny! What happened?” You stepped into his personal space, your warm fingers ghosting over one of his bruises. In silence, you traced his features, memorizing the groove of his cheekbones and curve of his nose. 

He felt himself lean into the touch, enjoying the gooseflesh it awoke on his flesh. You had a tender touch, meant for healing and he was already fastracking to addiction for it. Your breaths mingled in the silence before you whispered “Is this from a fight? Does it hurt?” 

“Not anymore,” he breathed out, leaning in forward until his forehead nearly touched yours. “Just… just don’t stop, please.” In answer, you brought your other hand to join in and Benny slotted his hands to your waist, holding on gently and letting you touch him as much as you wanted. In silence, he let you explore, enjoying the intimacy of the two of you standing in the middle of a darkened room, the soft blue glow of the TV your only light.

You touched his cheeks, his jaw, his throat. Your hands and nimble fingers traveled to the collar of his worn muscle shirt, feeling far too good for something quite innocent. A few fingers traced the shell of his ear and he shivered. You repeated the motion, smiling gently and he could feel himself melt into a puddle over it. Who would’ve thought his ears were such an erotic spot? At this point Benny was worried that if he’d move his hands from your body, his knees would buckle.   

Your thumb moved forward slowly, finding the corner of his lip and the small cut there. It was barely a scrape but the small movement over it felt like a suckerpunch. You circled it, before finding Benny’s eyes. He knew they already showed just how much your touch affected him, how much it made him want you, but he didn’t want to hide. He found that he never wanted to hide from you. 

“I hear a kiss makes all the hurt better,” you mumbled, seemingly absentmindedly but he could hear from the pitch of your voice that you were just as affected as he was. 

“Mhmm, I’ve heard that too.” His eyes flitted to your lips and the way your teeth sunk softly into your bottom lip was his undoing. He too wanted a bite. Moving forward languidly, he presses your mouth to his and tasted you for the first time. 

The first hint on his palette was toffee, maybe from something you ate earlier. But as his lips moved, trying to find that perfect angle to slot your lips together in a lock, the deeper notes of something bitter pushed through. Was it coffee or strong tea that made you taste like fresh raspberries dipped in dark chocolate? Combined with the sweetness of earlier and the plushness of your lips, Benny found himself intoxicated. 

It was a first for him, feeling this addicted from the start since he was not one usually for long kisses and makeout sessions that left participants dizzy and breathless. But with you, Benny could kiss you forever and still crave more. And when your lips parted, granting him access, he felt like he didn’t even need air. 

He dipped you back, finding it impossible to be parted from you, mouth devouring you. To his delight, you gave as good as you got, tugging the strands of his hair between your fingers, the pleasure mixed with just the right amount of sting making him groan. His lungs burned, but still Benny refused to let go, opting to kiss you deeper, harder, with more passion. He wanted more, needed more, desired more. 

There was no turning back now. Your taste, your touch, your scent enveloping him was already imprinted on him and his entire being. Fire burned in his lungs, urging him to move and claim you. 

“Ben…” You eventually moaned softly, gasping for air. “We, we ummm, we need to talk.”

“Mmm. Yes, cupcake?” Benny nodded, trying to rid his mind of the haziness your lips had left his brain in. Talk was good, talk was… not kissing which wasn’t ideal, but talking would be good. He nodded again, signaling for you to start. 

“Thank you. For being here for me.” You traced his cheek again, eyes slightly watery but shining bright. “I couldn’t think of anyone else when Z showed up. I just knew I had to find you.I’ve… I’ve had a crush on you for a while now and I know it’s selfish of me to kiss you without telling you first, but I don’t want you to think I’m only doing this because of gratitude.”

Benny could feel your confession settle into his mind with elation and all of a sudden he needed to touch you more. He cupped your face, turning your head so he could let you see the truth in his storm blue eyes. How deeply he already felt for you, even if he yet didn’t have the words to express it. A soft smile grazed his lips and he felt the softness of your skin on his calloused and bandaged hand. 

“Feeling’s definitely mutual, cupcake. I like you, a lot. And I never once thought you’d do this out of gratitude. Hell, I should be the one grateful because I’m kissing you. My dreams are all coming through.” He smiled crookedly, showcasing the dimple in his cheek. Your answering grin lit up the room and something big sprung up in his chest. To not dwell on it too long, he asked playfully. 

“Now, it’s been all of two minutes without my lips on yours. Can I claim them back, mine are getting lonely?” With an eager nod, Benny swallowed your laughter easily before guiding you to the couch, intending to kiss you more. 

And then a little more. 

All over.

Only to repeat it the next morning. 

*

Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed this one!

(please let me know if you want to be added or removed from the list any time!)

Everything taglist @clydesducktape @miraclesabound @10blurredsmoke10  @caillea @princessxkenobi @sixshooter665  @amneris21 @greeneyedblondie44 @beecastle

Triple Frontier taglist @darklingveracruz  @evyiione @kesskirata

[infinitefandomimagines]

Scarred - Zuko x Reader

WARNINGS: ARGUING, BURN SCARS, ANGST

-

REQUEST: zuko x reader where the reader is the last one to forgive zuko at the western air temple bc he accidentally hurt her in the crystal catacombs and than zuko goes to her tent, begging for forgiveness and she shows him the scar he gave her and it’s super fluffy:33

-

"Y/N. . . what do you say?" All eyes landed on you, waiting for your response to Aang's question. However, there was only one pair of eyes in particular you glared back at; and if looks could kill, the recently renounced Fire Nation prince in front of you would've surely met his demise right then. But Zuko knew how to hold himself in front of those who wanted to intimidate him. If there was anything his father taught him, it was that much.

Despite your fiery stare and previous threats from the first time he pleaded for forgiveness that you'd "knock him on his ass" if he ever came near you again, he kept his composure. There was no doubt in his mind you'd stay true to that warning, which is why he made sure to keep enough distance between the two of you.

There was a hopeful gleam in his eyes, so far Aang, Sokka, Katara, and Toph had agreed to let him join the team, albeit some more hesitantly than others. If everyone else found it in their hearts to forgive and forget, surely you could as well. Wrong.

"No."

You saw the last bit of hope fizzle from his eyes as defeat weighed down on him, causing his shoulders to sink and his head to drop. "I know you don't trust me, I don't blame you. I've done horrible things, hurt you and your friends-"

"You can't even begin to imagine the amount of pain you've caused me!" Your words held a venomous sting, yet your tone was strained, calm almost.

"Y/N," Katara stepped up behind you, her voice was soft. You could barely feel the hand she'd placed on your left shoulder, thick and itchy bandages blocking her attempt at comfort. "I don't like it either, but Aang needs to learn fire bending."

"I really believe he's changed, give him a chance to-"

You cut Aang off, finally breaking your gaze from Zuko to face the young monk. "He's already had too many chances!"

No one could admit that you were wrong, not even Zuko. Because every time he'd faught against your little group of rag-tag heroes, you'd given him a chance. Even while the rest of team avatar faught the exiled prince, you never threw a single blow that wasn't defensive or to save your friends. Instead, you'd offer him a chance to join the right side. Of course, he never accepted, but you saw the benefits of your kindness when he'd began to show a sense of mercy against you. There was something in your head telling you he was more than just a villain.

But that mindset changed when you and the gang faught against him and his sister in the crystal catacombs. When Aang almost died. When he chose the Fire Nation's side. When he'd made sure to leave you a permanent reminder of that day.

After a few moments of tense silence, you let out an impatience scoff. "Leave, Zuko. I gave you my answer, the least you can do is respect it."

Reluctantly, he nodded, mumbling out an apology before turning on his heels. He only got in a few steps before Aang interjected.

"Zuko, stop."

He did, glancing over his shoulder, ready to hear what Aang had to say.

"I'm sorry, Y/N, but Zuko is staying. I need need to learn fire bending and he's my only option. I really believe he's changed for the better."

"You don't have to forgive him, but Aang's right, we need him," Sokka added in, to which Toph agreed.

You took in their words, it was obvious they weren't up for debate. You hated that they were right, you all did need Zuko, no matter your current opinion on him.

"Fine," you sighed, looking at Zuko, who was now standing awkwardly with his hands behind his back. "But stay away from me."

Over the next few days, Zuko had somehow managed to gain the complete and utter trust of everyone, even Katara. Everyone except you. Then again, you hadn't had your "life changing field trip with Zuko" that made everyone seemingly forget about everything he'd ever done to them. Field trip or not, earning your trust wasn't going to be that easy. You didn't care how many times he made everybody tea and told cringey jokes.

"Where did you learn to make so many different types of tea?" Aang inquired, causing everyone to look at Zuko, wanting to hear his answer.

Zuko returned to his seat around the fire between Toph and Aang, finally finished handing out small cups of tea. "My uncle, it's his favorite thing to make, he even owned a tea shop at one point."

"You mean the one you betrayed," you deadpanned coldly. You flicked your eyes up from the warm cup of tea in your hands to Zuko, wanting to see his reaction.

His smile faultered, and katara shot a disapproving look at you. For a second you felt guilty, maybe that was too far. He looked genuinely hurt by your comment, but soon another emotion took over his features. You could see it in the way he clenched his jaw and sat up straighter.

"Yeah. That one." His tone was one of poorly restrained bitterness, you'd definitely struck a nerve.

You hummed in response, refusing to break eye contact with him, like you were challenging him to say something equally as cold, but he didn't take the bait. Instead, he took a deep breath, just like his uncle taught him.

"I don't get it," He asked, frustrated and fed up with your snarky comments and side eyes. "Everyone else trusts me, why can't you?"

"You really have to ask?"

Katara could feel the tension and awkwardness of the impending argument hanging over everyone. This wasn't the time nor place to be having this conversation.

"I think now would be a good time for another healing session," she interjected, giving you a look that informed you she wasn't exactly asking. With a frustrated huff, you stood up and made your way to your tent, not even waiting for Katara to follow.

You plopped down onto your sleeping bag, sitting with your left side towards the opening.

Katara was there in a few minutes, holding a medium sized bowl of water in her hands. She gently set it down on the ground, taking a seat on your sleeping bag as well, facing your left side.

You tugged your left sleeve down so you could free it. With your shoulder now exposed, she carefully removed the bandages that covered your shoulder and the side of your neck, revealing the red and scarred skin hidden underneath.

"How does it look?" You asked, attempting to ignore the itchy feeling of the fresh air hitting your wound.

"It's healing, slowly" she answered as she conjured the water from the bowl and molded it with her hands. She purified the liquid, causing it it glow. Slowly, she lowered it until the cool water molded over your injured skin. You clenched your teeth and whimpered at the sudden sting the contact made, but then Katara started making circular motions with her hands, beginning the healing process. The stinging pain soon morphed into a comforting cold and relieving sensation.

Katara had done this for you and Aang multiple times since the gang escaped from that wretched crystal catacomb. As much progress as your skin had made in healing, you couldn't seem to wipe the painful memories of how you'd recieved such a wound from your mind. You could remember the events so vividly it was as if they'd happened yesterday.

You were stalling, Zuko and Azula knew that, yet they didn't seem to mind. If anything, Azula enjoyed watching you struggle to give your friends more time. You needed to stall them long enough for Aang to fully enter the avatar state, that's all.

"Come on, Zuko, you know what needs to be done!" Azula coaxed.

"No! You still have a chance Zuko, you can still make this right!" You could see the conflict rising in him as you and Azula tugged at his morals.

There was a moment, a single second where his emotions betrayed him, where you could see how badly he wanted to go with you and the gang. But it was gone just as fast as it came.

"I will kill the avatar and restore my honor, as well as my rightful place beside my father!" He launched into action, sending overpowering blows your way.

He kept you distracted and unable to help your friends long enough for Azula to strike down Aang. Your head snapped towards Katara's screams and you saw him laying there, completely unconscious.

You were distracted, and Zuko impulsively took advantage, sending a blast of orange and red flames towards you.

In all honesty, he expected you to dodge it, you always did without fail. But this time you were too distracted, too concerned with Aang, and he caught you completely off guard. You didn't even realize you were being attacked until the flames painfully scorched your skin.

You let out a horrifying scream as you crumbled to your knees, your shaky hand hovering over your left shoulder as you tried to control your instinct to grab it, knowing it would only hurt worse. You clenched your teeth together, biting back tears as you whipped your head around go see Zuko.

He looked shocked, remorseful even, but that didn't stop anger from edging its way into your glare.

You shuddered at the memory and tried to shake it from your head completely.

"You're all done," Katara said, maneuvering the water back into the bowl. A dull ache returned to your wound, but it felt significantly better than before.

"Thanks, Katara," you mumbled.

"Do you need help rewrapping the bandages?"

You shook your head, preferring to be alone and do the difficult task by yourself. Katara seemed to understand, because she didn't push the issue like she usually would. Instead, she left you with a few words.

"What you said was too far tonight, you should really apologize to Zuko, he is trying you know?"

She didn't wait for a response, not that you planned on giving much of one anyway, but soon you were alone, relishing in the peaceful silence.

But your silence didn't last long, just a few minutes after Katara left there was a whispering voice just outside your tent. It was unmistakable who'd come to visit you, and with great reluctance did you let him in.

"What do you want?" you asked, annoyance filling your voice. You refused to make eye contact with the boy, opting to stare at the mess of tangled bandages in your hands.

Your question was met with silence, that only seemed to worsen your mood. Really? He invades your tent just to ignore your one question? This guy was just unbelievable!

You could feel yourself loosing your temperature once again. "I said, what do you-" Your head snapped up at Zuko, ready to tell him off. But you froze when you saw his gaze, and how it held your figure. His jaw was slack, and his eyes swam as tears pooled at his lash-line. But his eyes never met yours. No, his focus was completely on the uncovered scar that graced your left side.

Your shoulder had taken most of the impact, just shy of being completely colored with a dull red scar. But the wound didn't stop there, covering a decent portion of your shoulder blade. The red marking also stretched up in a jagged stripe, narrowing to a point on the side of your neck, just barely marking your cheek.

You hated how you shuddered under his gaze, and had to look away. Your fingers moving faster as your tried to unravel the tangled bandage. You wanted to cover the burned area as soon as possible.

"I- I did that." It wasn't a question. He spoke purely in matter-of-fact statements, he knew exactly where you'd received your mark from.

"Yeah." You said sharply, picking up the bandage and moving to re-wrap the large wound.

"I . . . I am so sorry-"

"You've said."

Re-wrapping the affected area was proving to be more difficult than you'd thought, especially in your heightened state or frustration. Usually Katara did this part, and you were starting to regret sending her away.

"Please, let me help you," Zuko pleaded, reaching a shaky hand out to grasp at the bandage in your grip. You immediately flinched away from him, the sudden movement sending a sharp pain through your left side.

"Stay away from me!" You bit at him.

Zuko immediately pulled his hand back from you, as if he'd burned you unintentionally for a second time. "I'm sorry," he impulsively spilled out.

"Would you stop saying that? Stop apologizing, nothing is going to make me- ow!" Your own pain cut your sentence short, the sharp pain returning, sending another shock wave up your side at your frustrated movements.

"I'm so- just, please, let me help you and then I'll leave you alone, I promise."

You took a moment to think about the offer, and as much as you didn't want his help, the promise for him to leave is what enticed you to agree. So reluctantly, you handed him the bandages and positioned yourself closer to him, allowing Zuko to access your wound and wrap it with ease.

With slow movements, Zuko began wrapping the burned area. His touch was suprisingly gentle, even more so than Katara's, something you hadn't thought possible. But even with his feather-like touch, your skin still twitched as his fingers and the bandages made contact with the more sensitive areas. Zuko muttered out small apologies each time you flinched, despite your earlier message to stop that. Though the skin had begun the early stages of scarring, it was still sensitive.

"Uh, d-did I ever tell you how I got my scar?" Zuko asked suddenly, not even bothering to look up from his task. You knew what he was doing, he'd been doing things like that since he got here, trying to make small talk with you to cover up the awkward tension. You usually never entertained it, but for some reason tonight you felt intrigued by his question.

"No." You answered shortly, trying your best not to show your growing interest. You'd always been curious about the scar.

"My father gave it to me," he stated, oddly calmly. It was almost mindless the way he told the story as he continued to carefully wrap up your injury. Like the memory had become second nature to tell.

"Oh," you whispered out softly, your mind buzzing with a million different ways to respond to him, yet none of them felt right.

"I spoke out of turn during a meeting, over a general. They wanted to sacrifice an entire division of fire nation soldiers to gain the advantage. But I-," He swallowed thickly. ". . . I thought that was wrong so I spoke up."

You nodded ever so slightly, letting out a soft hum, showing that you were still listening and waiting for him to continue. At this point Zuko had finished wrapping the bandages around your burn, allowing you to turn your body to face him fully.

"My father was furious with my disrepect towards the general. He said that the dispute would need to be resolved with an agni kai, and I accepted. And when the day came I thought I'd be fighting the general I interrupted, but then my father walked out, my agni kai was to be against him."

With each word you felt your heart grow heavier and ache for the boy you swore you hated. You were beginning to question whether you genuinely hated him or if what you truly felt was left over betrayal and anger.

"How old were you?" You finally asked the question that had been bouncing around your head since he began the story.

"Thirteen, not long before I was banished."

You felt yourself boil with anger, but for once it wasn't directed towards the boy in front of you. No, you were furious with the Fire Lord. Who could do that to someone? To a child. Zuko must not have noticed the way your jaw clenched and your fists tightened into balls, because he continued the story as if he hadn't just made your heart drop into your stomach with his answer.

"I didn't want to fight my father, I couldn't. But he took my refusal as another sign of disrespect. I begged for his forgiveness, but he wouldn't hear it. He claimed that I would learn my lesson through suffering. He raised his hand just in front of my face and then he-"

His voice caught in his throat with a crack as he visibly grimaced from the sheer memory of the event. Instinctively, you reached out for his hand, placing yours over top of his much larger one. Now it was his turn to flinch at the sudden contact.

"Zuko, it's okay, you don't have to tell me this, I understand-"

"No! I do! I need you to understand that I never meant to hurt you! I need you to know that the last thing I wanted was for you to feel the same pain I did. After what my father did, I never wanted to inflict that on anyone. I knew that pain and yet I still hurt you . . . the one person who actually believed I could change!"

His hands flew into the air as his frustrated yells of regret were lost to the silent night. He then exasperatedly brought his arms back down and dropped his head into the palms of his hands. His body shook as he took in deep breaths, trying his best not to shed any tears. He was just so frustrated with himself.

"I thought you would dodge it," His muffled whimpers poured out. "You always dodged it."

It was then that you realized how cold you'd been to the boy. You were so caught up in your own hurt and anger, only concerned with making him feel as horrible as you had with your hurtful words. Not once had you considered that he was already kicking himself ten times harder for the pain he'd caused you. He really hadn't meant to hurt you.

And that's when you did something unexpected. In an impulsive attempt to comfort him, you threw your arms around his neck, pulling him in to a hug. His breath hitched, obviously shocked by the gesture, his body going stiff.

"I understand now, I forgive you, Zuko."

At those seven words he melted into your embrace, returning it as he wrapped his arms around your figure. His chin now rested on top of your good shoulder, as he was being extra cautious as to not press on your burns.

"And I'm sorry, for what I said about you and your uncle. He'd be proud of you."

His grip on you tighten, mumbling out a 'thank you,' in the process, finally feeling as though he could fully begin healing from all the wrong he'd done.

-

TAGLIST: @theepartygetsmewetter  

[cherrykindness]

wild tweets |

pairing: Harry Styles x Actress!Reader

summary: as newlyweds, you and harry read thirsty comments for buzzfeed.

warning: it's thirsty tweets, so below there is adult humor 😳

"It's a bright, sunny morning in Los Angeles, and there's nothing I want more than to be on BuzzFeed and read wild tweets alongside my husband."

"Thirsty tweets, babe." Harry corrected, laughing out loud with the producers behind the cameras.

"Thirsty Tweets." You said quickly, putting your hand over your mouth to stifle a giggle. "I'm terrible at that, I'm sorry. Can we start over?"

"Let's take a break for one to two minutes. You've given us a great introduction, Y/N."

You shook your head, smiling shyly before turning to Harry, who was already watching you with that easy smile at the corner of his lips. You liked how his hand remained firmly on yours, making those circular movements with the thumb that always served as a natural medice for your anxiety.

"You look so fucking beautiful."

The pleated dress with flounce sleeves fit you like a glove. You had made peace with the various shades of white since the wedding and knew that Harry liked to see you in that color too.

"Thank you, you're not too bad either, Styles."

You intimately suspected that Harry would always seem far beyond that "not bad" that came out as a euphemism from your mouth. He wore nothing but a pair of bell-bottom pants in a strong shade of blue and a soft vest printed with fluffy little sheep on a striped American collared shirt - in your opinion, no one could look better in farm animal clothing than Harry Styles and Princess Diana with her red "Black Sheep" sweater in the 1980s. In contrast, you knew your husband well enough to know that he was arrogant and knew exactly how hot he looked - you also made your thoughts clear enough when you kept him backstage beyond ten minutes in a rather heated kissing session.

"Are you anxious?" you asked curiously, remaining with downcast eyes fixed on the strokes that remained assiduous on your warm skin. "To read about how the whole internet dreams of fucking my wife?! Of course." Harry joked, leaning over to leave a small one on your cheek. "We agree on that, don't we? Although I'm a little nervous, I'm really interested to know all the crazy things they say about you. Everyone knows you're mine at the end of the day, that's enough."

At the end of the break, you and Harry made a silent agreement that you should be the first to pick up one of the scattered papers in the red pot. There were quite a significant amount of tweets, and as much as you were used to reading rather sordid things about your husband on the Internet, the excitement was there as if you were wading into uncharted territory.

"I would be a good girl all year round if Santa guaranteed me a threesome with Harry and Y/N Styles on Christmas Eve." You laughed, Harry staring at the camera with an expression close to the meme of the surprised Pikachu. "You guys are incredibly nasty, I love it."

"If that was the first one, I'm really worried about the next ones." Harry commented with a little corner smile, picking the next tweet out of the bucket. "I have an entire folder on Pinterest dedicated to Harry Styles' hands, and let me tell you why: those hands are art, and art needs to be recognized."

"What- Guys, you promised you wouldn't post my anonymous tweets here." You quipped with false reproach, laughing at your own stupid joke while everyone else in the studio did the same. "But I can't blame her, honestly." Shaking your shoulders, you opened another piece of paper. "Harry Styles finally confessed that he wrote Watermelon Sugar for Y/N!!!! Are you guys imagining the same thing as me?!!!!!! 🥵🍆💦"

"Exhausted emoji, eggplant emoji, and water emoji?" Harry frowned, staring at the tweet you held up. "I imagine you're in need of a vacation somewhere refreshing and you're craving a fruit that everyone eats like it's really a vegetable."

"That reminded me of that story-" You laughed, hiding your face on the table as Harry continued to offer a poker face to the camera, struggling not to keep up with you laughter. "I'm sorry, lovie, I have to share this with the rest of the world." You stated, wiping a few tears from the corner of your eyes. "Harry always wears those fancy suits to concerts, right?! Right! Turns out he looks really hot in some, like his ass molds perfectly into those tight pants and everything. I was home that night because I wasn't feeling well enough to face the big crowds, but I was still following everything on twitter. It was a concert in London, not so far from where we lived at the time, so it was obvious that he would come home after it was over. I follow some portals that do really fast updates of pictures, videos, etc; everything that happened at Harry's concert was on my timeline in a matter of seconds. When one of these profiles uploaded a picture of him with his back to the camera in a heavily accentuated black and white suit, I quickly sent him the image along with a peach emoji and then wrote "looks good tonight". He didn't reply to me until a few hours later, of course, but I obviously didn't expect a "ready for a Fifth Avenue peach salad for dinner?" and numerous cutlery emojis."

Harry rolled his eyes comically, indulging in laughter as did everyone else who occupied the backstage area.

"I'm against the eroticization of emojis." He said between uncompensated breaths, shaking his head negatively. "Let's go to the next ones, please, I'm already feeling exposed enough here."

"I like your old-fashioned spirit, baby." You assured him with a smile, laying on the sturdy shoulder hidden under the fluffy fabric.

Harry chuckled low, leaving a little kiss on the top of your head before selecting the next paper. The fans would die when that video aired, everyone was sure. You two easily forgot the cameras when you were side by side, and the public display of affection had never been a problem.

"My life mission is to look at someone the way Harry looks at Y/N and be reciprocated the way Y/N looks at Harry, then I could die happy." Harry read. "That was very good and healthy, thank you!" He smiled. "But don't settle for death in that case, please. Just make sure to keep that person around forever."

"Awn, we got so sweet now." You made a pout. "Thank you for sending us something so cute! I really hope you find the right person soon." Sending a kiss to the camera, you moved on to the next tweet. "I wouldn't want to get a golden ticket to visit Willy Wonka's factory, I would like to get a golden ticket to actively participate in Y/N and Harry Styles' Honeymoon.

"That was creative, so I will disregard the fact that you removed my last name from my wife's name." Harry joked.

"I will always be an Y/L/N." You flashed the tongue. "We had a great Honeymoon, but I know you guys already know all about it because there are pictures all over the internet of outings that I don't even remember existed."

"Even though we chose a rather reserved city, many paparazzi still managed to photograph some of our nights there." Harry agreed. "There was one particular day when we opted to have dinner at a restaurant near the beach. Y/N had found it even before the trip, it was pretty laid back and we could spend the evening at karaoke. I don't really remember what happened, but we woke up the next day with a terrible hangover, still wearing the clothes from the dinner and with several headlines saying that I was cheating on my wife in the middle of our Honeymoon with a blue-haired italian girl."

"That wig made me sexy, man." You blinked, laughing as you remembered the situation. "It's a shame the paparazzi only got low quality images, but I swear I looked really amazing that night. Italy, I miss you."

"We're coming to the end and I haven't had to ask production for a glass of water yet, thank you to whoever selected these tweets." Harry raised his thumb to the camera, smiling before turning his gaze back to the small paper he had chosen. "Y/N could literally punch me in the face and I would just bow down and thank them for it." He laughed. "She has heavy hands, so I would rethink that choice."

"It takes strong hands to be a superheroine." You blinked gracefully, referring to your works as a Marvel actress. "I move around a lot during the night, so I'll take this lovely opportunity to say that twitter can dismiss all the malicious theories about Harry always show up with a new bruise all over his body."

"Please stop making indecent assumptions while Y/N is aggressive with me at night only unconsciously, her father has access to social media."

You laughed, clearing your throat before reading the next obscenity aloud.

"I would sell all my possessions to have Y/N sitting on my lap for ten seconds."

"Oh my God." Harry laughed out loud, throwing his head back. "I should have said that in our wedding vows."

You shook your head, laughing low as you set the tweet aside.

"That was pretty funny and cheeky, I approve."

"Okay, looks like we finally got to the last one." Harry announced, waving the paper in the air dramatically before opening it. "Harry could literally crush me with those boots while fuc- I need that glass of water." He said dumbfounded, hiding his face between his hands after throwing the tweet over his shoulder. You laughed out loud next to the organizers, and meanwhile Harry leaned his head on your bust, staring at you still with wide eyes. "Please promise that we will be careful with our future children on the internet."

[jordanstrophe]

Shreads of Freedom: Talsmen’s Flashdrive

CW: Amnesia, conditioning, defiance, manipulative whumper, hurt/comfort

Masterlist  -  Previous

------

A flash drive gets snapped into the laptop with a delicate *click*. A file named ‘Alexander’ appears on screen.

Day one-

He’s begun cowering in the corner, yet has enough deviancy to give me a rather challenging expression from there. He's been nothing but a royal pain so far, he’s already bitten me twice and locked himself in his room just to avoid me. 

I would rather not kill him. Not today, at least...

To keep him here, is to keep him under control. But he's a force to reckon with; defiant till the last breath. I can only keep him calm for so long, and his fear is fueling his desperation, it’s turning him into quite the little handful to deal with. 

Day Two-

I'm considering... restarting him. Fresh clay ready to be molded into whatever I want. Whatever I need.

And what I need, is for him to forget.

Forget who he is.

Forget why he's here.

Or!... I might accidently fry his brain. Whichever one I get, the problem’s still solved. They wanted him dead, after all... But I, want him useful. It would be nice to have some here, It'll make things a little less lonely. This place has become nothing but a dump in my care... 

Day Five-

Finally! After days of work, the process was a success! My ears are long grated from his constant shouting, but he has no relocation of his previous life. He’s confused, and more prone to listening to me and behaving; and yet, he still has a spark of defiance; but he's also asking a lot of questions. 

Good. This is good. 

His answers will only be filled with the things I want him to know. Things that will keep him behaved enough. He’s a sweet little thing, really. Still an emotional wreck, but he’s my sweet emotional wreck. 

Day Six-

He's started getting horrible headaches when he's frustrated or confused. Which is quite often, I must say. It's not my intention to make him suffer. Everything I've done is to save him; to spare him from an uncalled fate. But I will admit, it is a convenient punishment to withhold care when he gets too worked up and won't calm down. He almost fell unconscious tonight when we had an argument over dinner. 

I almost feel bad for him, mindlessly locked up all day... unaware the world goes on and believes he’s gone. But no one can know he's here. No one can know he's alive.

I want that promotion, after all. 

Day Eight-

I made a... slight misjudgment. 

He became restless, followed by curiosity. He tried to slip out the door and see what was out here, infatuated by seeing the forest for the first time. 

Well of course it wasn’t his first time! I know that. But he doesn’t. I dragged him back inside by his ear and he started crying about a headache. I told him to shut up and go to his room. 

Now he’s causing me a headache. He could have gotten hurt out there, or worse:

Seen. 

-------

Theo snapped his laptop shut and ripped the flash drive out of his computer. He threw it in a drawer and slammed it shut, shuddering and feeling his skin crawl. His chair squeaked as he glanced back, watching Alexander sleeping peacefully on the couch. His face was still pale as if he had seen a ghost, but at least he wasn’t in pain. Not anymore. 

Theo sat on the floor by his side and cupped his cheek, tilting his head up. 

“..Mmm...” Alex murmured in protest, furrowing his brow and trying to turn his head away. 

“Heey kiddo, it’s alright. How’s your head?” He asked. 

“......m...”

Theo sighed with a chuckle and unclipped the pin in Alex’s hair, letting his bangs fall to the side. 

“You’re getting a talking to when you wake up, young man.” Theo softly scolded, knowing he was only talking to himself at this point. “But... get some rest right now, alright?” He cooed, ruffling his bangs and setting the pin on the couch next to him for when he woke up. 

“I’m not going to let anything happen to you.” 

@wolfeyedwitch @melancholy-in-the-morning  @octopus-reactivated @someoneonearth2007 @batfacedliar-yetagain @jadeocean46910

[jaeminscoffee]

Colours | X. Dj

Pairing» Xiaojun x f!Reader

Genre» Angst, Fluff, Smut (suggestive)

Warning(s)» Friends to lovers trope, Xiaojun kinda loses his temper but that subdues, heavy makeout session, groping, public sex, fingering, implied sex towards the ending (open imagination since the request was kinda vague), steamy, our boi dejun get's flustered by Y/n's bubbly personality. I think that's about it. Lmao not proof read, so it will contain a hell lot of mistakes.

Wc; type» 2.06k ; oneshot

Red.

All Xiaojun could see is Red. 

To have the person who dragged him all the way to some stupid reunion party against his will to abandon him in the first five minutes with the pathetic excuse of "I'll go grab us some drinks" only to never return back to his aid had Xiaojun boil with anger. 

To have you smiling and laughing, clinging and grasping at a man he's never seen before is Infuriating. 

To see you so smitten by a guy other than Xiaojun had him seeing crimson with comically visible smoke coming out of his ears, arms shaking, jaw set rigid with palms growing moist from all the clenching and unclenching. 

Xiaojun felt yellow. 

He felt insecure at how the man before you just seemed to be much to your taste. 

He felt unsure of whether or not he should risk walking up to you and talk the talk he'd wanted to let out since the day you stood up for the lad. And inevitably, and much to his pleasure, stood by him in the process till date. 

He felt that maybe, just maybe, he's not worthy of having a girl as astounding as you. And all that sliver of hope he'd held onto only seemed to be slipping away from his grasp. 

Xiaojun felt blue. 

The dreading feeling that he'd lose all that the two of you built until where your relationship stands today with a single mistake bubbles inside of him. 

Watching you from afar with a man potentially your dream guy just made him feel blue. Numb, and as though a part of him was slowly chipping away. 

The immense feeling of sheer sadness had him want to turn on his heels and back out to what he thinks "get out of your way" and to prevent further breakage of his heart. 

Until he saw red again. 

Watching you throw yourself at this stranger, arms tightly wrapped around the bastard's waist, hips joint, with his hands running through the soft curls of your tresses, "who does he think he is?" 

How entitled must this man think he is to expand the white between the two of you? You and Xiaojun were meant to be and he'd only flick your head and call you stupid if you ever said otherwise. 

Eyebrows furrowing as Xiaojun followed each of your actions. How your chin tucks and you hide your face in this 'dream bastard's' chest, arms idly resting on his torso, your hair covering your face from all the moving around. He kept watching you;

Until your gaze met. 

Time seemed to stand still, in a much cliché fashion. Seeing the expressionless look on his face seemed to have clicked the power on button somewhere in your head.

You'd unintentionally abandoned the man you promised you wouldn't. 

Almost as though Xiaojun could see the wheels turning inside your head, he sneers at you, immediately turning around to walk into a corner the moment he saw you approaching him through the crowd filled with hookers, stoners, and people too bored for their own good. 

"Jun, wait up!" 

He could hear your shrill voice call out to him the moment he rounded a turn. He didn't turn, however, mind clouded red, crimson and ebony with jealousy, envy and all mixed emotions, he felt dizzy. 

You catching up to him only seemed to worsen his dizziness, "Jun! I-i'm so sorry i forgot about you, it's just my b-" 

"Forgot about me, huh?" Xiaojun's voice comes gruff, hoarse from the inadequate usage. He doesn't bother turning around to look at you, wouldn't have done much anyways, the lighting of the area so dim, he can barely make out your silhouette. 

Besides, his vision is clouded with black, wouldn't have done much anyways. 

"No no, not forget forget about you! I just got caught up with my b-" 

"boyfriend? Y/n, are you oblivious to not know how  I feel? Am I vague? Oh I'm sorry, am I not obvious enough?" Through the darkness, you could see Xiaojun's shoulder shake, his tone strained, his head hung low, avoiding your gaze the closer you got. "Jun, what are you talking about?" 

You seemed to be feeling grey, confused. 

"Your boyfriend, Y/n." 

"Jun, boyfriend-!" "I like you damn it!" you flinch as he abruptly turns around, the red building inside him so rapidly that it inevitably ends up exploding.

"You know I like you, no, I love you. Why else would you have been waltzing around acting like a pliant, docile girlfriend?" The grey intensifies within you the faster Xiaojun talks quick strides towards you. 

Your silence and the unconscious stepping back seemed to plant a seed of yellow within him again. "You led me on. You seemingly ignored my feelings. Because you obviously know I like you, don't you?" The red appears again, mixing with the intense yellow, blending into a terrific orange as Xiaojun closes the space between the two of you with newfound confidence. 

"You like me.." you whisper, your palms pressing onto the greasy wall behind you where Xiaojun had you cornered, your eyes shaking in ecstasy. He likes you, no. He loves you.

"You need to a whole 'nother level of airhead if you think i view you merely as a friend-" Somewhere in your head, you know he's talking to you, but his voice seems to numb out in the beautiful crimson that's taking over your heart, with a slight mix of elegant yellow and purple so faint it could come off as violet. "You like me!" you look up at him. 

"-Yes, Y/n, keep up god damn! But do you care? Of course not! You go get yourself a boyfriend while i wallow in self pity-" 

"Oh god you like me!" you bounce with all the vibrant colors swirling inside you, your arms lifting up to wrap around the lads neck, who jumps at the unexpected action, looking down at you with a mixture of confusion and slight fury.

"Does it matter, Y/n? Your boyfriend's probably looking for you now-" 

"Jun, what are you talking about? I don't have a boyfriend!" you pull him down to be leveled with you, looking him intensely in the eye as you watch the familiar grey dominate his irises. 

"Th-Then, that man you were all over..? You cannot possibly tell me he's not your boyfriend" he seems to be fighting to hold onto the red fury as it slowly turns into a rosy flush. "The man I was all over..?" you question seemingly to yourself, as the wheels turn  in your head once again until the entire process comes to an abrupt halt at the realization hitting you. 

"Jun, that's my brother! My cousin!" 

The look on the lad's face is so incredulous that you break out into a cheshire grin, "you were jealous of my brother?" you giggle, as you playfully punch at his chest which deflates as he radiates bright crimson, skin heated. 

"o-okay brother. brother, alright. Though, I still don't stand a chance, do i?" Xiaojun questions, stammering with embarrassment while being overcome with a sudden sense of blue. Sure you didn't have a boyfriend, doesn't change the fact that you're way out of his league. 

You stare into his eyes, hoping that would somehow convey the answer to his question, but the more you just look at him, the more the light in his eyes seems to dim out. 

Offering him a soft smile, which he doesn't seem to notice, you catch him off guard when you lift his head up, tilting it while pressing your lips onto his ever so gently. Providing a soft peck as you sigh in ecstasy. 

You let your lips linger a little longer, silently pouring out your heart into the soft action of affection before hesitantly pulling away. 

"Does that answer your question?" your gentle voice pulls Xiaojun out of his haze. 

You kissed him. You like him. He stands a chance with you. 

That seems to snap the last bit of self restraint in him as he captures your lips once again with much fervor. Molding his lips with yours, all signs of softness thrown out of the window as his hands circle your hips, pulling you flush against him. 

The feeling of your heat encircling him makes him groan into the kiss, making a wave of shock run through your spine. The hairs on your hand standing proud as you play with the hair at the back of his neck, pulling at it. 

Biting down on your lips, Xiaojun positively earns a moan from you. He takes the opportunity to slip his tongue into yours, easily dominating your tongue as you slowly, subconsciously start grinding against him, making him squeeze tight at your hips. 

"I.. Love you.. Jun" you say in between the kiss as his hands travel further south, groping at your ass, pulling you in, supporting your grinds on his crotch.

"Fuck.." he sighs at the words, slithering wet kisses from your lips to the edge of your lips, moving onto the jaw before choosing to nip at the skin, "say it again, doll" he rasps onto your neck, while his hands sneakily makes its way under the flimsy material of your skirt, thumbing at your growing wetness while staring intently at you, silently asking for the green flag to proceed.

"I.. I love you. I love you, Xiaojun!" you nod at him while pouring all your adoration onto the lad, you'd waited too long for the two of you to take it slow from now on forth. 

Xiaojun moves your panties to the side, immediately finding the bundle of nerves, pressing nimbly onto your clit, basking in your little whimpers and shakes. 

He wastes no time to draw figure eights onto the sensitive bud, cooing at you while marking his territory on your neck, your jaw, the naked skin of your shoulders and collarbone, exposed by the off shoulder top you'd chosen for the evening. 

"I love you, too, princess. You've no idea how long I've waited for this moment." he moans onto your neck while sliding in a slender digit into your wet cavern. 

You grow frantic, soaking in all the emotions Xiaojun is pouring onto you with his actions and words, being pulled close to your high, embarrassing faster than you'd appreciate.

"You've no idea how many times I'm imagined taking you until all you can remember is my name, not even yours" he starts moving his digits after fitting in another one of his long fingers, the slick pouring out of your cunt pooling onto his palms as your moans come out as squeals. Your brain is hazing with a pleasant pink, blue and red. All of the emotions overwhelming you.

"You look gorgeous, doll face" he kisses softly at the side of your lips when you start clenching around his fingers, the knot in your stomach threatening to snap.

"J-Jun.." you sigh, face flush with content, legs shaking, your form only being held up by his strong grip, his intense gaze making you feel so small, so vulnerable, all the tell-tale signs of your orgasm nearing you present as he accelerates his fingers, clearly catching onto the fact that you'd come undone any second. 

"You gonna come for me, pretty? Am I making you feel good?" he grunts while nibbling at the lobe of your ears, digits moving so fast inside your calls that you can hear the squelching obscene voices of your walls over the loud music playing in the background, his palm constantly rubbing against your clit. 

"Feel's so g-good, Jun.." You grip onto his forearm to keep you grounded as your orgasm washes over you. Your jaw slacks as you convulse around his fingers. Xiaojun cooing praises into your ears as he helps you ride out your orgasm, pulling you into a kiss as you push his fingers away when he slowly drives you into overstimulation. 

"Fuck, you're perfect." he stares at you with adoration while you catch your breath. Forcing yourself to step out of your daze. You smile shyly until it turns into a sly smirk as you move your hands to grab at his painfully evident dent, slowly rasping out as you move closer to him,

"Your place or mine?" 

The red never felt so satisfying to Xiaojun until now. 

[falling-pages]

Okay how about first cuddles with Bakugou? Like he is almost feral about being held and having reader snuggle into them. And then....then he realizes the powers of a good cuddle. His body relaxes and accepts the cuddles. You know, just Bakugou leaning how to be a soft boy. 🥰🥰🥰 Hope this helps!! Happy Writing!!

This T_T my heart absolutely melted. This was absolutely self-indulgent on my end and I’m so happy you requested it!!!!

I decided to make it a part 2 of this one shot since so many people asked for a part 2 🥰🥰🥰 Lol also it’s long so I’m sorry

-

-

Friday Night pt. 2:

Third-Year Bakugou Katsuki x Third-Year gender-neutral Reader

-

Genre: Fluff, pining, cuddles, first kiss, just Bakugou going feral when he finally gets cuddles

-

-

Bakugou didn’t sleep like you thought he would.

Even with the fever ripping through his body, he laid there so peacefully. On his back, eyes scrunched shut, mouth in a thin line, the first time you had ever seen him not scowling, actually. It was like sneaking back into school after hours and watching the teachers work silently, in their natural habitats.

You didn’t know what you were expecting him to look like unconscious. Snarling snores, maybe. Resting on his stomach, gripping the sheets in his fists hard enough to rip. Probably thrashing, screaming and cursing at his dreams. Imploding smokey holes into the mattress.

But not...this. Not so peaceful, not the way he turned and slightly smiled at whatever his brain came up with. Not the way he would gently breathe in and out of his nose. Not the way his right hand sat limply at his side, his left crossed protectively over his worst wound near his stomach. Not the way his hair stuck out on the pillow gently cushioning his bruised face.

Neither Bakugou nor Aizawa would tell you how he got hurt, raising your suspicions. With graduation looming and the hero license exam nearing, you had figured your teacher had taken some of the top third-year students out for extra training. Bakugou had garnered more control over his quirk, granted, but he still needed the extra training. He liked to push himself too hard, take too many missions. Your outburst earlier in the evening sunk that into his thick skull. 

Some part of watching him felt wrong, knowing he would blast you into outer space if he caught you looking. But this was your job tonight, to sit by his side and watch over him as he healed. 

He suddenly gasped in his sleep, eyebrows furrowing as he clutched his deepest wound. The air rushed out of his now-open mouth, accompanying the slightest whimper. You lurched forward and activated your quirk, falling to your knees to look within him. 

It staked your heart to see him in so much pain, but nothing was wrong, just some blood rushing to his wound. Not too heavy to come through the bandage, though, so you blinked and let it be. 

And then you took a calculated risk. Maybe it was foolish, maybe it was wrong, maybe you thought “to hell with it” about his malicious tendencies. You knew it wouldn’t cure him, and you knew he would probably disintegrate you into a pile of ash and smoke, but you wanted to try. That tugging feeling in your stomach wouldn’t leave you alone, so...

You kissed him.

Well, his forehead. It was hot and dripping with sweat, and you knew it was dangerous, you knew his power was stored in his sweat, but you did it anyway. You had to. You had to try something to ease his pain. 

He shifted beneath your touch, and you dove back into your chair and tried to act nonchalant. 

Like that would work. Nothing escaped Bakugou, even when he slept.

His eyes peeled open, eyebrows quirked as he took in his surroundings. A brief whiff of smoke aired from his palms until he realized where he was. In “some extra’s dorm.”

“Hey--” his voice crackled like his bombs as his eyes fully adjusted to the dim lamplight. His peaceful facade remained. 

“Hey,” you whispered back. Even injured and half-asleep, he still intimidated you. 

“What happened?”

You breathed, relief flooding your core. He hadn’t noticed. “The pain woke you up. But you’re alright. Go back to sleep.”

His eyes trailed lazily across the room, until they met yours. Those crimson red irises could strike fear into the hearts of friend and foe, but when they looked at you, they were soft, confused, trusting. Sleepy.

“That’s not all.”

You settled back in your chair, fiddling with the wicker arms. “That’s what happened.”

“You kissed me.”

You suddenly prayed to every god that you would die. Shiiiiiiiiit, he felt that? 

Panic covered your hands, making you lose feeling in your fingers. A buzzer sounded in your head, like an evacuation alarm. You cleared your throat. You wracked your brain for an excuse, but came up empty. Lying to him was a surefire way of getting blasted through the nearest wall. And, if the way he looked at you was any indication, you’d better tell the truth. “Only on the forehead.”

Bakugou studied you. Now his eyes were calculating, cunning. Now you couldn’t tell if he were looking at you as friend or foe. “You know my sweat could blast your face off.”

It would be a mercy compared to what you were about to go through. “You...just looked like you were in pain. I wanted to help.”

He stared at you for a few more painful seconds. His gaze pierced your sternum like a knife. Then, as if Heaven itself opened, he smiled.

He smiled. 

“I wouldn’t mind another,” he murmured, turning his head back to the ceiling. Try as he might, you saw that grin, joining the blush running across his cheeks. As much as your crush feelings were hyped, you couldn’t help but feel more relieved at the fact that you were still in one piece. 

You crept forward, hesitant to do as he suggested. He was a bucking horse, a wildfire that changed direction with the wind. It was all you could do to avoid getting burned. 

As you leaned over him again, your size dwarfed by him, that calculating sheen stayed put. Was he going to burn you as you were defenseless? Was he going to blast you? He wouldn’t. He had better instincts than to hurt the very person taking care of his injuries as he laid helpless in bed.

But if he was being vulnerable with you, then maybe you should be vulnerable with him.

When you were just a few inches away, Bakugou’s eyes still open, he suddenly reached up and yanked your head down, interlocking his lips with yours. You sputtered, jerking to pull off, but his hand kept you there, eyes fluttering shut as soon as you made contact. After a moment, when you felt your soul reenter your body, you shifted to support yourself better, kneeling half-way on the bed, crossing your chest just above his.

He was warm. You could feel his warmth even while you sat feet away. Unlike Deku, whose skin was always cool and clammy, he was warm. Either by his quirk or fever or just himself, he was burning up, fiery to touch, like a cast iron brand digging into your side. That’s how he made his way in this world, torching the earth and salting the fields if he didn’t get what he wanted, setting off explosions to mold and shift reality into what he desired. He was molten lava, desperate, eager, wanting, burning and terrifying to touch, a spark set ablaze to decimate anything in its path.

Pulsating, and beating, and alive.

But when you lowered your fingertips to his shoulder, and you flinched--breaking the kiss to softly gasp--he frowned, focusing on your face, the way your eyes looked at your hand and how your sensitive fingers rubbed together.

“You okay?” he whispered, gravel voice hushed in honor of the moment.

You heard the pain laced beneath his voice and turned to look at him. Your hand fell on the mattress beside his chest. As his eyes bore into your head, you watched him, the way his muscles rippled, the way his very soul seemed enchanted by your kiss. If you activated your quirk, you were sure you could see the way his blood danced beneath his skin, the rush of chemicals to his brain, the excitement flaring in his nostrils.

He was an inferno incarnate, breathing and wild and alive, letting you touch him with all the slow calmness of an ocean breeze.

You slowly blinked, losing yourself in the imprint of his lips on yours. You unconsciously reached up to your mouth, tracing the outline of it with your fingertips.

As you make a sound of satisfaction, he smirked, trailing a hand up your calf to rest placidly on your thigh. “I said, extra, you okay?”

“Umm. Yeah.” Your eyes follow his hand, expecting it to burst like his grenades. “You’re just really hot.”

He scoffed, smacking your thigh--but gently, just feeling your skin. “Damn right I am.”

“No, not like that.” You rolled your eyes. “I mean, you are hot--attractive, I mean--but your skin...ummm, it burned me.”

“Oh,” he grunted. His eyebrows furrowed, losing that playful edge. He took away his hand, bunching around the sheets instead. 

You massaged your sore fingers as he contemplated. You nearly missed his hissed out, “Sorry.”

So it was a night of firsts--the first time he heard you curse, the first time you heard him apologize, your first kiss and his, too, as far as you knew.

“It’s okay.”

Bakugou moved, waving your helping hand away in case he burned you again. Once he sat up, he leveled his eyes to yours and very lightly, gingerly, took your hand and raised it to his pouty lips. You waited for the sting, but as he kissed your fingertips, all you felt was warmth, like molten chocolate, like a woolen scarf, like the sleepy feeling of an open oven door. 

He finished by rotating your hand in all angles and degrees, making sure to cover every inch of your palm, knuckles, and wrist in his love. The residual buzz traveled from your hand into your heart. 

“It’s my emotions,” he murmured against your skin. “My quirk acts up when I’m emotional.”

He kept his eyes nearly shut, only focusing on pressing more adoring kisses to your skin. When you returned your other hand to his chest, he shuddered, staring back at you with wide eyes. You saw what he was about to say--“Don’t touch me, I don’t want to hurt you”--and folded your finger against his lips.

“You won’t hurt me,” you whisper. “You’re powerful, but I’m not afraid of you.”

You moved your hand down and leaned forward, returning his kiss. The hand he once possessed smoothed under his jaw, outlining it with a finger to pull him close. You tasted the hesitancy in his lips, no longer masked under the bravado of his previous kiss, and smiled. You searched for his hand and found it, bringing it to your waist, giving permission to the boy who rarely waited for others’ approval. But he waited for you. He respected you.

I know you won’t hurt me. 

And that single move was when he realized he was so, so feral for your touch.

His long, powerful arms wrapped around your middle, hauling you completely onto the bed and scooting you into his lap, hugging you as close as he possibly could. There was no soft bone in his body--he devoured you, desperate for your love, your lips, you, you, you. A boy who had been scared to touch all of his life--knowing what it did to people, what he could do if he tried, the damage he even did on accident--was now clutching someone who wasn’t scared, someone who cared, whose hands knotted in his hair revealed just how desperately you needed him, as well. 

You filled him with your love, and he you, and you felt a tear escape, the kind that you cry when watching a sunset, or eating ice cream, or listening to your favorite song, when you’re so happy that smiling just isn’t enough.

Bakugou felt the wetness on your cheek and paused, cradling and dipping the back of your head so he could kiss it away. “What’s wrong, Firework?”

You veins ran hot at the pet name so naturally falling from his lips. “Nothing.” You smile, biting your lip. “I’m just happy.”

He nuzzled your forehead. “Good. Now, let’s lay down. You need to sleep.” 

You smoothed the bottom of your pajama shirt as he stretched to turn off the lamp. As you began to wriggle out of his grasp, he suddenly grabbed you tighter and held you as he shifted, lifting the blanket and dragging you both below. You began to protest on account of his injuries, but he squeezed you tighter against his chest. 

“I’m not letting you out of my arms again,” he whispered, with a kiss to the head.

Once you both were situated in the dark, you rested your head on his shoulder as he scratched your back. The long, slow strokes nearly lulled you into sleep, but one question filled your mind.

“Baku--”

“Katsuki.”

You couldn’t see him, but he moved his face nearer yours, catching your hand planted on his chest. “Call me Katsuki.”

“Okay.” The draw of his informal name sent a chill down your spine that you’re sure he felt. “Katsuki, why call me Firework?”

He smiled into your hair, shifting your weight onto him. Drowsiness choked his voice. “Because fireworks are beautiful, brilliant, and I like to look at them.” His knuckles found your cheek, and he brushed them against it. “And you are beautiful, brilliant, and I like to look at you.”

Satisfied, you closed your eyes, drinking in the feeling of his warm skin and arms cradling you, desperate, never willing to let you go, and you never wanting him to.

-

-

[kagemaruzest69]

Lovesick {Karl Heisenberg x Reader}

Ch. 1 - {The Village}

【ιт ιѕ тнє ℓινєѕ ωє єη¢συηтєя тнαт мαкє ℓιƒє ωσятн ℓινιηg】

It was finally a time that (Y/N) and her boyfriend, James had been waiting for. A time off from work, a vacation that the two of them really needed. Even when the two works at different offices, everyone knew that the two were an inseparable couple that was sweet and dreamy. Everyone loved and cheered for their relationship to go keep going strong. The couple decided to go to a village in the Eastern Europe that they had read in articles and it looked like a perfect place for them to visit and enjoy their quiet time together, just the two of them.

The fateful day came, however, upon arriving on the destinated village, it looked abandoned, deserted by its villagers even. It totally looked nothing like the pictures in the articles, but the nature surrounding the village and the giant castle that ghosted over the small village are really stunning and had their own magic charm to the visitors. The first step into the village, the couple noticed that the village was not deserted, there were villagers, but they were watching the outsiders from behind the window of their homes. (Y/N) and James were curious about this, if there were villagers around, how come does the village look so deserted? They looked at each other and decided to shrug it off. Since they have just arrived, they were hungry and decided to look for a restaurant or something similar that might be open within the village.

After an hour of searching there were none, so they decided to go to the outskirts of the village and sat by a river stream to catch some fishes for themselves. The air was chill, and the atmosphere was really calm and serene, unlike the true nature of the village. James went to catch the fish, whilst (Y/N) took some water from the stream and boiled it to ensure that it is safe from any bacteria or virus. Unfortunately, unbeknownst to them, a certain parasite that had evolved with the mold, known as the Cadou to certain groups was living within the water and the fishes that they drank and ate. It might be dormant within their bodies right now, but soon enough, it will seal the couple’s fate to the village that they had set their foot in.

After the meal, the two went back to the village. During their path back, (Y/N)’s (E/C) orbs caught the silhouette of a factory on the outskirts of the village, however, the wind was blowing harder by this time and the snow and fog began to thicken that she was unsure if what she saw was something that’s real and truly there. The couple intertwined their fingers together and walked close to share the warmth between the two until they arrived back at the village and stumbled upon what it looked like the village’s church. They went inside to take shelter from the upcoming snowstorm.

The church was smaller compared to the other churches they have been to, but it was enough for the villagers. Inside the church, they found an old woman, sitting by the front seat, praying to Mother Miranda. (Y/N)’s right eyebrow was raised before her eyes darted over from the old woman to the front of the church where there was a picture of a woman in the middle, and another four pictures, each two pictures were placed side by side adjacent to the middle woman. It looked kind of straight from a horror movie, but the pair decided to be polite about it and sat at the furthest chair from the front.

“Youngsters, the two of you are not from around here, aren’t you?” The old woman’s voice echoed within the church’s hall. “No, we’re actually visitors and we have just arrived here today.” James answered whilst (Y/N) scooted closer to the male’s side, feeling uncomfortable with the conversation and the air. “Oh my, you should pray for your safety and I wish you safe through your journey. Shall Mother Miranda bless you.” The old woman stood up from her seat. “The storm will be here soon along with the others. The two of you should stay here until it is over. I do not advise that you two go out while the storm is present. It is unsafe and you might become its prey.” Her sentence was enough to make (Y/N) alerted, her lips were parted, “Mother Miranda? Who is that? And whose prey? There are predators here?” she queried in hurry as fear laced her questions. “The goddess and the protectors of the land.” was the old woman’s short answer before she left the couple alone in the church.  

A look of dread was present on (Y/N) face before she turned to hug her boyfriend which embraced her back tightly. “We will be fine, don’t worry, it could be just a tale that the elders told the youngsters here to make sure that the youngsters would stay in line and act accordingly to the village’s moral value. To make sure that the children would stay away from troubles.” James assured (Y/N). This managed to calm her down. As she closed her eyes and hugged him, a twisted smile played upon his lips as a wicked plan formed within his head. “After the snow is over, we will set up our camp on the nearby hill.” She nodded and retracted her arms from his body. “I love the nature here, however, I have a bad feeling about this village.” She told him with a sigh. “I know my dear, but we will be out of here soon, don’t worry. I promise you that I will keep us safe.”

Hours passed by, probably around 3 to 4 hours since the snowstorm started, and it had died down. The two had fallen asleep within each other’s arms during the wait and (Y/N) had woke up first. She nudged her lover softly with her hand, waking him up from his pleasant slumber. His eyebrows were scrunched before his eyes opened to find her and a small smile was formed upon his lips. “Is it over?” He asked her and she replied with a nod. “Let’s set up our camp soon, the nighttime is getting closer.” (Y/N) stood up from the seat and took her things as James got ready as well. The two walked hand-in-hand to the nearby hill and set their camp up for the night. As she sat by the folding chair, she saw the factory once again. ‘So, it was real’ she thought to herself. The factory looked huge and once again, abandoned just like the village. However, she found it to be very enticing, maybe it was because of her love for machines and she had a hobby to tinker with something during her free time back at her hometown.

A tap was felt on her left shoulder and she turned her head from the factory to the face of her lover. He had a handsome face, soft baby blue eyes with short blonde hair with an undercut style and clean shaved face.  He smiled and offered her a glass of water which she took, “Thank you.” She said before she took a sip of the water. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” His blue orbs were looking up to the night sky before it went to where (Y/N) was looking at before. “And that factory over there, I am sure it had caught your interest, I happened to see it on our way back to the village which is why I decided to camp on this hill because I know that you would love it and we will be able to go there and do a little search tomorrow. A little adventure at a place that I know you will love,” He leaned down and placed a kiss on her forehead. “And it seems I was right,” he smirked playfully at her, a small giggle escaped her lips. “You are right about that.” The camp on the hill and the factory had somewhat eased her memory about what the old woman had said upon their encounter within the church. “Let’s rest up, there are a lot of places and things to do tomorrow,” James held out his hand to (Y/N). She gladly took his hand and they headed inside their shared tent to rest for the night.

Morning came by quickly. The pair had disassembled their tent and packed their things up. The very next thing they did after their breakfast was heading straight to the factory. (Y/N) eyes lit up in amazement as they arrived at the factory’s front gate. She pushed it open, enough for them to get inside. The front yard was filled with rusted and unused things, starting from rusty scraps, metal scraps, tanks and many more. “Should we head inside?” She asked her boyfriend, unsure whether the factory was still operating or if someone or something reside within it. Oh, how would she jump out of her body had she known that the factory held all kind of nightmares she could ever dream of escaping from and the master of the factory was not one to be too fond of visitors, or rather it was his ‘family’ that was not fond of outsiders. Upon stepping inside, she rushed on her own to inspect the machines inside whilst James, on the other hand, went to look for a metal bar that he would use to execute his plans. He had planned to leave her alone, and possibly it would kill her and soon he would be free from her, he would be free to do what he wants and most importantly, he would be free to be together with his other lover that he had been having an affair with for the past 3 months. He didn’t have the heart to tell her that he had cheated on her and chose an even worse way to solve his problem, to solve his fault. She could die and if the old woman was right, the protectors could capture or even kill her for he didn’t care about her anymore.

He stalked her quietly as not to raise her suspicions and within the right moment, he struck her with the metal bar he found. The metal bar hit right behind her head which sent her body into a shocked state and she fell unconscious right away as blood began to seep out of her wounded head. He quickly tied her to the chair in the main room using the rope he found. It was only the very first room they were in, he truly intended to make it quick for himself and then he fled out of the factory, leaving the door open, and somewhat he managed to leave the village this time.      

In the end, who knew that even in the sweetest relationship, there would still be a flaw. After all, nothing is perfect, and imperfection would always follow everyone. And unfortunately, the dearest (Y/N) found out the hole within their relationship, one that she had been turning blind eye on.

Meanwhile, the master of the factory, Karl Heisenberg was just returning from a ‘family’ meeting and he was curious as to why the factory’s main door was open. No one has ever dared to sneak into his factory and live to tell the tale. He went inside and much to his shock and surprise, he found a woman, a barely conscious woman was tied onto a chair. Karl took a drag from his cigar and exhaled the smoke before he placed his hammer down to the side. “My, oh sweet dear, what do we have here? Who was the kindhearted Santa that had left a gift for this old man?” He asked no one, but to himself. He then proceeded to use his metal power to call in a knife and cut the rope off of the female. He walked close to her and examined her, soon, he found out that she had a wound on the back of her head. A frown could be seen instantly as his brown eyes landed on the wound. He lifted her up bridal style into his main workstation which happens to be his own bedroom as well. He placed her on top of his soft mattress as he tended to her wound. What was the reason he did that? He did not know, especially she was an outsider. Maybe he was bored of what he had within his factory and he thought that she would be a new toy to play and experiment with. Maybe he was interested, intrigued by what story she could regale him with about the outside world. For now, he would keep this little prize that came out of nowhere for himself, and shall the time come, he will only then bring her up in the ‘family’ meetings.

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

I will attach the wattpad link to each of the chapter headings. Thank you