#so every time i open it i start trembling in rage bc i want to read it but writing hard

[bakingmoomins]

sometimes i open my wip folder and start trembling after seeing a very good concept i came up with and I need to scream for a second because i want to read it but that means I have to write

[cdroloisms]

i think that although the theories/aus of puffy's son dream and wil's brother dream are interesting to think about, especially the implications, the (probably) canon statement that he really has no family to me hits the hardest. because it's just dream, you know. his friends hate him, he has none (p relatable), but i can't really imagine,, both not having friends and not having a family. that's kind of what keeps a lot of us sane and okay ( - quill anon (same anon from the c!tubbo c!wil ask) )

ouch quill anon ,, this ask Hurt. it’s true - usually, it’s our family and friends that keep us going, that are the ones that we fight for and live for and love for. c!dream’s “family” was his reasoning behind ,, a lot of the stuff he did, good or bad, and even now you can hear his desperation in getting someone, anyone to visit sometimes, in wanting to know how people are doing outside the cell. 

at the same time, he’s a character very much defined by his solitude, by his isolation, by all of the time he has spent,, alone. by the alliances that had been broken, betrayed, forgotten. by how- at the end of the day - he sits for hours on end in an obsidian box with nothing but his thoughts to accompany him. it’s awfully ,, sad, despite everything he’s done. through it all, he’s alone. he survives the horrors of the vault (until this current arc) alone. nobody’s there to hear his thoughts. nobody knows his mindset, or feelings, or wants, or anything that really makes him human. for someone so driven by people, he spends so much time completely isolated - and it’s. honestly really, really tragic. 

anyway, this is a sad little drabble set pre-roommates arc abt c!dream in the prison, alone, bc he makes me Sad. 

tw: mentioned torture, abuse, violence, broken bones, blood, injuries, mental deterioration, isolation, panic attacks, self-deprecation, trauma, memory loss, death, contemplations of death, dark content, dark imagery

The blank book in his hand stares at him stubbornly, the stark white of the untouched pages nearly burning his eyes, used to the dark walls and floor of the cell. Dream’s hand shakes around his quill, ink splotches marring the pages from where his too-unsteady hand had let the nib brush against the paper and left freckles of black spots behind. He pulls his thumb back from the bottom left corner, hissing slightly when it leaves a dull red fingerprint behind, a smudge of half-dried blood further dirtying the paper.

He’d pulled out one of the books for some reason, probably on a whim, letting his hands run over the leather spine and along the thread of the binding absentmindedly after Quackity left for the day. He hadn’t touched them in a while - he liked to save them, at the beginning, just in case visitors came and he wanted to thank them or if he needed to communicate (though he hadn’t gone silent since Sapnap left, ‘cause Sapnap wanted him to talk and he doesn’t know why he still clings to that visit when it’s been months and he still hasn’t come back, but he promised that if Dream behaved he’d visit again and - it’s stupid to hope, but Dream can’t give up, not yet) and then he kept them because he would need them for the revive book and the Warden would confiscate them, anyway, so it was better not to get attached. Regardless, he’d stubbornly ignored the chest of books for a long time, let the remain closed and the clasp go unlatched as he wasted his days away watching the walls drip bright purple and pretend he didn’t miss his clock.

Until now.

He runs his fingers along the surface of the paper again, ignoring the red and black smudges they leave in their wakes, ruining the previously unblemished pages. The paper is smooth, bearing a very slight grain, and smells clean and woody - this book must’ve been a newer one the Warden replaced into the chest. He’d counted the pages a few times, front and back - there are fifty sheets, so a hundred pages to use as he sees fit, completely empty and untouched. The quill shakes in his hand, the tip pressed against the paper, unmoving.

What is there to write?

He’s forgotten why he pulled out the book in the first place, already - his head keeps getting fuzzier, memory impossibly fragmented and seemingly worsening with every passing day. He knows he had a reason because he’d been very determined about it, had spent what must have been hours dragging himself along the obsidian floor with a broken shinbone jutting out of his right leg and a dislocated left shoulder that he’d taken an extra few minutes to jam back in place by pressing it against the floor. Something had come into his head, probably in the middle of Quackity’s daily session, and he’d found himself desperate to write it down before he forgot despite the throbbing of his head and the pain in his chest making it impossible to take a full breath.

(He must have talked back, or acted defiant, or something - he doesn’t remember much besides the look Quackity had given him after, dark and angry and tight with rage. There had been a hand tangled in his hair, a blade jammed right up against his throat, curses and screams in his ears dying into a singular ringing echo as the blade was pushed deeper and deeper. It wasn’t until a few minutes later when Quackity realized that he’d gone too deep and that Dream was choking on his own blood - his memories shatter, and there’s nothing but more screaming, red and black and blood everywhere, warm against his skin, the sweet-sour taste of glistening melon on his tongue, a healing pot desperately stitching his skin together and bringing him back from the darkness that he’d swelled in the corners of his vision - mostly, he remembers everything going cold and numb and he’d realized, halfway into the Void, that he would never leave the Vault alive.)

His hands tighten on the book as he breathes a shallow, harsh breath through his teeth, because - oh. Oh. He looks back at the trembling white plume in his hand, at his shaking fingers clenched tightly near the end, and he swallows the thick, heavy feeling in his throat. Quackity had- and he had- and then-

Right.

He forces air into his lungs steadily, counting the seconds off in his head. He’d learned how to stave off panic attacks on his own ages ago, and the knowledge had come to full use in the Vault - the struggle to stay calm seems harder with every passing day, but he can’t exactly risk himself passing out every three seconds when he’s inevitably set off by the smell of blood or a twinge of pain or any of the million other triggers crammed into this tiny box that’s been the source of all of his torment for months. He keeps up the slow, steady breathing for another few minutes, just enough time to pull back the darkness creeping in from the edges of his vision, and looks back down at the blank paper.

It stares back at him, almost judgmental of his hesitancy. You opened me up, it seems to challenge him, why aren’t you writing? The quill still shakes in his hand. He doesn’t know if it’ll ever stop shaking again.

Dear, he begins, almost in defiance, proof that he Is Going To Write Something, thank you very much, he isn’t just going to chicken out and leave it a blank book (like you have before?) but the quill tip digs into the paper as he grinds to a sudden halt, the empty space next to the first word nearly taunting. He feels his mouth dry, heat rising behind his eyes - the book, silent and blank as ever, stays imprinted in his vision even as he squeezes them shut.

Dear, what a stupid, sentimental way to start a letter. He can’t even fool himself into thinking of it as a business venture, turn it into an elaborate plan to escape and address it to either Techno or Wilbur (who would never receive his message anyway), not without admitting his regard for the two edged past his pretense of professional interested and owed favors. He can hardly write it to Ranboo, not without compromising their already fragile alliance (if it even exists, anymore. The enderman hybrid had yet to visit for months - and sure, it was probably for the best, who knows how Quackity would react if he found out about the nature of their relationship, but that didn’t make it sting any less.)

In the back of his minds, name rise from where he’d kept them carefully buried despite his best efforts. Punz. Bad. Puffy. Sapnap. George. He shakes his head, trying to wave away them from his thoughts, but the effort is as fruitless as it has always been - he stares at the first word angrily, like it has betrayed him, and receives no response. The words are messy, shaking, his script overly looping and rounded like a child’s. He hates it, hates how cheery it looks, even on the bloodstained page - it looks like the beginning of a birthday card, or a perhaps a particularly dedicated Halloween party invite. Like he’s some sort of lovesick teen, writing letters to crushes that would never pay him a second glance. He laughed a little, without any real humor - minus the romance, that description isn’t all that far off.

Because- well. His memories might be shot to all hell, but he doubts he’ll ever forget the hatred on Sapnap’s face, a loaded crossbow pointed between his eyes, George’s expression set in disinterested apathy - “George, you can give the word.” Bad’s face, twisted in pity and resignation, voice carefully measured as he looks away and gestures at the cell, “you did do some pretty bad stuff to get put in here though, Dream,” the hidden “you deserve it” that he’d heard, just as clearly behind the words. Punz - “you should’ve paid me more” - jaw set stiffly as people poured through the portal, watching, wordless, as Dream bled out twice on that blackstone floor. Puffy, poorly hidden disgust flickering over her face as she looks away from him being dragged away in chains, sword held steady in her hands. Sapnap, that same fiercely determined expression on his face so familiar that thinking of it aches, even now, “it’s gonna be me, who takes your final life.” Months and months and months and months, alone.

Always, always, alone.

The page makes a quiet, complaining groan under his pen - he looks down to see it torn under the tip of his quill, the word completely unreadable under line after line of black ink scratched over it, each one deeper than the last. He stares blankly at it for a few minutes longer, the brief flash of anger that had seared through his body settling into numbness once more.

To whoever may find this: he scratches the words on the page slowly, keeping his print deliberately blocky and neat. The heavy feeling in his throat returns, stronger than ever, and he ignores it as he pushes on.

He pauses for a moment, wondering what more to write. Apologies? Accusations? He could detail every second that he remembers from Quackity’s visits, describe every inch of pain that had been pulled from his aching lungs, every line etched into his skin. He could apologize for every act of cruelty that had ever been caused by his hands, every bridge he’d ever torched to light the path to a better future. He could explain - everything, every tortured thought that had circled his head for hours on end and every night that had passed without any sleep and every time he’d pushed on without complaint or hesitancy because it would be worth it, even if he was the only one who saw it, it would be worth it because he’d sacrifice too much for it to be anything but. He could- he could, he could write and write until he’d filled every page of every book back and front, and would they even believe him? Would it even matter?

Goodbye, he writes at last. It feels strangely final. (He won’t be leaving this Vault alive. He knows this as surely as he knows that he will leave this world uncared for, unheard. As surely as he knows that he’ll always be alone.) With a quick snap of magic following the signing of his name, the book is preserved, shining slightly with a purple glow as he sets it back down in the chest. He looks around, the cell once again stiflingly quiet without the book to busy him, Dream once again completely alone as he’s been for - well.

(Pandas, eyebrows drawn in uncharacteristic seriousness from the usually painfully spirited eight-year-old, pinkie raised between the two of them, solemnity belied by the gap in his front teeth poking out between his lips.

“We’ll be together forever,” he whispered with the volume control you’d expect from a kid that age, which is to say that it wasn’t much of a whisper at all, but Dream, newly ten years old, remembers being particularly moved by the gesture anyway, moving to hesitantly hook his own pinkie in the other’s.

“And we’ll never be alone ever again,” he’d replied, voice faraway with a disbelieving sort of awe.”

“Never,” Pandas’ voice had been just as firm as his first statement, twisting his wrist to tighten the grip of their linked fingers further. “Best friends for ever and ever, right?”

“For ever and ever.”)

“For ever and ever,” he whispers, eyes fluttering shut as he slumps down against the floor, and only the lava bubbles in reply.

[fandom-puff]

Arrangement

Pairing: Petyr Baelish x Lannister!Reader Requested by: @caelys​ ‘I see you’re writing for Baelish and can i request something with him? An arranged marriage possibly? Or literally anything that you'd like! Thank You ❤️’ Note: First time writing for baelish, so hopefully this is okay :) I wrote the reader as a Lannister, because we all know Tywin loves arranging marriages. Also I know its cannon that tyrion is the youngest but... yeah he isn’t any more idk how bc Joanna died giving birth to him but,,, eh

Warnings: Arranged marriage, older man, younger woman

gif creds to owner

“Father, I won’t!” 

Tywin arched his brows at your outburst, so unlike your usually placid demeanour. You stood across from him at the desk, gripping the edge of it as you stared him down. 

“You will,” he said simply, not even looking at you, instead looking back down at his paperwork. “You will marry Lord Baelish and your son will be the heir to Casterly Rock,”

“Father, how would that even work? Baelish has nothing to do with Casterly Rock! Tyrion is your heir, and you know it!” the door to the chamber opened and your older siblings filed in. You turned to them. “Tell him, Cersei,” you said, and your sister frowned between you and her father. 

“Tell him what?” She questioned, pursing her lips. 

“He want to marry me off to Baelish. Tell him he’s wrong. Tell him I can’t marry Lord Baelish,”

It was Jaime who spoke. “Father, surely you don’t mean to marry sweet YN to Petyr Baelish. He’ll end up whoring her out to fund her own wedding,” your eyes widened with fear and you looked quickly at your father. 

“Enough,” Tywin held up his hand. “YN, you are my daughter and you will do as you are bid,” his eyes softened ever so slightly when he saw your lower lip tremble, the same way it did when you were a little girl causing havoc in Casterly Rock. Steeling himself, he stared you hard in the eye. “You will marry Lord Baelish and sire an heir to Casterly Rock,” he said lowly. “That is the end of the matter,” 

Your face crumpled and you turned on your heal, storming out of the room. You refused to let Tywin see you cry. You refused to let anyone see you cry until you were in your own chambers with the door bolted. For what felt like hours, you sobbed and sobbed, and you didn’t hear the door opening. 

“YN? It’s Cersei, let me in,” your sister spoke softly at your door. While she could be a conniving bitch when she wanted to be, she truly cared for you, acting as a mother for much of your childhood. You unbolted your bedroom door and let her in, wiping at your eyes to get rid of your tears. “Not like that,” she said gently, getting her own silk handkerchief out and dabbing gently at your face. “You don't want your eyes to be puffy and red when you meet with Baelish,” 

You nodded obediently, and let her lead you to your vanity, sitting down in front of your mirror. Gently she removed your hairpins and undid your messy braids, before beginning to brush your hair gently. “I tried speaking to Father,” she said, running her fingers through your braids to undo the knots. “I tried to change his mind. He won’t. He has already drawn up the papers,” 

“Why me, Cersei? Why was you marrying King Robert not enough for him?” you said quietly watching as your hair fell in smooth waves over your shoulders. 

“I don’t know. I tried to tell him to marry you off to somebody else. But Joffrey is already betrothed to Sansa Stark, I believe he intends Myrcella to be a Dornish princess when she’s old enough. The Vale awaits Robyn Arryn to come of age, and the Reach... well, Loras Tyrell is hardly a match for you- he’s too busy playing at soldiers,” you nodded. 

“Thank you for trying,” you mumbled, willing your eyes not to fill up. “I’m scared,”

“I know you are. I was too. I nearly collapsed when Robert cloaked me,” you smiled weakly as she began arranging your hair. You looked at her questioningly. “You are not going to get out of this marriage, YN. So we must put on your armour. What is our sigil?”

“A golden lion on a field of scarlet,” you recited off by heart. 

“And Baelish?” 

“A black mockingbird on a yellow field,” you said and she nodded. 

“Good. You are more powerful, more influential than he will ever be, and we will remind him of it. Every time he sees your golden hair he will be reminded of the lion’s mane. You will wear red to your wedding, reminding him of the only house you are loyal to. Your children will be lannisters, not Baelish’s, and they will hold titles and riches he could only dream of,” you smiled softly as cersei began braiding back the front of your hair. “Let him see your pretty face,” she murmured, finishing one braid and beginning a smaller one just beneath it. You watched in the mirror as she wrapped and wound and piled the braids and twists into an intricate style. “There,” she murmured, putting in the last pin. You smiled gratefully up at her, but she was already rooting through your wardrobe. Soon she pulled out a scarlet gown, with long sleeves and a stiff, low bodice. “Here. Put this on. I’ll be back soon,”

You nodded, stepping out of your plain dress and into the rich gown (which was actually one of Cersei’s cast offs). You called in your ladies’ maid to help with the bodice, pulling it tight, nipping your waist and pushing up your breasts. Cersei smiled softly from the door way before the maid curtseyed and was excused.

“Here,” she said, holding out some of her own golden jewellery, and soon a ruby hung just above your heart, another at your throat. “There. You’re ready,” you nodded and bit your lip.

“He won’t really... do what Jaime said, will he?” You whispered.

“No. And you’re to make that clear from the start. You are the sister of the Queen regent, and he will treat you as such. Now, head up. Father said Baelish will be waiting in the gardens. Don’t worry, I have my little doves listening,”

***

You walked to the gardens, reciting the Lannister motto and Cersei’s instructions over and over in your head, willing your hands to stop shaking. In the garden, you found Baelish, staring into pond, his jacket buttoned up to his throat, mockingbird pin stark fabric. You cleared your throat.

“Ah, Lady Lannister,” he said softly, smiling. You felt your stomach lurch. “I take it your father has... discussed things?” His eyes drank in your intricate hairstyle, your attire, your jewellery, so different to what you usually wore. “And the Queen too,” he added. You arched your brows as haughtily as you could.

“Indeed,” you said simply. “We are to be wed in a fortnight. My father will name our son heir to Casterly Rock,”

“A Baelish? A Baelish will sit at casterly rock... if only my brothers could see me now,”

“No, my lord. A Lannister will be the heir to casterly rock,” you straightened your back, glad he was not a particularly tall man. You remembered what cersei had said.

Baelish frowned, tucking your hand into the crook of his elbow as you walked. Your eyes flashed with anger, but he didn’t seem to notice. “My Lady, I know that you are young, but surely you understand how marriages work? I will put a babe in your belly, and that babe will be a Baelish, for you will no longer be Lady Lannister, you will be Lady Baelish,”

You tugged your hand away from him. Glaring at him with a rage to challange that of the Mountain. “Don’t you dare speak down to me, Lord Baelish,” you hissed. “Don’t you dare. I may be young, and I may be a woman, but I have more and I know more than you ever will,” you made to storm away from your betrothed, but just as you were about to leave the gardens and go back into the keep, where Cersei was waiting just behind the door, you called over your shoulder for all to hear: “and Lord Baelish? If you ever call me Lady Baelish I will slit your throat in your sleep,”

Tags: @lotsoffandomrecs @zodiyack @rabeccablake @simonsbluee @wonderwoman292 @little-bit-of-randomness @doozywoozy

[noritoshiikamo]

game over

pairing: noritoshi kamo + fem!oc genre: angst tags//warning: established relationship, wild gojo appeared // blood, character death, emotion distress, mention of shibuya  note: the obligatory trio of mine: not well edited, lowercase intended, english isnt my first language im sorry if i murder it. note that i put descriptions of the characters i write so it would be easier for me, you’re free to imagine the character the way you seem fits! okay listen imma be honest i dont like this part that much dhhdbdjksncjddiem and im sorry if it sucks bcs istg i cant compete to part 1 and 2 of it so IM SORRY tagging @unabashednightmarepizza @sassyeahhhh @dok-ja @sukirichi [bold means i cant tag u idky :( lemme know if wanna be tagged in the next part] read the first part | second part | third part | bonus

few years ago;

“you’re fucking ridiculous!”

“you’re injured, how the fuck is it me that’s being unreasonable?”

she contemplated stabbing him straight to his chest. “i’m fine, leave me alone,” she hissed, holding on to her arm as she tried to limp away. second year jujutsu student noritoshi kamo wondered how the hell one could be this stubborn. with blood caked up on the side of her face, lips busted and bruising in the corner, not to mention the broken arm and probably twisted ankle, he could not understand how one could be this reckless and stupid, it’s almost ridiculous.

but here she is standing in front of him.

“you could’ve let me handle it,” he said, coldly.

she never turned that fast in her life; her limping leg suddenly worked fine as she hauled her ass, throwing both fists to his chest. the force put was enough to threw him back a few steps, he caught her wrists holding her from falling down. “stop acting like i’m so fragile. i can exorcist the curse just fine. you make me hate you so much,” she spitted, pure rage etched on her face, “just because i’m a girl, because i’m your girl, i’m weak. please, i am as good as you are, kamo.”

their faces were so close, he could count the freckles spread on her nose and cheeks. he loves her eyes the very first time he caught glimpse of it; one is a dull brown while the other looks like it carries the secret of the bright blue sea. this time, the eyes he loves looked hopeless, lack of the burning spirit she carried with tears threatening to spill. letting go of a wrist, his trembling hand brushed the hair coated with the blood back, carefully not to hurt her. “i never said you are bad,” he clarified, fingers busy brushing the hair back. his sudden reaction surprised her, and her body betrayed her thoughts as she eased in his arms.

he tilted her chin, his head was panicking as he realised that his brain was no longer controlling his movement as he leaned down and kissed her.

she tasted like blood.

she winced, pain aching on the swollen part and he apologized so quietly as he deepened the kiss. “nori-” her voice croaked as she swallowed his moans. he hummed, satisfied by the kiss. their foreheads rest against each other, the tip of their noses touched as they struggled to catch breath.

“stop being stupid. let me help you okay?”

“okay.”

slipping his arm under hers, he helped her walk, leading them out of the abandoned building they managed to exorcist. nothing major, a couple of pestering level three and four curses that them both handled well but their supervisor missed to tell them about the hiding level two curse that took them by surprise. she had become the curse’s main target.

if she would’ve just listened to him and stay close. he sighed.

“ouch, ouch,” she cried, clutching on her left leg, forcing him to stop. impatient, he slipped his hand under her knees, lifting her up in his arms. she apologized profusely, embarrassed to be such a burden to him. he brushed it off immediately.

“did you call them? told them that we are done?”

she gasped, “wait, i thought they’ll wait for us.”

he huffed, “you’re not that important, y/n. give them a call, please. i want to go home.”

kicking the door open, the moonlight shone on them as he carried her down to the bottom stairs. settling her down on the steps, he sat beside her, letting a long sigh. he watched as she took the call, letting them know that she was slightly injured, and they need to go back asap. she was visibly tired, and he was the same too.

he couldn’t help but to sigh at the way the moonlight enveloped her. he had loved her from the very first moment he caught his eyes on her; she caught him staring, called him out publicly and ignored all his advances. it took him a lot to court her. she’s a gojo, she can have anything and everything with the sky is the limit.

but one thing money could never buy is affection.

it started with little stuffs; noritoshi waiting for her with her lunch readied every day. it annoyed her but momo (who was secretly rooting for him) forced her to just do it. “it’s just a lunch,” momo said sheepishly. noritoshi would have them paired all the time for the missions. she’d accepted it with open heart. noritoshi would also teach her how to weld a bow and shoot arrows. she promised that she would go out on date with him if he taught her.

by the end of their first year, they became inseparable.

the idea of being apart from her hurts him physically and mentally. she took a sharp breath when he laced his fingers between her own, quickly telling the other person on the phone that she was okay. “it was just noritoshi,” she replied with a small laugh. their hands fit each other; his skin contrasted her slightly tanned skin. while his hands were rough from welding the bow and he kept his nail short and clean, hers were slightly softer with her nails painted prettily. this month she had her nails painted in pastel. all the girls’ day out with momo and mai had proven its importance. he was happy to provide her with his black card despite her discontent.

“analysing my hands now?”

he smiled slightly, “it looks very pretty. i guess i got my money worth. are they coming?”

she leaned on his shoulder, his own wrapped around her as she closed her eyes, “they are around the corner. i would definitely need another round this week,” she teased. kissing her forehead gently, he didn’t mind that his uniform was stained with her blood; he was glad that she’s safe.

“i’ll happily take you there.”

few years later;

noritoshi kamo almost lost his mind. the stadium was half destroyed, huge craters on the pitch with the sight of his wife nowhere to be found. he looked up to the black pitch curtain encasing the stadium area from the sky, a curse escaped his lips.

“where the fuck are you?” he grunted, scanning the area.

she is gone, his stubborn little wife. she could’ve just wait but annoyed that their dinner date was interrupted and eager because this was their first mission together as a married couple; she escaped his supervision. as they were dealing with minor curses outside, she decided to head on forward, leaving him to deal with whatever is left. he beat himself inside for letting her come, he could easily do this himself and send her home safely, but she blinked her eyes and he was weak. she always has her way with him.

his step stopped when he realised there was a shadow ahead.

“she’s pretty,” the thing said.

his blood ran cold, “what did you do to my wife?”

the curse let out a laugh. it was sinister enough to send chills down his spine. especially when he realised the head it was stepping on was his wife. her eyes were fluttering back and forth, struggling to stay awake. a howl shocked him, shivers down his spine at the painful whimpers her shikigami making. cursed spirits were devouring it alive, overwhelming it and chewing every part of its body. his wife was too weak to dispel the shikigami; it’s dangerous as the devoured wolf shikigami will drain her cursed energy by a second.

all shikigami linked directly to the owner; everything inflected to the wolf, she could feel it too.

he needed a plan.

hidden in his wedding ring was a retractable knife. he rarely carries blood bags anymore as his power solidified itself. the older he got, the better he was at using and controlling a small steady flow of his own blood straight from the tap. with a clap of his hands, the knife cut his hand enough to send blood shooting like bullets. the blood hit the curses straight to its cores, died out instantly on impact, but the shikigami was beyond salvageable. it let out one last howl, one last goodbye before dropping to the ground, half of his snout gone. she will be devastated, it’s her only shikigami she managed to tame at such a young age, but at least it has stopped the shikigami from stripping his wife’s cursed energy to its core.

the fire burning in his eyes only made the curse laughed. he kicked her body away, spurting blood out of her mouth. she was halfway close to death’s doorstep.

“i will fucking murder you,” he hissed.

“my blood is my power. it’s supposed to rot human, stripping its meat from the bone like acid. however,” the curse nudged her body, “your wife didn’t. humour me, did your blood tainted hers? tell me, i’m curious how.”

“are you going to chit chat because i don’t have whole day.” his blood dripped on the pitch.

the curse grinned, shrugging his shoulder. he kneeled, running his bloody fingers on her cheeks leaving trails of flowers pattern that dissipated immediately, “i’m not here to fight. i’m here to serve a warning,” he looked up to the tensed sorcerer, “for gojo satoru. tell him, we’ll be waiting for him in shibuya.” noritoshi’s face scrunched in confusion.

“we have no business with the gojos.”

“but she is. she could change her name, married you, but it doesn’t erase the fact that she carried gojo’s blood in her vein. she’s the bridge to your two clans. i’m just killing two birds with one stone. ruin the kamo clan’s relationship with gojos and hurt gojo satoru. all thanks to her,” the curse turned his back on him, his laugh echoed as he walked away. the dark curtain disappeared slowly as the ground rumbled. a perfect chance for noritoshi to strike if it wasn’t because of the cursed spirit’s words gluing him to his spot, “oh, kamo, i believe a congratulation is overdue. let me know when’s the baby is due, i would love to drop by personally.”

the pillar holding on to the roof collapsed sending wave of dust all over the place. noritoshi covered his face, coughing as he sucked some in, removing his coat as a shield. the cursed spirit was no where to be found.

“the place is going to collapse! i’ll get the curse, you go get her!”

a voice echoed and he caught a glimpse of blond hair running past him and noritoshi didn’t think twice as he sprinted around the cracks and holes. who was that voice or who was the curse, he couldn’t give a single fuck, he just wants his wife back. he was shaking when he got to her, arms immediately scooped her up in his arms. her chest was raising slowly, blood dripping on the side of her lips as she struggled to exhale.

“you’re going to be okay,”

he told her, but he wasn’t sure if he will ever be.

-

“can you turn down the stupid light, it’s hurting my eyes.”

the voice laughed melodiously, the light moved to the other eye repeating the same thing.

“as you can see, she’s awake, slightly weak, but she should be okay.”

another voice interrupted, “are you sure?” she gasped, excited to hear a familiar voice. “nori?” she called out, unable to open her eyes, relying strictly to her hearing as she reached her shaky hands out for him. “her senses might be slightly off, just let her do it herself,” the woman’s voice noted, and she felt annoyed. how dare you underestimate me, her mind scoffed.

“my senses are fine. see?” she claimed as she held noritoshi’s hand up. he smiled, gently rubbing her hand with encouragement. “thanks, shoko, we are fine.”

“i’ll leave you be then. call me if you need anything.”

she listened to the clacking of shoko’s heels, followed by the door opening and slamming shut. she jumped, but he held her hand tighter, reassuring her that it’s alright. “so why can’t i see?” she asked, confident that they are alone now. she felt the bed sunk a little on the left side, “you were high on anesthesia, i’m surprise you could even move your jaw to speak.” she felt a finger brushed her hair aside, breath loomed on her face and she could feel her own face reddening up.

“are you going to kiss me or are you just going to tease me?” his heart swell up, despite her shaky voice almost made him laugh.

“do you trust me?” his hand cupped her cheek gently.

she nodded eagerly, “always.”

“good.”

his kiss hit her like a waft of fresh air. every kiss felt like a first kiss to her that she couldn’t help to react so eagerly to it. his tongue slipped through her defense, overwhelming her taste buds with such strong taste of iron. it didn’t stop her. she knew what he was doing from start. he peeked a little, didn’t stop a second from kissing her as he watched his blood marking appeared on her face. her hands went up around her neck pulling him closer and he obeyed, deepening the kiss.

heal; his mind commanded.

after a while, she pulled back, being the one to break apart from the kiss first, her chest raising up and down as she struggled to catch her breath. her eyes were wide open now, fluttering lazily as she leaned back on the propped-up pillow. he wiped the corner of his lips, eyes on her as he watched the open wound on her face and arms slowly closed leaving the fresh healed red marks behind. he relaxed when he heard a thank you coming from her, as she checked her healed arms.

“i’m disappointed with you,” he finally broke the silence.

“really?” she frowned. he always does this thing where he will immediately go into lecture mood every time she does something that pisses him off. it’s almost like a game to her as she waited for him to explode, “right now? not even going to wait until i’m discharged. this is a new record, toshi. like shoko said, i’m fine.” he shook his head, “it doesn’t make it right. you always disobeyed me. ignored my orders, going about with your goddamn big head, you could’ve been killed.”

she rolled her eyes, noritoshi is being noritoshi, what a drama queen, she mentally rolled her eyes, “but i’m not,” she pushed her hair back, twisting it easily into a simple loose knot, “i told you, i am not weak.”

“your shikigami was destroyed, your blood was poisoned, 70 percent was already circulating to every part of your vein, i had to beg for the higher up to help purify your blood,” her smile died down. this game no longer feels fun for her. noritoshi was really mad this time. “you think it’s fun and all game but game over, y/n. you need to stop doing this. if you can’t do it for me, do it for yourself.”

“leave me alone, nori, if you just going to nag, please i don’t want to hear it. i’m tired.”

it made him angry that she was taking his word lightly. running his hand in his messy hair, he felt like hauling his head to the wall.

“you don’t understand-”

she slammed her hand on the bed, interrupting his words, “no YOU don’t understand me, i’m tired of you babying me. i’m an adult, i am your wife, stop treating me like a fucking child! we have been married for months, but god you’re suffocating me.”

“i will when you stop endangering yourself. i will stop treating your like a child when you stop acting like one. you’re pregnant, for the love of god!” he threw his hand on the wall. the wall cracked from the force. “i’m what?” she felt the world stopped spinning. she was hundred percent sure that her ears and head were deceiving her. he removed his hand from the hole he made on the wall, his body shaking from the amount of anger building up.

“noritoshi, answer me! what do you mean- i’m not pregnant, i had my period this month.”

“you are,” he shrugged. he felt something hit him in the back; looking down he saw the fluffy white pillow sitting by his feet.

he pointed to the bedside table where a sonogram perched up against a tissue box. she was about to lose her mind. “this is not funny, if this is your mean way of fucking me up because i won’t listen to you then this is just fucking cruel.”

he marched towards him, his hand went down on his chin, forcing her eyes on him, “until you stop playing your stupid games, until you stop treating your life like it’s nothing, until you consider my feelings and my worries, as your husband is valid, i do not exist in your life,” tears fell down her cheeks, “like you, i’m tired too.

“nori i-“

he left her before she could say a word. she broke into sob; her chest was pounding so hard that the blood pressure monitor was beeping. the door burst opened but it was not the face she wanted to see. she was immediately hysterical. satoru managed to hold her wrist down before she ripped the tubes and needles off her arms. “no, no, i want nori. where is he!” she screamed as satoru held her down. “you need to calm down, it’s not good for the baby,” satoru cooed, but she was not having it. he turned to shoko, “her cursed energy is skyrocketing, she’s going hysterical, do something!”

“let me go!”

shoko held out a syringe, “hold her down.”

she screamed, thrashing so rough that she almost slipped out of the strongest sorcerer’s hands. she managed to get a needle out before she felt another sharp pain on her back. shoko pulled the empty needle out and they retreated away as she fell on her butt backward. she was reduced to a babbling mess, her eyes drooped as she struggled to fight the waves of sleepiness hitting her one after another.

“tell him i’m sorry,” she croaked out, before everything turned completely dark.

the blood pressure monitor returned back to normal.

three days later;

“are you still going to ignore her? it’s been 3 days.”

“she needs to learn her place.”

gojo satoru disagreed. he eyed the head of the clan, shaking his head before standing up. he thought he could convince noritoshi kamo to visit his wife, but the man was as stubborn as- huh, her.

“i think she have learned enough, she’s miserable. you’re miserable.”

the man glared at the blonde man child, raising the cup of tea up for a sip. the tea doesn’t taste as good as the way she made it. he left her for 3 days and he found himself struggling to do everything alone. 

he, noritoshi kamo, 23 years old and the head of the kamo family, could not make a cup of fucking tea.

she always said that the best way to make tea depends on how long you let it steep. “too early and you won’t get the right amount of flavour,” she explained, her back facing him as he watched from the counter as she loomed over the stove, “but if you steep it way too long you going to burn the tea leaves and it will make everything taste bitter.” she turned around, a huge smile on her face that made his heart skipped a beat.

he frowned; the tea tasted bitter.

“she’s pregnant, she’s supposed to be crazy. you are supposed to be the wise one. she is going to carry your child for 9 long months, i can’t explain to you how long that’s going to be but she is allowed to be crazy.”

he dropped the cup on the floor when gojo’s hand grabbed him by his collar, pulling him up from his chair.

“now please, see your goddamn wife before i deck you in the mouth.”

“i will.”

satisfied with his answer, gojo’s demeanor changed and he was again the man child they all know of him. noritoshi could no longer focus on the report in front of him; not when his mind is full of her and only her.

would she forgive him? he wasn’t sure.

but he would spend his lifetime making up to her and the baby if that’s necessary.

[fantastic-bby]

Take Me Home

Pairing: Reader x Wooyoung

Word count: 1.6k

Genre: Angst | Exes to lovers

Summary: Wooyoung sits at a bar, getting drunk while all he wants is for you to take him back home

Warnings: Alcohol consumption | Swearing

A/n: So… I may have listened to Take Me Home about a bajillion times since the album was released and… this happened

P.s I’m reposting this bcs Tumblr’s being homophobic and the tags were scuffed FeelsWeirdMan

Masterlist

Wooyoung hasn’t felt this lonely since right after you left him. The darkness that shrouds his mind is something that has refused to leave him alone for almost the past two years, but it hadn’t been this bad in a while. It’s bad enough that he feels like he struggles to breath as he sits at the bar, a glass of whiskey in one hand and his phone in the other. Wooyoung’s thumb hovers over your contact, his mind battling with his heart as he painfully contemplates calling you.

He’s slightly drunk, it’s obvious that he’s at least tipsy, but he’s still sober enough to know how much he fucking misses you. Wooyoung clenches his jaw, teeth grinding together as he locks his phone and places it down onto the bar; the glass of whiskey making it to his lips as he downs it.

“Another one?” the pink haired bartender questions, an eyebrow raising. Wooyoung gives him a look before pulling a few bills out of his pocket and placing it onto the counter. “This would be your fifth glass of the night, man.”

“I don’t care,” Wooyoung sighs, “just pour me another.” The bartender purses his lips before obliging. Wooyoung isn’t dangerously intoxicated to the point where he would need to get involved, so he serves him.

“You wanna talk about it?” the man asks as he pours the alcohol into the empty glass.

Wooyoung contemplates it. Why would he be telling a complete stranger about why he feels like such a piece of shit? Then again, it’s not like he’s even spoken to anyone about it. He sighs before admitting, “I’m thinking I should call my ex.” The bartender gives him a look as he slides the glass back to him.

“It’s not exactly my business, but how dangerous would that be?”

“Well,” he sighs as he thinks about it, “I would either be getting blocked or slapped in the face.” Wooyoung lets out a bitter chuckle as he swirls the whiskey around in the glass. “I fucked up and now I’m alone. Every time I think about them, I feel like I’m suffocating while I spiral down this never ending hole.”

“Have you spoken to them since the break up?” The bartender asks as he starts wiping down a spot on the counter right beside Wooyoung that was previously occupied by someone else.

He shakes his head, “never mustered up the courage to do so.” He brings the glass to his lips and takes a sip, embracing the burn in his throat because he feels like he deserves it. “I was an asshole. I know I fucked up, but I just want to talk to them at least once more. Just to tell them I’m sorry.” Wooyoung feels like he might have a full on breakdown right in front of the bartender, who he assumes is San because that’s what it says on his name tag. He feels his chest tightening like it usually does whenever he thinks of you. “I just want to take back every shitty thing I did to them. They didn’t deserve any of it.”

“Have they ever tried reaching out?” San further questions, his hand halting for a moment.

“The last time I spoke to them, they looked so… cold towards me. The last time I had actually seen them, it looked like they just wanted to get away from me.” The memory is fresh in Wooyoung’s mind. You had stood in the apartment you shared, hands clenched into fists as you glared at him and your entire body trembling with rage. He felt like your eyes were the reason he felt so frozen, but he couldn’t cry in front of you no matter how hard the tears were trying to force their way out. Wooyoung realised a little too late that he was hurting you. There was nothing else he could do and staying with you would just destroy you. “I…” Wooyoung trails off when he feels his eyes starting to sting with tears, “I think it’s better that I stay away from them.”

“How long has it been?”

“At this point,” he pauses to look at the date on his phone, “almost two years. It’s almost been two years and all I can do is think about them. No matter how many people I sleep with or how many people I try dating, all I can think about is (Y/n).” Wooyoung looks at his phone, still battling the thought of calling you. San watches as Wooyoung slowly starts to space out, only able to wonder just how much regret clouds his mind and heart.

“I think,” San speaks up for a moment, his voice snapping Wooyoung out of his thoughts, “the best thing you should do is stop drinking before you end up doing something you may regret, head on home and get some rest.” The younger man snorts at that.

“I don’t know how I could feel more regret than I already do,” he says as he finishes his glass and slides it towards San. “But I do think I should probably head home. Thanks for the talk.”

“No problem, man. Next time you come here around this time, just ask for San. I’ll serve you.” He gives Wooyoung a smile as he takes the used glass off of the counter. “Have a good night…”

“Wooyoung.”

San nods, “have a good night, Wooyoung.”

“You too, San.” He gives the bartender a half smile as he slides off of the barstool, turning around and freezing in his tracks. Wooyoung’s eyes widen when they meet yours and you’re staring at him with the same amount of disbelief. “(Y-Y/n). What are you doing here?”

“I…” you trail off as your mind registers the fact that Wooyoung’s standing right in front of you, “I just wanted to get a drink.”

“Long day?” Wooyoung questions, his voice cracking and making it more awkward than it already is.

You make a mental note of his voice crack and nod. “I got off work a while ago and I—uhh—didn’t feel like going home just yet.” Home. Home is you, Wooyoung thinks but he shoves the thought down with the rest of his feelings. You’re right in front of him. Where’s the apology that’s replayed in his head over and over again for the past year?

“(Y/n), can—could we talk for a bit?” he musters out. “I-It’s been a while. Maybe we could catch up?” Wooyoung wants you to accept his offer so badly. Even if he gets just a few moments, just a few minutes, it’ll be enough.

“I don’t know, Woo…” you trail off when the memory of your last meeting flashes across your mind.

“Please?” If his words aren’t enough, it’s his eyes that do it for you. They look so empty, so desperate,

So lonely.

“Okay.” You take a deep breath as you nod, fearing whatever would come next.

“I want,” Wooyoung gulps. Why is this so difficult?! “I want to say that I’m sorry.” His words come out slowly, but after they’re out, he gains more courage. “I want to say that I’m sorry. For everything. I treated you like shit and I know you deserve so much more, but I just wanted to apologise.” You stay quiet, letting his words linger in your mind. Your relationship with Wooyoung was toxic and you would admit that in a heartbeat. But that way he looks at you now, so lost, your heart can’t help but crack at the sight of him. You’ve spent the time away from him healing from the break up, but you wouldn’t deny that you still love him. Wooyoung was—is—everything to you.

“Wooyoung,” your heart aches even more at the way he looks so scared of your answer. “I forgive you.” He lets out a breath that he didn’t realise he was holding, shoulders relaxing slightly. “I don’t think I ever really got rid of you. No matter how many times I’d spring clean my apartment and throw away things that reminded me of you, I think I’m still too in love with you to throw you away.” Wooyoung doesn’t know how to feel. Should he be happy that you’re still in love with him or should he feel terrible that you’ve been hurting this entire time? “And I know that you struggle with things like this—especially talking about feelings—but I hope that we can move on from this feeling okay.”

“Move on?” he speaks before he thinks and immediately regrets it right after. You blink a few times before your lips part in realisation.

“Woo…”

“(Y/n), I love you.” Wooyoung feels every inch of himself starting to break as he takes a few steps closer to you, arms open, body trembling. “I love you so much,” his voice starts breaking when he hesitates to hug you. When you pull him into the hug, whatever wall he’s set up goes crumbling to the ground. “I love you so much. I’ve missed you so much—I’m so sorry. Please give me another chance,” Wooyoung’s words come out jumbled, mumbles of apologies and confessions just pouring out of his mouth like a broken faucet as you hold onto you. You cry when you feel his wet cheek burying against your shoulder. You’ve missed the feeling of him—you’ve missed Wooyoung.

“I’ve missed you too,” you confess as you allow yourself to mold against him. “I love you.”

“Please take me home,” he sobs. “P-Please, (Y/n).”

“I’ll drive you back—”

“No,” Wooyoung cuts you off and you feel his nose nuzzling against your neck. “I-I wanna try again, (Y/n). Give me another chance, please.“ You pull away to look into his glossed over eyes pooled with tears that stream down his face. “Please take me home—home to you. I-I’ll be better. I promise.” You take a deep breath as you thread your hand through his blond streaked hair before nodding.

“Okay.”

[forbidding-souda]

Hi!! If its okay could i get Mondo, Sakura, Kazuichi, and Kaito with a short S/O (Think 4'11 to 5'0) who's the SHSL Florist? Bonus ponits if you you give me their reaction to their S/O giving them a large bouquet of flowers as a gift? NB pronouns if that's okay!

Mondo Oowada, Sakura Oogami, Kazuichi Souda, and Kaito Momota with Short SHSL Florist S/O

‘Bonus’! How cute is that :D /pos

Also your taste in men is iconic yes our minds - I DID NOT MEAN TO MAKE THE KAITO ONE TWICE THE SIZE AS THE OTHERS BUT I LOVED THE IDEA

Also also I use the word bumblebee bc once I thought of it I thought it was really cute. Bc get it?? They are small and also flowers yeah <3

Do I get ten points now? =D

-Mod Souda

Mondo Oowada

He thinks you are like a little bumblebee.

So nice and small! Adorable.

Short jokes all the time.

He definitely thinks flowers are a little lame.

But is definitely impressed by your knowledge of them!

So when you pile together a purple toned bouquet, you’re honestly a little curious on how he would react.

Or if he would even react at all. Does he know to put them in water? Maybe these should be your flowers too.

The roar of the engine is a comfort noise. So when it abruptly stops outside, you can just feel how the butterflies hatch in your stomach.

So you travel to your almost garden in the guest room, picking up the bouquet. It still looks beautiful. That’s good. Admittedly, you do get quite impatient at times.

Ah, the front door! And his welcoming voice telling you he’s home. How nerve-wracking. Your whole plan has a lot of questionable details, but as long as the response isn’t negative then what’s the harm in showing him your love?

“Mondo!” You call out with a bubbly tone before walking down the hallway searching for where he might be.

Your boyfriend, who you are terribly unimpressed with, lays slumped on the couch, tired from the heat. 

Again, you speak, interrupting his decline into sleep. “I made you these!”

He opens one of his eyes. “You got me flowers?”

A bit of heat crosses your cheeks, and you squeeze them harder. “I thought maybe you would like them.”

“Of course I fucking like ‘em,” he says while sitting up. His think fingers brush against yours when he takes them from you. “These are some cute ass flowers.”

Cute ass flowers. How romantic!

Sakura Oogami

She can give you piggy back sides whenever you want and likes to carry you around.

Definitely lets you put flowers in her hair.

Flowers in her hair sounds so cute I am crying.

A part of her actually is jealous of your talent. She wants to know everything about flower patterns, too.

And so she listens every time you explain things.

You pick together the pinkest flowers you can, trying to make it as aesthetically pleasing as you can rather than focusing on intent.

A few white roses find themselves in the batch, too.

The shop around you is cold. The layers of warm clothes aren’t going to help you when you go outside.

But the flowers always need special things that are not convenient for you.

While you contemplate whether or not you can leave clothes here, the bells attached to the door ring out.

A customer! Or maybe Sakura is here to bring you lunch. 

You pop your tiny head towards the main shop, looking left and right. 

She holds a styrofoam box in her hand, holding god knows what meal. 

Horrible for the environment, by the way, how embarrassing.

“Sakura!” You exclaim. And then it surprises you. You got so excited over something as simple as seeing her.

Even in the way your heart pounds at her soft eyes.

“I brought you a meal,” she says. You dip into the back room, and she follows your lead.

But before she comes through the door, you offer her the flowers, almost shoving them into her face. “Flowers!”

“Flowers... What a thoughtful gift, thank you very much.”

She looks nothing more than flattered. Her face usually sports a content look, often a light flush on her face, so seeing her smiling so wide feels special. 

“Oh,” you snap yourself out of your admiring gaze, “and thank you so much for the food!”

Kazuichi Souda

Kazuichi is definitely the sexiest man alive when he’s working on a car. His jumper will be tied around his waist, his hair slicked back.

He never wears his beanie when he’s working. It’s probably the best thing about him.

I just wanted to get that out of my system.

You like to surprise him whenever he’s working. Even though he doesn’t mind the work, you’re sure he’d have a better time being together with you.

The optimism is definitely appreciated.

Especially when it’s easy to scare him. You’re tiny and he gets over concentration. Just sneaking under the car and grabbing his ankle is your favorite.

But for Valentine Day, you didn’t want to be cruel like that. 

So while puffing your cheeks, you hop on downstairs, carrying a bouquet of different shades of yellow flowers. A few pink ones are thrown in for his hair. 

And so you approach him, trying your best to shrink yourself even shorter.

You don’t even know what he’s doing. What do cars need when they get fixed? A new engine? Something about a gas tank? You have no clue.

But whatever it is, it takes a lot of hard work.

And it’s your job to distract him.

You are almost an arms distance away until, and it scares the shit out of you, he immediately turned around screams as loud as he can.

The flowers run too close to slipping from your fingers. God, that was about to be the worst day of your entire life.

Before anger can crack through your demeanor, the sense of humor the both of you have came back. So you started laughing, placing a weary hand to your chest.

You were laughing because you noticed his hands holding a plastic container of sweets. 

“Ah, you nut head!” You call out. “I got you flowers!”

“Why did you get me something? You were supposed to come and scare me!”

Kaito Momota

You hum underneath your breathe while you pick together the best array of flowers you can. Purples and dark colors, just for him.

The moon shines through the school’s window. With the dorms downstairs, every night has became a game of who is going to catch you this time?

Every night you’ve been sneaking up to the garden, trying to raise these flowers just for this occasion.

For the last few months, all you’ve ever wanted was to be with Kaito Momota, Luminary of the Stars!

And now is your time to impress him! The flowers are all ready!

You wrap them together in green tape. The trembling of your hands makes the job quite difficult. And then the white ribbon to top it all off, but you have to take a deep breath while wrapping it.

There’s no backing out of this.

The fight to continue raged on while you walk upstairs, going up the many of them. It gives you time to think.

To think about how much you love him.

Horribly sickening how much you love him. His positive outlook on life motivates you all the time. If you ever feel like giving up, you just remind yourself that Kaito Momota wouldn’t want you to!

The door to the roof is unlocked, as you assumed. No - as you knew. You’ve watched him climb up here every day when he first interrupted your gardening. “I’ll be up on the roof whenever you need me, I tend to go every night.”

You never forgot about it.

Pulling open the door comes with a click. A pang of anxiety rings through you. But why? Should you really be sneaking if your intention is for him to notice you?

He lays on his jacket, arms behind his head and one of his feet crossed over his knee. And he pipes up when he sees you.

“Bumblebee! It took you long enough.”

The flowers in your hands don’t even cross his mind until after he stands up. There’s a nervous blankness as your expression. 

When he steps closer, he can even see the way your pupils dilate. “Are these flowers for me?”

It feels as if your words are trapped inside your mouth. He’s actually in front of you, towering, and flattered. So you shove the flowers against his chest.

Your body feels like it’s in front of a fire.

“I grew them for you. And I tried to make it look like space, you know? With all the dark colors.” You whisper. 

He smirks with satisfaction that only he could portray. To say he is proud is an understatement. You have always been obvious about your interest in him. It was just a matter of when you would gain the confidence to make a move. That’s why he invited you to join him on the roof all those months ago.

Still, he looks a bit smug. But that doesn’t last long, as his face falls to contentment as he turns back around. “Come, come.” He beckons.

You follow him up to his jacket, where he places the flowers down. His eyes are cast upwards, at the sky. You follow his gaze.

How can he gaze up for hours? It’s almost unbelievable. 

You sigh. “Can you explain to me - woah!” 

His arms grip onto your thighs as he lifts you up. The lack of struggle terrifies you, in more than being in the air.

“Kaito, what are you doing?” 

“Look up at space! Tell me what colors you see.”

A small noise escapes your lips. You relax a bit, accepting your position while placing your hands on his shoulders.

What colors? There are a lot. Not exactly the purple you thought it was. Maybe a dark blue, light blue, too. 

You haven’t thought about what color space is.

“Blue.” Is the only word you let yourself say.

He lets you down slowly. “Blue is a good answer. I’d like to think space is every color - Eh? Why are you looking at me like that?”

You blink, once... and maybe a dozen more times. “No reason, I just like you.”

[choerrypuffs]

enchanted.

pairing: prince!jungwoo x witch!reader

genre: fluff, angst

word count: 9.4k

synopsis: the prince has always been a little unconventional, but no one ever expected him to fall in love with a witch.

author’s note: no one asked for this but it came to me in a fever dream and you can really tell bc my writing abilities match that  (p.s. i am not knowledgeable on actual witches and witchcraft, and this is not meant to offend anyone! i just winged it and created my own version of a witch for this fic)

It’s way too early for this kind of tomfoolery.

You have your head buried under your pillow, trying to block out the extremely loud and quite irritating rapping on your door. Whoever’s knocking is using so much force that your humble little cottage is trembling with every strike. You groan, squeezing your eyes shut and praying that they’ll go away soon. Or at least come back at a more decent time.

It’s so early that the sun has barely peeked over the horizon, and the birds haven’t even begun chirping yet. You were up all night making potions to sell to the apothecary, so you’ve only gotten about three hours of sleep. 

After letting them knock for a couple minutes longer, you realize that they’re not going to leave any time soon. You feel your temper boil over as you throw the covers off your body. Draping your shawl over your shoulders, you tie your unruly hair back and smooth out your nightgown before stomping over to the door and flinging it open.

“What do you want?” you snap loudly, crossing your arms across your chest.

The man in front of you blinks in surprise, fist still raised to knock again. He’s dashingly handsome, even in his state of shock. His hair looks like spun gold, managing to reflect beautifully even with the lack of sunlight. He has a snow white complexion with full, cherry-red lips. 

You can tell by his attire that he’s royalty, or rather, a prince. The Prince. He’s wearing a black blazer embellished with golden brass buttons and detailed embroidery. There are two epaulettes on his shoulders, signifying his high status. He’s wearing a white cloak over it all, and you know from a simple glance that it’s made out of the finest linens in the kingdom. 

“Are you the Witch of the Forest?” he finally asks, smiling jovially. 

“You need not ask. Unless you’re aware of someone else who lives in the forest,” you say, raising an eyebrow.

He isn’t fazed by your sarcastic remark. “My apologies, my lady. I just wanted to make sure.”

“You should know best of all, Your Highness. Your father was the one who banished me here,” you smirk, tilting your head.

One of the guards standing behind him grips the hilt of his sword. “Why, you insolent—”

“Stand down,” The Prince orders, holding out an arm. The guard does as he’s told, albeit reluctantly.

“So, what brings you here at this godforsaken hour, Your Highness?” you ask, unbothered.

“Please, call me Jungwoo.”

“I’d rather not have my tongue cut off by your mutts,” you snort, nodding toward the guards.

“I insist,” Jungwoo says, shaking his head. “And what is your name?”

“You may call me Y/N,” you begin, eyeing the guards and grinning when you see the pure rage in their eyes. “Jungwoo.”

He’s oblivious to the contention, instead beaming happily. You can’t help but smile at his naiveté. Crossing your arms, you lean against the doorframe. “What can I help you with, Jungwoo?”

His expression turns solemn, and he reaches down to grip your hands between his. “Please help me, Y/N. My mother, the Queen, is severely ill.”

You’re taken aback by his casual touch. You’re so used to people treating you like you’re evil incarnate. Doing your best to control your expression, you clear your throat and try to continue looking elusive.

“You have my condolences, but I don’t see what that has to do with me,” you say, shrugging.

“How dare you!” The annoying guard pipes up again. “She is your queen!”

“No, she is your queen. I am not a subject of your kingdom,” you correct. “Therefore, I have no obligation to help you.”

Jungwoo releases your hands and steps back before lowering himself to his knees in front of you. Both you and the guards stare in stunned silence.

“Please. I am begging you,” he whispers with his head bowed, voice cracking. “I understand that you hate my father. I would too. But please, my mother is innocent in all of this.”

“Your Highness! Please get up immediately!” The guards say in a frenzy, all talking over each other. 

He ignores the chaos and continues to stare determinedly at you. There’s something about his unrelenting gaze that makes you feel vulnerable. When was the last time someone looked you directly in the eyes like this? It scares you because it’s been so long, and you feel like he can see right through you.

You break eye contact first, turning away sharply. You grab him by the shoulders and pull him to his feet. Jungwoo also looks surprised when you touch him, but he doesn’t seem repulsed like you expect him to be. In fact, he looks a little crestfallen when your hands fall back to your sides.

“Have some dignity,” you chide, “how can a prince kneel before a witch?” 

“I am willing to go to any length to save my mother,” he says without hesitation.

You sigh. After all these years and everything you’ve been through, you still can’t seem to harden your heart to situations like these. You can already hear your fellow witches taunting you in your head. They would never let you hear the end of it if they found out you were going to save the life of the wife of the man who exiled you.

Jungwoo picks up on your hesitancy, grasping your hand again. “Please.”

The desperation and panic in his voice shatters the remainder of fight you have left in you.

“Alright,” you finally relent, “I will help you.”

Now it’s his turn to be shocked. “R-Really?”

“You’re lucky I have a soft spot for handsome men,” you say, patting his cheek. “Stop looking so surprised. Aren’t you the one who be—”

You can barely contain your surprised yelp when Jungwoo wraps his arms around your waist and twirls you around in a hug. 

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” he exclaims as he sets you back down.

You’re so frazzled that all you can do is nod. Your heart feels like it’s going to beat out of your chest. You thought you were going to fluster him by calling him handsome and touching his face, but he somehow managed to fluster you instead.

“We’ll give you some time to get changed and prepare what you need,” Jungwoo continues, completely unaware. “My carriage is right over there, so you will know where to go when you’re done.”

You stupidly nod again, stiffly shutting your door. Your face feels like it’ll set on fire at any moment. Just how deprived of touch are you for your body to react like this over a simple hug? 

Pull yourself together, you tell yourself, don’t forget who he is.

The carriage ride is horrendously suffocating. The Annoying Guard, as you’ve lovingly dubbed him, insists on riding with the two of you to ensure Jungwoo’s safety—in case you decide to hex him or something. The guard keeps his hand on the hilt of his sword the entire time, glaring daggers at you. Every time you even slightly shift, he jumps.

You’re starting to think that these palace guards are severely overestimating your powers—actually, they aren’t. They’re severely overestimating your ability to care enough to even go through the trouble of hexing Jungwoo.

Jungwoo keeps shooting you apologetic glances, attempting in vain to try and make conversation. The long stretches of silence are deafening, and all you can do is stare out of the window. Your mind keeps wandering to things you don’t want to think about, so you begin to map out all the chores you have to do when you return to your cottage.

You can feel Jungwoo’s stare on you the entire time. He clearly wants to talk to you, but he can’t because of the hawk-like watch of the Annoying Guard. You suppose you’re grateful for that. You’re not really sure if you want to converse with Jungwoo. He’s far too unpredictable for your comfort. You can’t read him like the others, and that intimidates you. He isn’t afraid of you, and it makes you feel...exposed.

Fortunately, you can see the palace from the window, which means this hell of a ride is finally over.

Unfortunately, when you step out of the carriage, the memories that you’ve spent your entire life trying to bury flood through your mind.

The last time you were at the palace was when the decree of your banishment was announced. You remember the palace guards dragging you and your mother out as she pleaded for mercy. She had asked the king to spare you. Of course, he merely scoffed at her and turned away without a second glance. To him, you two were just some of the many witches that he would go on to banish or simply just execute. He was lucky that the witches were a peaceful kind.

You watched as your mother pretended like everything was alright, like she was alright, as the two of you lived in that tiny cottage she managed to build with what little powers she had left. In return, you pretended that you didn’t hear her weep every night. Eventually, she simply just wilted away—a shell of the beautiful flower she once was. 

“Oh, my poor child,” she had said with her final breath.

You dig your nails into your palm, hoping the pain will pull you out of the spiral you’re starting to go down. In an attempt to distract yourself, you try to focus on what’s in front of you. However, it’s not something you want to see.

The palace is, without a doubt, the most beautiful piece of architecture you’ve ever seen. Made out of pure ivory marble and adorned with ornate detailing that’s crafted from the most opulent of gold, it’s stunning in every way.

But it makes you sick to your stomach.

This was a mistake. You can’t even look at the palace. What makes you think that you can go in there and face the King? You’re still a weak little girl, and you always will be. Mother would be so ashamed of what a coward you’ve become.

Your inner voice continues to berate you, and you feel like you’ll vomit at any moment. 

“Hey,” Jungwoo says gently. His naturally soft-spoken voice can’t be any louder than a whisper, yet it’s powerful enough to pierce through the myriad of unwanted thoughts going through your head.

He pries your hand open, running his thumb across the red, crescent-shaped indents in your palm. You don’t realize how hard you’ve been pressing your nails into your skin until you feel the stinging. Jungwoo’s hand is warm, and it manages to quell your uneasiness significantly. 

“You’re alright,” he tells you, lacing his fingers through yours. 

It unnerves you how easily he calms you down. It terrifies you to your very core how much power he seemingly has over your emotions. Jungwoo is an enigma, and you must stay far, far away. Everything about him screams trouble.

Pulling your hand away, you grip your skirt instead and take a small step back. He looks, dare you say, hurt by the way you recoil. Nonetheless, he doesn’t acknowledge it and simply clears his throat.

“My father is waiting for us,” Jungwoo says warily. 

You tense, and it doesn’t go unnoticed by him.

“He isn’t thrilled about your presence, but I swear on my life that he will not harm you,” Jungwoo promises. “I will protect you, no matter what.”

“No,” you interject, “there’s no need. Your father will not lay a finger on me. He has always feared my mother and I, which is why he banished us.”

“You’re trembling, Y/N,” he whispers. 

“It doesn’t matter,” you snap, “I have a duty to fulfill, and so I will. My personal feelings will be put aside, just as your father should be doing as well.”

You hate how he looks at you like he understands. Like he knows exactly what you’re feeling. Like he can see into the deepest, most hidden parts of you.

“Very well,” he sighs. 

Jungwoo holds out his arm for you to hold. Inhaling deeply, you square your shoulders and straighten your back before taking it. You wore the fanciest dress you owned and made sure your hair was styled to the best of your ability for today. You want to show the King that you are doing just fine, that you still stand strong despite everything he did to you.

The doors to the throne room open, and the two of you are welcomed with a trumpet call that announces the arrival of the Prince. The King is waiting for you, sitting tall on his throne. Despite his commendable posture, his body is weak and feeble. He’s been worn down by age, and his robes hang off of him like they would a skeleton.

“Your Majesty,” Jungwoo greets, bowing.

You don’t follow suit, crossing your arms instead. The King doesn’t even glance at his son, focusing his beady stare at you. You glare back defiantly. 

“You’ve gotten old,” is the first thing that comes out of your mouth. 

“It seems even vermin like you can survive after all this time,” the King responds gruffly.

“I could say the same for you,” you shoot back.

“You will heal my wife,” he orders, ignoring your insult. “Or else I will make sure you join your mother in Hell.”

The mention of your mother flares up your temper immediately. Clenching your fists, you begin to consider hexing him (maybe Jungwoo’s guards were onto something). You have never really used your powers out of malice, but you’re starting to think it may not be such a bad idea.

“Father,” Jungwoo warns.

“Your words are merely making me want to do the exact opposite, Your Majesty. You should thank every star in the sky that I have already given your son my word,” you say calmly, even though you’re anything but.

“Foolish boy,” the King spits. He says it with so much anger and hatred in his voice that it’s hard to tell that he’s speaking to his own son. “Why do you insist on defying me? Now, you’ve gone and made a deal with a witch.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” you sigh, “there was no deal.”

“You expect me to believe your lies? You could have easily tricked him into signing away his soul,” the King accuses. 

You can’t help but laugh at his absurd claims, shaking your head. “Enough of this. We are simply wasting time.”

You turn to Jungwoo so you can tell him to lead you to his mother, but you’re surprised by the look on his face. His expression is stormy—a mix of anger, guilt, and shame. He’s biting down on his lip so hard that you’re sure that he will draw blood. His fists are tightly balled up by his sides as he stares down at his feet. 

It’s clear how much Jungwoo is despises his father, but it’s also obvious how terrified he is of his own bloodline. The same blood that courses through the King also runs through Jungwoo’s veins. 

Without thinking, you reach forward and slip your hand into his. He looks up at you with wide eyes, but he no longer seems as upset as he did before. You smile at him, giving his hand a small, comforting squeeze.

“Come on,” you say quietly, “let’s go see your mother.”

Jungwoo nods and grips your hand tightly before the two of you leave the throne room, not sparing the King another glance. You can feel his beady stare follow you as you exit, but you pay him no mind. Jungwoo continues to hold your hand as he leads you down the palace halls, and for some strange reason, you don’t feel the need to pull away. 

When you arrive at the Queen’s chamber, only then does Jungwoo let go of your hand. He’s by his mother’s side in an instant, taking a knee by her bedside. You trail behind him, gingerly taking a step closer. 

The Queen is a beautiful woman, even when she’s asleep. Her arms are folded across her stomach, and her hair is spilled across her silk pillow. She looks like she just came out of a storybook. However, her beauty is marred by the gray pallor of her skin. Beads of sweat dot her hairline, and her face is fixed in a grimace. 

You frown. The grayness of her skin is not natural for a human, and you can sense a strange, familiar, energy flowing from within her.

“It seems your mother has been afflicted by a witch,” you say, examining her state carefully. 

“What? How is that possible?” Jungwoo whirls around to face you. 

“Either someone in her entourage is a witch or they are simply practicing witchcraft,” you explain, placing the back of your hand on the Queen’s forehead. Her skin is cool to the touch, despite sweating, which concerns you ever further. 

Jungwoo still looks like he doesn’t really understand, but he doesn’t linger on the topic. “Will she be alright?”

“Yes,” you reassure him, “it’s a simple spell. I just need to make an antidote.” 

“What do you need? I’ll have the maids gather them immediately,” he says, hurriedly standing to his feet. 

“That will not be necessary. All the ingredients I need are at my cottage,” you say, already halfway out of the Queen’s chambers, “However, I will ask that you lend me a horse so I can go back and fetch them quickly.”

“I’ll go with you,” he offers, following behind you.

“Afraid that I’ll run off, Your Highness?” you ask, stopping in the middle of the hall and raising an eyebrow. He skids to a halt when you turn to look at him, nearly running into you.

“Jungwoo,” he corrects, “and no. I’m afraid you might run into trouble along the way.”

“You have my gratitude for your concern. However, I am certain that I will be able to handle it,” you respond curtly.

Jungwoo sighs, looking down and smiling to himself. You watch him deadpan before glancing back up at you. “Can’t you leave me just a shred of my dignity?” 

“Pardon?”

He takes a step closer to you, leaning his head down so he can meet your eyes. You suck in a breath through your nose sharply, only able to match his gaze for a second before having to avert your eyes. His stare is stronger than any magic or spell, and you are no match for it.

“How many times are you going to make me beg?” Jungwoo asks softly, tilting his head.

“I—I don’t understand,” you stammer, focusing your gaze on the tip of his nose.

“I am quite aware you can handle it. I want to go with you because I would like to spend time with you,” he says, the corners of his mouth quirking up. 

“O-Oh,” you say, dumbfounded. 

From the short amount of time you’ve known him, Jungwoo has always been extremely forward in everything he approaches. But, surely, this is too forward.

“Are you doing this on purpose?” he asks, smirking.

“Doing what?”

“Acting oblivious so I will embarrass myself.”

“No, I—”

“I am only joking, Y/N,” Jungwoo says, laughing. 

You blink, staring at him in a daze, before you finally realize that he’s just been teasing you this entire time. Huffing loudly, you whirl around on your heel and begin walking again. Jungwoo easily keeps up with you because of his long strides, no matter how much you quicken your pace.

“Don’t be angry,” he tells you, barely able to hide his grin. 

“I have been meaning to say this, but you are much cleverer than you make yourself out to be,” you say in an accusatory tone, glaring at him. “And judging by your behavior now, it seems to be intentional.”

“Is that a bad thing, my lady?”

“Of course it is. It means you’re dangerous,” you snap. 

“Then, that would mean you would have to pay more attention to me,” Jungwoo replies smoothly.

You give him a look of disbelief, wondering where the endearing man who had knocked on your door this morning went. 

“Come. I’ll show you to the stables,” he says cheerfully. 

“I don’t recall saying that I wanted you to go with me,” you remind him.

“Hmm?” he hums, pretending not to hear you.

Shaking your head, you can’t help but laugh a little yourself. It’s difficult not to get swept up in the phenomenon that is Prince Jungwoo. If you were smart, you would put an end to whatever was forming between the two of you. He is simply intrigued by you and wants to joke around, nothing more. Even if it is something romantic, the two of you could never be together. It’s better to draw a line before personal feelings become involved, especially on your end.

It would be so easy to let yourself fall in love with Jungwoo. So easy to let him tear down the walls surrounding your heart. So easy to let yourself need his presence, to crave his touch. So easy to let yourself be happy, even if it’s brief.

But it would be so easy for Jungwoo to destroy you, to trample all over you—and you’re not sure if you could withstand it.

For now, you try not to think about it.

“Have you ridden a horse before?”

You shake your head. “I don’t travel distances in which I will need a horse.”

“And you were planning on going alone, despite having no experience on horseback?” Jungwoo asks, raising an eyebrow.

“How difficult can it be?” you shrug.

He laughs; a bright, clear laugh that sounds like a bell. You’re so mesmerized by it that you almost don’t notice him step closer and place his hands on your waist. You look at him with bewilderment, and he simply smiles at you.

“Excuse me for a moment,” Jungwoo chirps. Without warning, he lifts you up and sets you onto the saddle of his horse as if you’re some sort of child. His hands linger on your waist just for a moment before he pulls them back.

You let out an embarrassing squeak, automatically gripping his shoulders for support. Once you stabilize yourself, you reflexively hit him in the chest before realizing that you just punched the Prince. Luckily, he doesn’t seem that hurt or angry. In fact, it’s the exact opposite. 

Jungwoo is grinning so hard that the corners of his eyes have crinkled. He’s looks at you as if you’re the warm breeze during spring, sunshine on a beautiful day, a flower in full bloom—like you’re something wonderful.

“Do not ever do that again,” you warn. You mean to sound authoritative, but your voice teeters between octaves and it comes out as more of a question than a command. You feel like your heart is doing somersaults. 

Jungwoo just smiles again and climbs up, situating himself behind you. His arms encase you as he reaches around to grip the reins of the horse. Your back is pressed up against him, and you’re glad you’re turned away from him so he can’t see the bright flush on your cheeks.

“Must we ride together?” you grumble.

“While I admire your confidence, I do not think it would be safe for you to ride on your own,” he explains. He flicks the reins, and the horse begins to trot at an extremely brisk pace. 

“You are underestimating me.” 

“I wouldn’t dream of it, my lady.” 

“Now you’re being patronizing.” 

Jungwoo laughs, and you feel it rustle your hair. Is he really that close to you? What if your hair smells bad? You had washed it with your favorite lavender soap yesterday, but what if—

“I apologize, Y/N. That was not my intention. Once my mother recovers, you are more than welcome to return to the palace, so you can ride a horse by yourself under much safer parameters,” he suggests.

You pause. That sounds like an invitation, and you know that can’t be right. Surely, Jungwoo is not crazy enough to ask you to come back. Right? 

You have a sinking feeling that he is genuinely is that crazy, but you won’t allow yourself to even entertain the idea.

Unable to think of a response, you simply keep your mouth shut. The two of you ride in silence for a long stretch of time, but it’s not as awkward as you expect it to be. There’s something about being with Jungwoo that feels natural, comfortable.

“So,” you finally say, “how are you going to find the person who hurt your mother?”

Jungwoo’s face darkens and his expression turns solemn. You suddenly feel guilty. “Truthfully, I haven’t even thought about that yet. I want to make sure that my mother is going to be alright before I worry about anything else.”

“Replace everyone that is close to her, unless you know they are truly trustworthy,” you advise. “Whoever it is has managed to hide their tracks all this time, so you cannot risk it.”

He nods. “Thank you again for helping me once again. I know it was difficult because of my father—”

A loud clap of thunder makes you and Jungwoo jolt, and it’s like a dam in the sky has been opened. Instead of its normal blue, the sky has become a dark, ominous gray in a matter of seconds. The wind howls and the rain comes down with the force of an angry god. Within seconds, the two of you are soaked to the bone. The raindrops feel like you’re being pelted by small, freezing shards of glass. 

Jungwoo shifts behind you before you feel the thick material of his cloak drape around your shoulders. He pulls the hood over your head and shields you from the rain with his body.

“Take your cloak back,” you holler over the wind, twisting your body so you can see him. “you’ll get sick!”

You don’t realize how close his face is to your own until he’s right there. Mere inches separate the two of you. You can see the raindrops in his eyelashes and the beads of water on his lips. How could someone look this beautiful in the middle of a thunderstorm? 

He smiles softly at you, tugging the hood over your eyes before turning you back around so you can face forward. “I’ll be fine, Y/N.”

Jungwoo only slightly raises his voice, yet his words cut through the chaos. His calm demeanor and the way he’s cradling you against him makes you feel warm and safe. Like you have always belonged in his arms.

“We’re here,” he announces after a few minutes, breathing a sigh of relief. You see your cottage just up a little bit further. “Luckily, we were already close.”

After you arrive, he swings his leg over the horse and climbs down with grace. He holds his arms out to help you, and for once, you let him without any resistance. After finding shelter for his horse, the two of you dash into your cottage. Once you’re inside, you immediately begin to toss wood into your fireplace. With a snap of your fingers, you get a fire started instantly.

You both stand there in silence for a moment, watching the flames crackle as you shiver. However, you’re quickly snapped out of your haze when Jungwoo sneezes. You grab the quilt from your bed and swaddle him in it.

“Sit in front of the fire until you’re warmed up,” you order before going to your bathroom to retrieve some towels.

When you come back, you take a seat beside Jungwoo. Your soaked, ten-pounds-heavier dress, makes a gross squelch as you do. Cringing at the sound, you rise to your knees and begin to dry his hair. 

“Don’t worry about me,” he protests, “dry yourself off first.”

“If something happens to you, your father will lop my head off,” you reply. “So, I will most certainly be worrying—”

One his hands reaches up to gently grasp your wrist, and all of your words die inside your throat. His fingertips are cold, yet your entire body feels so hot. He cranes his neck so that he can look up at you. You can see the reflection of the fire in his eyes, literally drawing you in like a moth to a flame. 

“Really, Y/N. I’m alright,” he whispers, gaze transfixed on your lips.

You swallow. “I—”

Jungwoo slightly tugs you forward, tilting his head up even further and parting his lips as if he’s going to kiss you. You let out a small gasp, squeezing your eyes shut.

But nothing happens. 

You crack open one eye. He releases your wrist and turns away, clearing his throat. His ears are red, and you can see that his cheeks are flushed too. You’re surprised, having never seen him lose his composure like this before.

“Here,” Jungwoo says hoarsely, removing the quilt from around him and handing it to you. “I am plenty warm.”

He takes the towel and begins drying his hair on his own. You stare dumbfoundedly at him with the quilt in your hand. You are certain that he was going to kiss you, so why didn’t he? The confident and headstrong Jungwoo losing his nerve? Impossible. 

What’s even worse is that you closed your eyes. You expected it. You wanted it.

The two of you fall quiet, both staring at the fire once again. You can’t tell if the heat on your face is coming from the fire or from within yourself.

“So, you’ve spent almost your entire life in this cottage?” Jungwoo finally asks, turning to look at you.

“Yes,” you simply say as you take another towel and begin drying yourself off. You don’t meet his eye. Frankly speaking, you’re not sure if you can look at him right now without feeling like your heart will burst.

“Do you ever leave? Say, travel for the holidays?” 

You laugh. “And where would I go?”

He doesn’t respond.

“I sometimes go to the neighboring town to buy supplies,” you continue. “Though I have to hide my face so the villagers don’t know who I am. Why do you ask?”

“You mentioned before that you don’t go distances in which you’ll need a horse, and that led me to believe that you must not stray far from your cottage,” he answers.

Jungwoo has the same expression on his face that he had when the two of you were in the throne room with the King. There’s a deep crease between his brows, and he’s biting his quivering lip. He looks down at his hands, the towel on his head slipping off and landing on the floor with a pitiful thump. His broad shoulders are drooped, which makes him look smaller.

“Why do you seem so forlorn, Jungwoo?” you ask, carding a hand through his wet hair so you can see him more clearly. 

He shakes his head. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“Everything,” he says, voice cracking. “My father was the one who drove your mother to death and ruined your life. You’ve been trapped here for the past decade, and it’s all because of us.”

“Jungwoo—”

“I swear to you that your banishment will be lifted,” he promises, placing his hand over your hand that is still in his hair. “I will ascend the throne in a month, and I won’t let you rot away in this cottage. You should be able to see the world. To be free. I—I will not be like my father.”

His words sound more like he’s trying to convince himself rather than you, and you finally understand.

“Going against your father, seeking my help, bringing me to the palace—all of it. Was it because you wanted to differentiate yourself from the King? To prove to yourself that you aren’t following in your father’s footsteps?” you ask quietly.

Jungwoo looks at you with wide eyes. You can see tears glistening in them, and you know you’re right. Sighing, your other hand comes up to rest on his cheek. You lean in, unabashedly staring him in the eyes for the first time since you’ve met him.

“You are not your father. I, of all people, should know best. There is no need to take such drastic measures to convince yourself of it. Just be yourself, Jungwoo. You will be a kind and benevolent king,” you assure him.

“How are you so sure?” he whispers. His voice trembles. “You don’t know anything about me.”

“I know that you’re selfless and compassionate, even to someone like me,” you answer immediately. “You chose to throw away personal bias and even your own dignity to beg for my help. You are willing to do whatever it takes to help the people you care about. You have more kindness in the tip of your pinky finger than your father has had in his entire lifetime. Your subjects will revere you when you become king.”

Jungwoo is quiet, but you can tell that you’ve hit a chord with him. There’s no longer fear and pain in his expression, but rather, hope. He is still firmly holding your hand to his hair, as if it’s his lifeline. You gently slip your hand out of his grip so you can cup his face with both your hands, lightly pinching his cheeks.

“However, refrain from knocking on witches’ doors willy-nilly from now on. Not many witches are as generous and willing to help like I am. Like your father said, you could very well be tricked into signing your soul away with some,” you warn. 

“Signing my soul away to you doesn’t seem so terrible,” Jungwoo muses.

“You must be feeling better if you’re able to make your ridiculous jokes,” you sigh, beginning to pull your hands away. 

He catches one of your hands, placing it on his chest and over his heart. You can feel its steady rhythm, versus your own erratic one. You wonder if he’s aware of how effortlessly he’s able to fluster you. 

“I’m glad it was you who answered the door, Y/N,” Jungwoo says sincerely. “Truly.”

There he goes again—smiling at you sweetly, as if honey is dripping from his eyes. He gazes at you like you’re his dream, the only thing he wants. It’s almost as if he’s fallen in love with you. 

And then the reality of it all crashes down on you. 

You yank your hand away from him, scrambling up to your feet. Jungwoo looks up at you with a mix of surprise and concern on his face.

“You’re smitten with me!” you exclaim, pointing an accusatory finger at him. You may have lived most of your life in isolation, but even you can see it now.

“Are you only just now noticing that? I thought I was being quite obvious.” He raises an eyebrow, standing up as well.

“Stop being smitten with me this instant!” you order vehemently.

“If it were only that simple. Besides, I don’t want to,” he replies breezily.

“No, no, no. This cannot happen,” you mutter, beginning to pace.

“Why not?” he asks as he watches you go back and forth.

“We can’t,” you insist.

“Says who?” he shoots back.

“Everyone! Can’t you see? You are the soon-to-be-King, and I am a witch. The witch your father banished. Think about the debacle that would take place if we became lov—er, involved with each other. Your reputation will be ruined,” you explain, frustrated that he doesn’t understand. 

“I don’t care what anyone else thinks, except for you.” Jungwoo states. 

“Don’t you wish to have any respect from your subjects and allies?” you hiss.

“None of that matters. What do you feel, Y/N?”

“It—it doesn’t matter what I feel,” you say, turning away. “We can never be together anyway.”

He stares at you, long and hard. “You’re afraid.”

“No, I’m realistic.” 

“You’re using the fact that you’re a witch as a shield. You don’t allow yourself to feel anything simply because others see you as lesser, and you believe them. You’ve become comfortable like this, blockading off any sort of emotion and using the fear that others have of you as a buffer so you won’t get hurt. Your heart is trapped, just like you are inside this cottage. You’re afraid that if you leave, you might genuinely feel something,” Jungwoo continues, “—No, you’re afraid because you’re already starting to.”

He’s right, of course. Somehow, he’s always right when it comes to you. It’s so easy for him to unravel the feelings you’ve been suppressing. From the moment he laid eyes on you, Jungwoo has always been looking at you. Not the Witch of the Forest, not the fearsome creature that his father banished, not a tool that solely exists to achieve what he needs, but you. He’s found the real you, no matter how hard you try to hide.

But it doesn’t mean you won’t try.

“You talk as if you know everything about me,” you snap, “In reality, we’re nothing but strangers. The heart is a fickle thing, Jungwoo. You may think you’re in love with me today, but what about three days from now? A month? A year? You will be able throw me away without a second thought, but what will be left of me? I don’t have the luxury to act impulsively on my feelings like you. I only have myself, and I can’t afford to be hurt.”

“Do you truly think so lowly of me, Y/N? I would never hurt you,” he promises. 

“You cannot predict the future,” you say quietly.

“Exactly! Are you going to live based off sheer possibilities alone?”

You don’t respond.

“What will you do then? Force yourself to never feel anything for anyone and stay in this cottage for the rest of your life?” Jungwoo asks. 

“And what if I do?” you retort.

“You may have magic, but no enchantment can overpower your heart,” he says, shaking his head. “It is indeed be fickle at times, but you’ll be surprised to see how resolute and painful it can be.”

“It doesn’t matter,” you say again.

Jungwoo takes a minuscule step closer, gently putting his hands on your arms. He touches you as if you’re made of glass, a pained expression his face. “It does matter. Why do you keep dismissing your feelings like this? Why must you insist on hurting yourself?”

“Because it hurts one hundred times less if I do it, rather than someone else,” you whisper.

A tear falls from your left eye, and Jungwoo’s thumb swipes it away. His hands dwarf your face as they come up to cradle it. He holds your face like your eyes are made up of diamonds and your lips rubies. Pulling you close, his arms envelop your shoulders and your face is buried in his chest. Both of your clothes are still wet, yet it feels like you’ve been embraced by a ray of sunshine. 

Your hands remain by your side as Jungwoo hugs you tightly. You’re to afraid to move, fearing that you’ll shatter the moment. You squeeze your eyes shut and try to remember this moment in perfect detail. You tell yourself that this, too, is fleeting. 

“You are strong, Y/N. Stronger than any person I’ve ever known,” he mutters against the crown of your head, “but it’s okay now. You are no longer alone. Let yourself cry, get angry, be happy. There’s no need to bottle it up any longer.”

You feel yourself let out a sob, a sob that racks through your entire body. Trembling violently, your hands slowly reach up to place themselves on his back, curling your fists tightly into the fabric of his shirt. Hot tears flow freely from your eyes as you press your face farther into his chest.

You hate yourself for succumbing to your emotions, and you hate yourself even more for doing it in front of Jungwoo. However, it also makes you feel liberated. Jungwoo’s arms are a safe haven, and it makes you want to forget everything and run away with him. It makes you want to be reckless and impulsive, just like him.

“—Your Highness!”

The door to your cottage is suddenly kicked down, and a swarm of palace guards barge in, with the Annoying Guard leading the pack. You try to pull away from Jungwoo, but he holds onto you tighter before moving you behind him. His arm is protectively in front of you, as he shields you with his body once again.

“What have you done to him, witch?” the Annoying Guard demands, pointing his sword at you.

“Nothing,” Jungwoo responds, glaring at him. “What on Earth are you doing? Stand down.”

“You’ve cast a dark spell on the Prince!”

“She has not! I will say it one more time, stand down,” Jungwoo orders.

Seeing Jungwoo’s expression, the Annoying Guard slowly sheathes his sword. “Y-Your Highness? Is it really you?”

“Who else would it be?” Jungwoo huffs with annoyance.

“Why are you protecting the witch?”

“Because you’re trespassing and also threatening her. Why did you come anyway?” Jungwoo asks, gritting his teeth. 

“His Majesty told us to make sure you were alright, since it’s storming,” the Annoying Guard ducks his head meekly. “We have a carriage for you.”

Jungwoo tells them all to get out before turning to check on you. By this point, you’ve already collected yourself. You’ve wiped away your tears and regained your composure. You look back at him coolly, refusing to let yourself break down like that again.

“Y/N—”

“Wait for me outside. I just need a second to collect all of the ingredients for the antidote, and then I will be out shortly,” you say curtly.

He looks like he wants to argue at first but obediently retreats a moment later. When he’s out of an earshot, you harshly slap your cheeks. The stinging rings through your entire body, like a wake up call from the gods themselves. You had let yourself pretend for a moment when Jungwoo hugged you, but the cold, sobering truth of it all is more apparent than ever.

If Jungwoo were to truly stay with you, his sanity would be questioned by his peers at every moment. Eventually, he too would begin to wonder if his feelings were conjured by your magic. The happiness the two of you would have will only last for a moment, and you can’t allow yourself to have a taste of it. 

Because you know you won’t be able to walk away from him.

The carriage ride back is just as awful as the first time, perhaps even more so. The cloak that Jungwoo lent you has been snatched away by the Annoying Guard, so you’re left to shiver in your half-wet dress. Jungwoo is being swathed in towels and even provided a thick jacket, but all you get is a rag that looks like it’s been used to wipe the floor. Jungwoo tries to give you his jacket, but you ignore him and keep your gaze trained on the window.

When you arrive at the palace, the two of you are immediately ushered up to the Queen’s chambers by a frantic maid. Her condition worsened during the storm, and you can feel her life force fading. The King is there too, but he doesn’t say a word. His lips are in a thin line and his face is somber. You can see in his eyes that he’s pleading with you to save his wife. 

You manage to whip up the antidote in record time, carefully pouring it into the Queen’s mouth with a spoon. Within minutes, the color returns to her face and her breathing becomes normal. You place a hand on her forehead, breathing a sigh of relief when you feel warmth return to her skin.

The Queen’s eyes begin to flutter, and you quickly withdraw your hand. You turn to Jungwoo. “She should be alright now. Let her recuperate for a couple of days just to make sure.”

“You have my eternal gratitude, Y/N. I—”

“Jungwoo?” The Queen’s feeble voice whispers. She’s slowly coming to, blindly reaching out for her son. The King perks up too, but he doesn’t move towards her.

“Mother,” he responds immediately, “I’m here.”

You watch him kneel by her bedside, taking her hand. They speak to each other in hushed tones, and you realize that Jungwoo must get his soft-spoken voice from his mother. The tenderness between them warms your heart, but it also wrenches it because it’s even more proof that you don’t belong here. 

Taking advantage of the fact that Jungwoo is distracted, you easily manage to slip out of the room. It doesn’t occur to you until you walk out of the palace and pass by the stables that you don’t have any means of transportation. There’s no way any palace guard will agree to take you back by carriage, and you can’t just borrow a horse because you will have to return it. 

You’re so deep in thought that you don’t notice a maid walking toward you and crash right into her. She’s carrying a bale of hay and it goes flying, straws of hay exploding into the air. You stagger backwards, trying to avoid it. The maid lets out a squeal and falls onto her rear pretty hard.

“I’m so sorry,” you say hurriedly, stretching out your hand to help her up. “I was distracted and did not see you.”

“It’s alright, I did not see you either,” the maid winces, grabbing your hand and letting you pull her to her feet. “I will sweep this up in a moment. I apologize for the mess, my lady.”

Her words are lost to you. Instead, you’re focused on the immense amount of magic you felt flowing through her when she touched your hand. It’s the strongest magic you’ve felt in a very long time.

“So it was you,” you realize, narrowing your eyes. “Hiding in plain sight.”

The maid blinks before her lips curl into an evil smirk. “Well, well, you’ve finally caught me. Honestly, I’m disappointed. I thought you’d find me much sooner. Surely, finding a measly witch like me should have been child’s play for the Witch of the Forest.”

“I’ve been preoccupied,” you answer, gritting your teeth. “What is your name?”

“Joohyun,” she says. Joohyun flicks her wrist, and the hay is suddenly rearranged into the perfect block it was before. “Are you going to tell Prince Jungwoo, my lady?”

“I will not betray one of my kind so easily. However, I want to know why you chose to harm the Queen.”

“That old geezer, the King, really loves her. Even though he doesn’t act like it. I figured the only way to truly make him suffer the way he made us is to target his family,” Joohyun says breezily, shrugging.

“The Queen and Prince Jungwoo are innocent in all of this. Do not drag them into our affairs,” you chastise, though you understand where she is coming from.

Joohyun raises an eyebrow before she smiles knowingly. “I had been curious as to why you agreed to help the Queen, but I see now. You’re fond of Prince Jungwoo.”

Were you that easy to read?

“Don’t be ridiculous,” you snap.

“Whatever you say,” Joohyun replies nonchalantly, a glint in her eye. “Then, I suppose you won’t mind if Prince Jungwoo is my next target?”

You scowl, your eyes flashing dangerously at her. “Are you threatening me?”

“Of course not, my lady,” she backs down. She still has a smirk on her face, but you can tell she’s nervous now. “It was a joke.”

“It would do you well to watch your tongue. I am warning you now to not lay a finger on the King’s family. Incurring my anger will make you wish that I had turned you over to the Prince,” you say calmly.

“I apologize, my lady.” Joohyun bows her head. 

“Go,” you order.

She obediently picks up the bale of hay before scurrying off. You watch her disappear behind the palace doors, releasing the breath you had been holding. You know Joohyun will tread more carefully now, which is a solace to you only slightly. A part of you wants to run back inside and immediately tell Jungwoo, but you force yourself to turn on your heel and begin walking away. 

The two of us have nothing to do with each other now, you tell yourself.

As if on cue, you hear a distant voice calling out to you. 

“Y/N!”

You know who it is, and you know you should keep walking. But your feet drag to an eventual stop, refusing to listen to your brain. Stiffly, you turn.

Jungwoo is running up to you, bridging the gap between you and the palace easily. When he’s in front of you, he reaches down and grabs the sleeve of your dress with two fingers, as if he’s afraid you’ll run away. For now, you allow him to.

“If you’re leaving, I’ll escort you,” he says, slightly breathless.

“No,” you respond, “I will walk.”

“Y/N—”

“This is not up for negotiation, Your Highness,” you cut him off, harshly tugging your sleeve away. “I did what you requested, so our business is finished. Therefore, there is no need to involve ourselves with each other anymore.”

You can tell you’re hurting him. Jungwoo takes a step closer, and you take one back. His outstretched hand falls limply at his sides. His eyes have lost their usual mischievous sparkle, flickering like a dying ember. You feel like there’s a knife being twisted into your side. How did you manage to connect so deeply to him that you can’t stand to see him upset, despite only meeting him today? 

“In two weeks time,” he starts quietly, “my coronation ball will be held. Would you accompany me?” 

You let out a small laugh. Even though you’re trying your hardest to hurt him, Jungwoo remains persistent like he always is. 

“You know that I will not,” you say, shaking your head. “Ask someone else.”

“I want to go with you.”

You sigh, and against your better judgement, you place a hand on his cheek. He leans into your touch, clutching your wrist. “You will forget about me soon enough, Your Highness.” 

“I won’t.”

“Once you’re king, I’ll be nothing more than a bad dream,” you continue. “Don’t let a temporary feeling ruin your future.” 

“Why do you keep discounting the way I feel?” he asks furiously. “You keep saying that I’ll throw you away, hurt you, forget about you—it’s cruel, Y/N.” 

“It’s the truth, Your Highness. You’ll see.”

“Jungwoo,” he finally corrects again, frustrated. “Please, call me Jungwoo.”

“Joohyun,” you suddenly blurt out, ignoring him. You couldn’t help yourself. If you are truly never going to see him again, you had to tell him.

“What?”

“The maid,” you clarify. “She’s the one who cursed your mother.”

“I—thank you,” he says dumbfoundedly, confused at the sudden change in topic.

“Don’t punish her too harshly,” you request.

“Why?”

“Because I can’t say that I wouldn’t have done the same thing if I were in her position,” you answer honestly.

He doesn’t respond, looking at you with a wistful expression. The two of you fall into a brief moment of silence, staring into each other’s eyes. You don’t have as much trouble holding his gaze anymore, but it still makes your mind go blank. Your eyes travel over every inch of his face, committing it to your memory. You wish you could remember the sensation of his skin against your fingertips.

“Stay,” he pleads.

The hand on his face travels to the back of his neck, so you can bring him down to your level. You step on your tip-toes, placing a feather-light kiss on his cheek. When you pull back, you rest your forehead against his.

“Goodbye, Jungwoo.”

And so, the two weeks pass in what seems like a matter of seconds. 

You’ve managed to somewhat return to your routine, but all of your efforts are shattered when the night of Jungwoo’s coronation ball arrives. During the day, you had been aimlessly pacing around in your cottage and doing the same chores over and over again. It was like you were in a trance. 

Now, you’re laying in bed—wide awake. You kick the covers off, suddenly feeling extremely hot, before tossing and turning in an attempt to tire yourself out. It is useless; your mind always seems to come back to him. 

You wonder if he’ll meet a beautiful princess from a neighboring country at the ball and instantly fall in love with her. The two of them would be perfect for each other. They would be the subject of envy throughout the kingdom. Their reign would be a prosperous one, and they would bear such lovely children. Jungwoo would be so happy, and that hurts you so more than you would like to admit. You know you’re being selfish now, but you—

You nearly scream when you hear a frantic knocking on your door. Instantly sitting up, you listen to the knocking for a little longer. Your heart is racing, and you can’t fight the hope building up in your chest. Getting out of your bed, you slowly approach your door and crack it open.

Jungwoo is standing there, in full royal regalia. He’s panting, shoulders heaving up and down with effort. His collar is popped, and you can see a bead of sweat roll down his neck. His hair is mussed and stuck to his forehead. He’s clutching a piece of paper in one hand.

 At first, you think he’s a hallucination but then he speaks.

“By my royal decree, your banishment has officially been lifted,” he declares, still out of breath. He smooths out the crumpled piece of paper and shows it to you. It looks like it was written by a child. There are ink splatters everywhere, the writing is barely legible, and the signature looks like chicken scratch. Most people would not believe it was an official document if it were not for the royal seal stamped at the bottom.

“Wha—”

“You were wrong,” Jungwoo interrupts, “I didn’t forget about you. And trust me, I tried. I tried so damn hard because you were so cruel. You’ve only ever diminished my feelings for you, and you were the one that threw me away when I begged for you to stay. You walked all over my heart like it was your personal doormat, yet I missed you. I wanted to see you again, even if it would hurt. So, I wrote a decree on a piece of parchment paper without consulting or informing any of my advisors and then came to find you during the middle of my coronation ball. And here I am again, pouring my heart out in front of you like a fool—”

You throw yourself at him, and he just barely manages to catch you. His arms are tightly wrapped around you as you grab his collar and crush your lips against his. Jungwoo makes a small noise of surprise before he eventually reciprocates. He kisses you like you’ll disappear at any moment, and he holds you like it too. Even when you pull away, he presses you firmly against him.

“I’m sorry for hurting you,” you mumble against his lips. “You are much too good for me, Jungwoo. But I selfishly missed you too. So much.”

“If it means you’ll be by my side, hurt me as much you’d like,” Jungwoo says, his fingers entangling themselves in your hair.

The two of you share another kiss under the glow of the moonlight, whispering promises to each other that you know you shouldn’t keep.

Yet, you aren’t afraid anymore.

[dizzydancingdreamer]

The Runaway Princess | One

Okay, okay, okay so I'm dropping this preview here because I have yet to decide if this is going to be a long fic or a chaptered fic but I have the first part down and I wanted to share it. It's a young Zemo x OC fic (lightly OC? His wife in the comics is named Heike and I took that name and ran with it so she's my own design but with a ripped off name LOL).

If I decide to post the rest on here it will be on my DIzzy After Dark page because I'm planning this to be an NSFW style fic (bc why the fuck not) but this opening bit is 110% friendly to all ages I just wanted to introduce Heike because I fucking love her.

This story goes with the Zemo moodboard I made months ago and finally just got around to polishing. Here is the like to that!

⁺ ˚ * •̩̩͙ ✩ •̩̩͙ * ˚ ⁺ ‧͙ ⁺ ˚ * •̩̩͙ ✩ •̩̩͙ * ˚ ⁺ ‧͙ ⁺ ˚ * •̩̩͙ ✩ •̩̩͙ * ˚ ⁺⁺ ˚ * •̩̩͙ ✩ •̩̩͙

Synopsis: Heike is a Ballerina and a Princess, but before that she is an object, one toyed with by her very mother. She is to be married to a man she's never met, whom she has yet to even see a picture of (though that's of her own design), and is on the verge of one of the biggest moments of her career: dancing on the Marinsky stage.

Pairing: Helmut Zemo x Heike Petrov (OC)

Warnings: Slight angst, eventual NSFW content that will be 18+ (not this part), fluff tho and lots of it, seriously this is all over the place

Word count: 2.2k

⁺ ˚ * •̩̩͙ ✩ •̩̩͙ * ˚ ⁺ ‧͙ ⁺ ˚ * •̩̩͙ ✩ •̩̩͙ * ˚ ⁺ ‧͙ ⁺ ˚ * •̩̩͙ ✩ •̩̩͙ * ˚ ⁺⁺ ˚ * •̩̩͙ ✩ •̩̩͙

The first drops of sunlight pour in through the arched windows, painting the glossy wooden floor in an array of sparkling pastels. They hit the paneled mirrors, bouncing off of the golden bar that runs the entire length of the studio, illuminating every surface in an ethereal glow. For just a moment— the tiniest fraction of time where there's no noise other than the slightest shuffle of silken slippers against mahogany and even, meticulous breaths— everything is perfect. Everything is calm.

Perhaps if Heike’s eyes were open she would admire the peace— the way her studio looks as though it’s been dipped in a bath of gold and oil paints. The way it’s just cool enough to keep the sheen of sweat from her limbs. The silence. Oh yes, she would certainly admire the silence. It’s all she’s ever longed for.

Her eyes are not open, though, and in her head her thoughts are excruciatingly loud— louder than they’ve been in ages. There’s no silence for her to admire behind the darkness of her eyelids. No gold, or oil, or peace. Nothing of the sort.

No, in her head she is on a stage. A loud, vast, practically thrumming stage.

Bozhe, pomogi yey.

That’s nothing new, though— that’s her life. Her life is on a stage and her life is a stage. She is always doing and someone— but more often someones— is— are— always watching. Being on the stage is not new.

What is new is the particular stage that she is on this morning. The Mariinsky Stage. The biggest grande allegro in all of Russia. It’s the stage she has been preparing to dance on for almost all of her life— for almost twenty-five excruciatingly long years. In just thirty-six hours she will be performing in front of the world’s most important people.

Kings and Queens.

Princes and Princesses.

Presidents and Prime Ministers and everyone in between who can afford a ticket.

So, her family— her entire family— somehow that’s worse than anyone else.

A soft voice cuts through her pondering but not quite through the dread.

“Mi’lady, it is seven.” Already? Heike could have sworn she just put her slippers on a few minutes ago. “I am afraid it is time we start dressing you. It’s a special day— the Queen has, erm, reminded me, shall we say, that you mustn’t be late to brunch this morning.”

The Princess sighs, the Mariinsky beginning to fade from behind her eyelids. Of course her mother’s been pestering her lady in waiting again. Would it truly be a normal day if she didn’t? It isn’t as if Katerina is the kindest, hardest working, most tolerant woman in the castle— no, that would be absurd. Surely if she was then her mother wouldn’t treat her with such scorn— as though she’s lower than the dirt the country stands on. Only a touch worse than she treats her own daughter.

Oh— wait.

Cracking an eye open, Heike drinks in the woman before her. Scarlet hair, pale skin, rosy cheeks, and a worn smile. Worn but there nonetheless. She opens the other eye, passing Katerina what she can only assume— nyet, hope— is the same. She has no idea how Katerina puts up with the Queen. She can barely do it and she’s the princess. Heike knows it’s for her, though, so she tries her best to be the opposite.

She lowers herself to the floor, stretching her hands out towards her toes. “Three hours to get ready? Surely that’s too much time to throw on a dress and some heels, Kat.”

Katerina rolls her eyes, tsking and shaking her head. “Shush miss— you know this morning is different.”

The princess giggles, tilting her head to the spot on the floor next to her. Katerina sighs but it is pointless— Heike is well accustomed to her pattern of feigning annoyance. When you’re around the same person day in and day out for nine years, you begin to pick up on their traits. Like how Kat rolls her eyes but the left side of her mouth still ticks up. It comes with the territory— it comes with being best friends.

That’s what they are, really. Best friends. Heike’s only friend, truly. She knows it’s odd to become friends with your lady in waiting— it’s not lost on her the implications of such a relationship and of her status— but Katerina has never felt like her servant. The idea of even having a servant has always felt terribly outdated, at least to her. Kat is her friend— her sister. Well, if sisters were paid to be your sister. She would like to believe that the reason Kat sticks around, though, is because she feels the same way.

Bozhe, pomogi yey.

Katerina slumps onto the floor next to her, rolling onto her back, her blue gown pooling in a graceful circle around her. Heike meets her eyes with another smile— this one much less coy. There is only so much that can keep the nerves at bay. Practicing her ballet was helping— a lot, actually— but now that she’s not moving— now that the dawn has broken into a more sinister form of daylight— all the raging thoughts have begun to simmer again. Now, it seems, they are boiling over.

“What do you think it’ll be like?” Her voice is quiet, just barely breaching a whisper, but in their little bubble of mahogany and glass it is louder than ever.

Katerina pushes herself up onto her elbow, her brows creasing together. They have been having the same conversation for weeks, ever since her mother told her the news. Heike can practically hear what she’s going to say before it’s out of her mouth.

“It or him?” Heike winces at Kat’s bluntness regardless— usually they skirt around the real topic for a few minutes, warming up to it.

She supposes they don’t have time for that today though. Not when he will be sitting in their conservatory in three hours. Maybe even less. Maybe he is even here now, waiting, speaking to her parents and bartering a deal for her hand— no. She takes a deep breath, beginning to untie her slippers if only to keep her shaking fingers occupied.

“Baron Helmut Zemo—” Heike tests his name on her tongue. It tastes familiar— that is probably because she has been repeating it for weeks now, though— “he sounds regal.”

“He is royalty,” Katerina reminds, the left side of her mouth quirking up. “Just the same as you, Mi’lady.”

Heike sighs. “Katerina, please— I’m a dancer. A ballerina. None of the formalities— they make me feel… strange.”

Being a princess would mean that she is the daughter of a king and a queen— it would mean she actually got recognized as anything more than a pair of pointe shoes.

She doesn’t add that, of course, only pulls said pointe shoes from her feet, letting her toes stretch and curl in the cool air of her studio. Not for long— only until her fingers begin trembling again and then she is starting on the sides of her leotard, pulling at the little silk ribbons. Soon, though, even that is interrupted, a pair of warm hands wrapping around hers and halting her attempts to hide her fidgeting.

“You’re stalling is what you are. Just as you have been all week. It isn’t healthy, Hei. Talk to me— you always talk to me.”

Heike lifts her eyes back to her friend, meeting her worried blue eyes and feeling her shoulders drop. “I’m sorry, I know. It’s just— I—” She doesn’t know what to say— part of the reason she hasn’t talked about it is because she’s at a complete and utter loss. “I am tired. I think. But so are you— more so than I. So I shouldn’t complain.”

Katerina rolls her eyes again, squeezing her hands. “Mi’lady I am exhausted. Truly I am. But at the end of the day I get to go to my bed and I get to sleep. Just like you do. We both sleep, yes?”

“Yes, but what—”

“It means we are the same— which means don’t say that. We are friends. You are tired. I am tired. I can be tired and listen at the same time, believe it or not.” Kat shakes her hands, bringing them up to her chest with Heike’s fingers still wrapped in her own. “I know it’s hard but we must talk about this. No excuses.”

Heike tries for another smile but it feels more like a grimace— like all the muscles in her face are rebelling. “How are you so kind to me?”

Katerina narrows her blue eyes until all Heike can see is black. “No excuses, Mi’lady.” She scrunches her nose, her face softening from it’s accusatory glare. “But— on that note— you’re much more lovely than you give yourself credit for, Hei. You’re easy to be kind to. So, again, stop making excuses because if you don’t then you will be unlovable. I will stop loving you.”

Heike laughs for a quick moment and then straightens— Kat is right. Kat is always right.

“I’m nervous,” Heike admits.

It’s harder to push the words out than she thought it would be. It’s like her throat squeezes extra hard when she says it, her teeth and tongue acting a barricade to the truth. The words do manage to shimmy through but they take all the energy she has with them and she sags. Her whole body rebels against the notion that she’s worried. Princesses aren’t supposed to worry.

“I don’t even know what this man looks like.” Heike continues, gently pulling her fingers from Katerina’s grasp, curling them around her bare arms and closing her eyes— It’s easier to think in the darkness. “I suppose I could look but there is no point, I’ve made it this far without. No matter what I do he will still be here soon. His appearance isn’t really the point anyway. That’s what I keep telling myself at least.”

Heike mutters the last part but she’s sure she hears it.

Only a few measly seconds pass before Kat’s voice cuts through the darkness, as patient yet as pressing as ever. “What is the point then, Hei?”

Her. The point is her. It is not about whether Heike likes him— it doesn’t matter if she does, her mother has her ways of getting what she wants. The Queen— her holder. Gods, this man could hate Heike— take one look at her and despise everything he sees— and her mother would still, somehow, find a way to have them married.

Heike snaps her eyes open— she draws the line at having to think about a wedding. Her wedding. To a man who will probably hate her. That’s the point— marriage. Status. Everlasting, lukewarm relationships for the sake of kingdoms that are more an idea than anything else.

Again, Heike doesn’t say that, at least not all of it.

“What if he does not like me?” She can’t force her voice past a dull whisper, her hands— now that they aren’t being held steady— once again trembling.

Katerina’s face softens immediately, her eyes losing the glimmer of humor she had somehow been maintaining. It was probably for Heike’s benefit. People are always trying to keep her happy, like it’s some sort of crucial task. Keep Heike happy or it’s off with your head. Her— the princess— the burden. She doesn’t want any heads, she can barely keep track of her own at any given moment.

Case in point.

Katerina holds her arms open wide and raises a scarlet brow. Heike doesn’t waste any time in rushing forward and piling her body into Kat’s. Burden or not, there’s no way she’s about to refuse the best hugger in the castle.

The lady in waiting squeezes her arms around the princess, her words soft against her temple. “That is impossible. Impossible. You worry much too much— you always have. He will love you, Heike. I know he will. It’s impossible not to love you, trust me I would know.”

Heike snuggles deeper into her friend’s arms, soaking in as much of her lemon and vanilla perfume as possible. It’s the only thing that’s ever screamed home to her. She has been many places— danced on many stages— but coming home never meant the castle walls. It never meant anything because Katerina was always right there next to her, holding her hand or flicking her ear or snoring until the very last minute when they are being rushed off the plane and Heike is doing more of the waiting than anyone. She has always had the privilege of bringing her home with her— her citrusy, red haired home.

But for how long will that be possible?

She doesn’t ask— It is for her and her only to bear. “But what if he doesn’t?”

Katerina pulls back, much to Heike’s dismay, her hand slipping under her chin and squeezing gently. “The we run, Mi’lady.”

Heike’s heart softens. “We?”

Kat rolls her eyes, the left side of her mouth halfway to her ear— Heike supposes she should have seen that coming. “You are not leaving me here alone, miss.”

Bozhe, pomogi yey.

⁺ ˚ * •̩̩͙ ✩ •̩̩͙ * ˚ ⁺ ‧͙ ⁺ ˚ * •̩̩͙ ✩ •̩̩͙ * ˚ ⁺ ‧͙ ⁺ ˚ * •̩̩͙ ✩ •̩̩͙ * ˚ ⁺⁺ ˚ * •̩̩͙ ✩ •̩̩͙

Translations:

Bozhe, pomogi yey — God help her

[love-toxin]

leaves; harley.

request: “If requests are open, could I ask for smut with Harley? 👉🏻👈🏻 Maybe him and fem!s/o are fucking in the middle of his field or something? (idk, I’m just thirsty for this big, thick, and tall yandere man who I wish was real bc you’ve written him so well 🤧)”

a/n: it’s become very clear that harley is much more brutal when his darling gets a little too brave. dub/noncon, kidnapping, failed escape, outdoor sex, female reader, creampie, choking, rough sex, begging, degradation, lemon. 

word count: 1.1k

For some reason, the leaves felt so fake when they were crushed inside your hands. 

They made for a thin padding over the ground, separating your warm skin from the freezing bite of the soil underneath you, but it still wasn't enough to stop your whimpering and shivering. The colour of the trees had started to change with the shifting of seasons, and the warm summer you never got to enjoy made way for a cold and brutal autumn wind. Not even what little skin your clothes still covered could break the bitter chill.

The only warmth you were granted was his body pressed up against yours. 

"Hnh,"

Harley resembled an animal in many ways, with his unruly hair draping off his broad shoulders, and the steely, stoic coldness in those stormy eyes boring into you at all times. But more than anything else, the grunts that left that gravelly throat made him seem like more of a beast than he was a human. 

You swore you could feel the anger radiating off him, and if you were in a less vulnerable position you might even joke that it was keeping you warm. But Harley's arms constricted you like huge, bulging cables, and you had been effectively pinned to his chest, in the perfect position for his hips to square with yours and come down on your behind as if he had no other purpose. He was only a snarling, rageful beast, and you were his weakened and tired prey, with your knees parted by force and your hoodie pushed up to offer no cover for your chest. You assumed your pants were in torn shreds on the ground by this point--and accompanying them was a puddle that slowly formed beneath you, thick fluid slipping out of you in slimy pearls with every sharp breath and deep thrust into your body. Harley hadn't cum this many times in ages...and you doubted he would again, if you ever found the idiotic courage to try and escape a second time. 

"Stupid...fucking stupid.."

The toes of his boots dug into the ground, giving him a better grip to slam into you even harder. You didn’t want to be pressed completely into the ground, both because of how cold it was, and that you feared you might break more easily--but very quickly you were realizing you might not have a choice, your elbows sinking deeper into the dirt and your body trembling more violently as he used you like a fleshlight. 

Once, early on in your captivity when he had gotten especially angry, you’d spied on him and watched in shock as he jerked himself off as he leaned over the bathroom sink. He was so rough, squeezing so hard and gripping the counter so tight, by the time he finished you had scampered back to your room and disappeared under the covers in fear. When he returned he seemed normal, if only a little less patient than usual...and you had hoped never to see him like that again, that you would always have the careful, attentive Harley that he presented as in the bedroom.

But that was long before you had committed to your betrayal, cuffing his hands as he slept and sneaking out the back door into the forest, so early in the morning the roosters didn’t even have a chance to crow. 

"What, got nothing to say? Had enough? Cause I haven't."

Harley grunted, the broken chains hanging off the cuffs on his wrist clanking together, as he held you steady and abused your messy, tightly-stretched cunt. You already felt the aches and pains of being pounded and bruised and stuffed to the absolute limit, but he still had more energy to go on even when you felt he might actually fuck you to death. 

"Shoulda just let the wolves get you. Let em' tear you all new holes and then rip you to pieces.." 

As if he wasn’t quite satisfied with your humiliation yet, you tensed as he suddenly pinched your clit between his thick fingers, ignoring your whimpers as he rolled and rubbed it so carelessly. And with his other hand, he grabbed hold of your hair and swiveled it around his fist, making an easy leash to keep you on as he tugged your head back and spoke in a rumble against your neck. 

“Dirty fuckin’ city bitch...still squeezing me like a slut, even when I’m so close to breaking your fucking neck..” 

He yanked you back harder, and squeezed your clit roughly enough to force a pained squeal from your throat--and if you could be grateful for anything right now, it was that your frantic squirming against him was only making you tighter, and bringing him closer to the brink of cumming once again.

“Tell me what I wanna hear, or I’ll tie you down and leave you to die in here.” 

His growling into your skin forced you to arch your back, and in a desperate attempt to preserve what little life you could cling to, you let the tears fall in droves as you trembled and sobbed out your plea. 

“I-I’m sorry, I’m sorry, sorry, I’m so sorry! I love you, Harley! I love you! P-Please, please don’t kill me, Harley!” 

Your shaky, whiny voice echoed off the trees and rang through the otherwise quiet forest, and lucky for you it seemed to be enough for him--Harley released your hair and instead wrapped his hand around your throat, and a shudder rolled through you as he laved his tongue hotly up the side of your neck, before sucking a bruise into your burning skin. 

That was more than enough to finish you. Any hope or thought of getting away washed out completely from your mind, as your end hit you suddenly and crashed over you like a violent tidal wave. It wracked your body and seared away your vision into white, and your mind melted in such a haze that you couldn’t even register Harley choking you through his orgasm until he finally let go. Cum spilled inside you for the last time, and as he got up and let you slide off his cock, you found no energy in your limbs and collapsed into the puddle he had created underneath you. The ground was comforting, now, the soil keeping you steady when you felt you had no balance left, your head spinning as you slowly caught your breath...and then Harley had finished shifting his clothes, and picked you up off the forest floor to cradle you in his arms, and haul you back to the farm. 

The leaves felt fake when they crumbled in your hands, but even faker when they rustled and blew in the wind...drifting to the ground just to be crushed under a pair of boots that never stopped moving forward. 

[cross-d-a]

I want to know ALL about Wu Xie embarrassing time traveler!Li Cu!!! ✨✨ I'm also v intrigued by Nie Huisang death death death

(Also, Cross you have so many wips; I read in awe. And to think I thought I had a lot of star wars fix-it ideas! I only have anything at all written down for two of them!)

(this refers to the WIP tag game I completed a few days ago!)

Wu Xie being EMBARRASSING & Li Cu Time Travel: 

I’ve got a series of interconnected oneshots planned where Li Cu just- accidentally hops back in time to every drama/book and helps out the Iron Triangle. and it’s more like LI CU embarrassing WU XIE haha

I thought it’d be HILARIOUS if Li Cu got to see how Wu Xie (UR MY DAD BOOGIE WOOGIE WOOGIE) is so YOUNG and STUPID and EMBARRASSING when he’s young!! Wu Xie making (ACTUALLY) innocent doe eyes at an emo Xiao Ge?? GROSS. Wu Xie accidentally (DELIBERATELY?) setting off multiple traps in a tomb?? Li Cu is 10000/10 going to RECORD THIS on his phone and bring it BACK to the future and make fun of Wu Xie FOREVER. Also!!! There are SO MANY SNAKES in Ultimate Note!! And?? Conveniently?? Li Cu has a lil’ snake buddy?? MAYBE HE COULD HELP??? 

I basically want Li Cu being the Actual Competent One and the baby Iron Triangle floundering. Mostly Wu Xie. I want Wu Xie floundering. I also want Wu Xie SO EMBARRASSED when Li Cu hops back to his own time. 

li cu: DAD UR AN IDIOT 

wu xie: i DONT WANT TO RELIVE IT PLS AND THANK 

li cu: nO!! U ARE GOING TO SUFFER!! UR SO STUPID u set off FIVE TRAPS

wu xie: i hate you 

li cu: no u don’t u just told me u loved and appreciated me for saving ur life like ten minutes ago. there were tears in your eyes. actually they were streaming down ur face. u might have been hugging my leg and sobbing

wu xie: tHAT WAS SIXTEEN YEARS AGO FOR ME OK i am an OLD MAN

Nie Huaisang death death death:

I think it’s hilarious that you picked out one of the resurrective immortality fics considering we were JUST talking about the old guard hahaha. This one I actually have a good chunk written so far, so here is a long snippet near the beginning. Context is that Nie Huaisang’s mother is VERY pregnant and she’s riding through the mountains to visit her family before she gives birth. WARNINGS for gore (kinda??) and child death and just- DEATH in general:

There are beasts in the mountains. Ravenous, born of fury and blood, more ragged spirit than flesh. Their claws are jagged and broken and their maws drip with sizzling saliva. They have roamed the mountains for years and years, and have only grown more enraged, voracious.

The Nie Clan have always harnessed the butchery of their past. Binding rage and ruin to themselves, channeling it through their hearts and into their swords until they are one and the same. Until it feeds upon their flesh and their spirit, gnawing on their bones, carving out a little space for itself between brittle ribs. Until, one bloody piece at a time, it consumes them whole.

The Nie Clan’s power is also the source of their doom, and these beasts who roam and know only hate hate hate are Nie-furen’s doom, as well.

They descend upon the Nie in the dead of night, a roiling mass of snapping teeth and furious howls. There is blood, screaming, desperate flashes of Dao magic and heavy blades. But there are too many and it is not enough.

But the mighty Phoenix of the West has always been filled with unmatched fury and she is full of new life and about to burst. She will not let her child die here today. Not before he can breathe sweet fresh air and keen that first high cry. Not before his father can cradle him in his arms and his older brother can plant a kiss on his forehead.

That rage within her swells. It devours her spirit and bleeds out her eyes as she screams screams screams- a raging beacon of power and brutality and every ancestor’s grief.

She slaughters everything in her path.

When she comes to, she is soaked in blood and there is pain in her belly and an ache behind her eyes and in every breath- but she is alive. She lies amidst the ruins of her people and the lingering darkness of vanquished spirits and Shan Xifeng—

She goes into labour.

It is long and hard, lasting through the night into the bloody dawn and beyond. She manages to crawl to the edge of their encampment but no further. She twists into a curl of agony and cries into the clouded sky.

Her son is born on the cusp of evening, just as the sun slides behind dark, ragged peaks. He is born soft and warm and silent.

Shan Xifeng cradles him in quaking hands. Cups his cheek to her breast. His tiny head is blood-streaked like his mother. Blood-streaked like her friends and family around her.

It is an irony that on one of the most important days of her life, she is surrounded by her loved ones and yet they are all dead.

“Little one,” she murmurs, and tilts his limp head. “Little one, please.”

But he is silent as the dead around her and that grief swells again in her breast. It gnaws on her ribs and scrabbles at her throat and she is shaking shaking shaking.

“No,” she spits. “No! He has done nothing wrong! Nothing! Does he not deserve his first breath? His first cry? Does he not deserve the family that awaits him?!”

She screams into the sky and tastes blood between her teeth. “Take me instead! I beg of you! Please let him live! I would give my life! Every single one of them, so that he may live!”

Her sword quakes along with that dark raging thing within her and she clutches her dead son close.

Then—

The faint, elegant curve of a fan in the corner of her eye. The shift of cloth, the echo of a breath. The glimmering of ethereal gold and silver, like someone has spun the stars and sun above into delicate thread.

Summoned, like a beast to blood.

“All of them?”

Shan Xifeng knows better than to face an unknowable thing and so she bows as low as her broken body will allow. She stares into the bloodied dirt and breathes in dust and rasps, “Yes.”

“Hm.” A flicker of a stretching smile, coy, with a hint of sharp teeth. She does not see the fathomless dark behind those stark white teeth, a gaping void of ravenous benevolence. It is hidden behind the flare of the fan. “Do you understand what you ask for?”

“I do,” she says without hesitation.

The grin widens, lips scarlet and dark against bone-white skin. “Then I shall grant your wish.”

A shift of cloth, then a cool hand cups Nie-furen’s cheek, guiding her up. Her eyes flicker open and she sees what no mortal has ever seen, and then that fan whispers against her cheek and blood-red lips press against hers and the last thing she feels is her golden core trembling spasming dying as life is pulled from her breath- all the lives she has ever lived, the one she lives now, and every life she could have ever lived.

Shan Xifeng falls into the bloodied dirt beneath, still clutching her dead son to her breast. And then there is no one left living in that small clearing.

Pale, bony fingers trace a delicate line through the blood that lingers upon her cheek. It is still wet and useful. Stained fingers press against scarlet lips and the life held between stark white teeth is breathed anew into that blood.

Carefully, bone-thin fingers trace a deliberate character upon the newborn child’s left cheek. The blood shines, brilliant and devastating, before fading back into a gruesome name across pale skin. Slowly, the child begins to twitch, brows wrinkling in displeasure, before a high keening wail escapes tiny lips as the child take its first breath.

“Your mother does not know what she’s doomed you to.”

A day later, travelers upon the road hear a faint keening noise not far from their wagon. When they find the clearing, they gag and retch. When they find the weak, whining child clutched in his dead mother’s arms, they shake their heads and then stare at the crest emblazoned upon the woman’s clothes.

Two days after that, the child is delivered to Nie-zongzhu’s disbelieving arms.

“No,” he says, violent spirit quaking deep within him. “No. It- it is not true.”

The traveler ducks his head and clasps his hands in a bow. “I’m sorry, Zongzhu. We were not able to take the bodies with us. You’ll have to send someone to check, but…it was the crest of your house. And…” he hesitates, then nods to his companion who stumbles up and offers a sword.

Not just any sword. A dao.

Shan Xifeng’s dao.

Feng.

“No,” Nie-zongzhu cries, falling to his knees.

“I-I’m so sorry,” the traveler stutters. “I am so, so sorry, Nie-zongzhu.”

Nie-zongzhu sobs, clutching his newborn child to his chest. “Little one,” he weeps. “Oh, little one. At least life is kind enough to have spared you.”

“Yong,” the traveler blurts.

Nie-zongzhu stares uncomprehendingly, tears running hot down his cheeks.

“It- it was written upon his cheek in- in blood. I- I think that is what his mother named him. She must have done it with her dying breath. She must have wanted you to know. He did not enter this world nameless.”

“Yong,” Nie-zongzhu echoes, trembling. “It- it is a good name, for my brave little boy.” He cups his son’s cheek and sobs. “Brave like- like his mother,” he murmurs, voice thin and quaking. “She named you well.”

And perhaps it is bravery that made Shan Xifeng give up the chance to ever be reborn. Perhaps it is bravery that saved her son’s life.

But it was all a mother’s wretched love, and Shan Xifeng did not write the character for brave upon her son’s cheek.

No, it was not Yong for bravery, but Yong for eternal.

And it is not his mother who wrote it.

Perhaps it is bravery that saved her son, but is the curse of eternity really a kindness?

No, no Shan Xifeng did not truly understand what she asked for.

But Nie Yong soon would.

The next section starts with:

The second time Nie Yong dies, he doesn’t even realize it.

He is four years old.

and the third section starts with:

The third time Nie Yong dies, his Adie kills him.

He is nine years old.

It’s basically an Angst Fest with a happy ending bc...I just need a happy ending Always. I just REALLY love resurrective immortality and I love making my favourite characters Suffer :)

I hope these were fun and satisfying to read!! 

♪(ﾟ▽^*)ﾉ⌒☆

(also omg NO it’s a CURSE!!! I WISH I could just finish SOMETHING!! ANYTHING!! OMG!!! I am so envious you’ve managed to restrain yourself to a few!! Also!! I am SUPER excited to find out more about your fix-its!!! :D)

[gilmores-glorious-blog]

i wish that i knew what makes you think i'm so special

-

more klaus/dave but this time it’s hurt/comfort bc i like to suffer :) title from love like you from steven universe

- 

The ghosts were worse at night. It was quiet, no sound but insects and birds and explosions in the distance. Klaus kept his eyes open and he saw the mangled corpses of soldiers and civilians crowding him from every angle; he closed his eyes and he saw his father, saw Ben’s death over and over, saw Dave dying every kind of horrible death imaginable. 

He decided the corpses were preferable to his own imagination.

But sometimes his exhaustion got the better of him. It had been three days since he’d last slept. Even when Dave fell asleep in his arms, when they snuck out to the jungle, Klaus didn’t dare to rest his eyes. God knows what would go wrong if they were both sleeping alone out there. So Dave had insisted they stay at the camp tonight, and that Klaus at least try to sleep. 

Klaus tried so hard not to give in. He had gotten quite used to the ghosts around here, and as long as he ignored the ones that were men he’d known, his soldier buddies that had died too early, he could manage them well enough. But fighting in a war was tiring, and Klaus had to admit that this cot was more comfortable than the jungle floor, and although he missed Dave’s arms, he could hear the man snoring quietly in the cot across from his, and he could feel his eyes closing…

dave’s hands cradled his face. it was nice. klaus leaned in to kiss him, but before he could, dave crumpled to the ground in front of him, blood streaming from his mouth. 

‘dave!’

through the blood, he tried to speak. tried to say goodbye to klaus.

‘you’re…’ 

klaus nodded at him frantically, encouraging him to talk. 

‘you’re my greatest disappointment, number 4.’ the blonde curls turned to gray hairs, and the body that had been lifeless a moment ago was now all too alive. his father’s hands were around his throat, choking him. 

he couldn’t breathe. couldn’t think. he needed dave.

klaus saw his siblings in the fading edges of his vision. they said nothing as reginald squeezed the life out of their brother. 

in his final moments of consciousness, klaus heard a voice that belonged either to ben or to dave.

‘better him than us.’

Klaus woke up screaming. He clutched at the blanket around him, trying to remember where he was. 

Dave was next to him in an instant. “Klaus!”

Klaus looked at Dave. Dave was here. Klaus was here. They were both alive. How?

“Hey, hey, take some deep breaths, ok? I’m here, you’re gonna be okay.” Dave moved his hand to Klaus’ back and rubbed it gently. 

Klaus heeded his instructions, and after a few shaky breaths, the heat of the Vietnam night air made its way into his lungs and he felt his brain start to work again.

“Dave.” He reached a trembling hand up to touch his boyfriend’s cheek. 

“Klaus, what happened?”

“Ah, nothing new. Just nightmares. Ghosts. The usual.” Klaus waved a dismissive hand. “Come ‘ere.” He pulled Dave up off from his spot kneeling on the ground and tugged him down onto the bed next to him. 

“Woah, hold on.” Dave stood up again. “You know we can’t do that here. Your screaming probably woke some others up, and they can’t see us.”

“Fuck that, I wanna kiss you.” Klaus grabbed at Dave. He knew somewhere in the back of his brain that Dave was right, but he was tired and scared and shaken from his dream and he needed to touch Dave. 

“Klaus.” Dave wrapped a hand around Klaus’ arm, knowing that Klaus was too weak to fight back anymore. “We can’t. Do you want to leave, though? I promise I’ll stay awake this time, and you can sleep in the jungle.”

As much as Klaus wanted to stay in the relative comfort of his bed, he wanted to hold Dave even more, so he stood tentatively. 

Dave threw on a shirt and wrapped his jacket around Klaus before heading out of the tent.

Neither of them spoke as they walked towards their spot- a small clearing surrounded by trees, far enough from camp and secluded enough that no one would find them- but as soon as they were away from other people, Dave took Klaus’ hand.

The moment they made it to their clearing, Klaus threw his hands around Dave’s neck and kissed him, hard. 

Dave reciprocated the kiss long enough for Klaus to send them both tumbling to the ground, but he pushed Klaus up a second later. 

“Wait.” He sat up, bringing Klaus with him. “Are you alright?”

Klaus blinked, confused. “Yeah!” He moved towards Dave again, but found Dave’s hand on his chest stopping him. 

“Klaus, your dream. Do you need to talk about it?” Dave moved to sit against a tree, and Klaus crawled after him, not wanting to stand.

“Oh right. That.” He laughed dryly. 

“I know you get nightmares a lot, and I’ve tried not to ask about them, but if that’s what keeping you awake, we need to do something about it.” 

Klaus said nothing, fiddling with Dave’s hand. 

“I used to get nightmares when I was little,” Dave continued. “And my ma always had me talk about them with her. I hated it, but it did help. To tell someone else what’s happening in the dream that scares you so much. Do you think you can talk to me?”

Klaus swallowed nervously. He really didn’t want to share his dreams, but Dave wanted him to, and he wanted whatever Dave wanted.

“You were there.” He starts. “You were there, and I tried to kiss you, but you died before I could.” Klaus felt Dave stiffen next to him, but he said nothing. “There was blood everywhere, and you were trying to tell me something, but before you could you turned into my father. He started choking me, and my siblings were all there watching, and the last thing I heard before I died was you or my brother saying it was better that it was me he killed and not the rest of you. Which is true, of course, so that’s the worst part.” Klaus blinked back tears as he stopped abruptly, finding it too hard to keep speaking.

“It’s not true.” Dave said immediately, taking both of Klaus’ hands. “It isn’t true. I would die a thousand times before I let you get hurt, and I would kill a hundred men if it saved you from a scratch.” 

Klaus looked at him, eyes glistening. “You’re such a sap.”

Dave smiled, kissing Klaus’ hand. “I am. But Klaus, you gotta understand, your dream was just that. A dream. I’m so sorry you have these nightmares, but they’re not real, Klaus. I’m alive. I’m right here. And your family isn’t. Your father can’t hurt you here. I’m gonna protect you. No matter what, I’m gonna protect you.” 

Klaus leaned forward and kissed Dave gently. “Thank you.” He whispered, touching their foreheads together. It was a nice moment, and Klaus knew he shouldn’t ask what he wanted to, but he had to know. 

“Why?”

“Hmm?” Dave was distracted, running his fingers through Klaus’ hair. 

“Why do you want to protect me? Why do you want to help me through this? It would be so much easier for you to just leave, like everyone else does.” It had been three months since Klaus and Dave got together, but Klaus still couldn’t believe that Dave actually wanted to be with him. Guess that’s what thirty years of abuse and abandonment issues does to a guy. 

“Klaus…” Dave had a sad look in his eyes. “I protect you because I care about you. I want to help you because you deserve help. And I’m never going to leave you, because you are an incredible person. Don’t- don’t say you aren’t because it’s not true. You are funny, and brilliant, and unique, and kind, and loving, and that makes you incredible. I know your past has taught you not to believe these things, but I need you to listen to me when I say them. I’m not lying, Klaus. I’d never lie to you.” Dave stopped talking for a moment and brushed his lips against Klaus’. 

“I love you, Klaus Hargreeves.”

Dave kissed Klaus again. “I love you more than I’ve ever loved anyone in my entire life.”

Klaus thought Dave was crying, but he wasn’t sure. Klaus was definitely crying, though. Because somehow, despite every past relationship and every reason Klaus had to not trust Dave, he found himself believing his every word. 

Klaus moved so he was straddling Dave and kissed the top of his head.

“I love you, David Katz.” He held Dave’s head up so they made eye contact. “I didn’t think love was real before I met you. You’re the first person I’ve ever truly loved.”

Yeah, Dave was crying. Klaus lay his head down on Dave’s shoulder and cried along with him.

They sat like that for a while, neither one talking. What a strange sight that must have been. Two soldiers, beaten and bruised by the war raging on around them, clutching on to one another and weeping. 

Finally Klaus lifted his head from Dave’s shoulder and began to wipe away his tears. “This would be embarrassing if it were with anyone but you.” He laughed weakly.

Dave chuckled, rubbing at his own eyes. “Pretty good summary of what love is.”  

Klaus kissed Dave, and the salt of their tears mingled in his mouth, and it was the sweetest kiss Klaus had ever had. 

“Hey,” Dave broke the kiss after a minute. “You should try to get some sleep.”

Klaus didn’t argue this time. He shifted so he was laying his head on Dave’s lap, staring up at the night sky. Here in the clearing, a few stars were visible amidst the lingering smoke of explosions.

Klaus’ eyes closed and he felt Dave’s hand on his face, his fingers gently tracing Klaus’ eyes and nose and lips, before lingering in his hair.

Klaus didn’t fall asleep right away, he was too distracted listening to the sounds of the jungle and the sound of Dave’s heart and his breathing, distracted by the feel of Dave’s hands, one in Klaus’ hair and the other clasped in Klaus’ hands, distracted by the feel of Dave’s legs underneath him and his chest to the side of him. 

Right when Klaus had nearly drifted off, he heard Dave speak. It was quiet, so quiet that Klaus wasn’t sure if he’d imagined it. Dave must have thought Klaus was already asleep, meaning that he was speaking to himself and to no one at all.

“I love you Klaus. So much.” 

Love. Klaus let the word roll around in his tired brain. He’d always hated that word. He thought it was just a word people used to validate their abuse. A word people used as a lie to trick him into trusting them. A word people used to a sickening amount towards others, but never towards Klaus. 

But somehow, against all odds, lying there in the middle of an active warzone, in Vietnam, in 1968, someone was using that word towards Klaus. Not as a lie. Not to abuse. Simply because he meant it. Because he loved Klaus. 

And goddamnit, Klaus loved him too. 

[cdroloisms]

the amount of angst in the post-prison writing you did just gave me massive post-prison dream brainrot and i'm just. sitting here thinking about how sam dealt with the curious looks and glances and having to face what's he's done as a warden. and everyone else's reaction to everything because hey, maybe the prison WAS a torture chamber that nobody deserves to be locked in to be treated like utter trash.

(btw i love your writing and analysis! they give me so much life :DD)

thank you anon!! this universe is ,, Fun ,, im ngl -> have this continuation of it, w/ sapnap and sam!! it’s a bit messy but oh well

(edit: i added these two asks as well bc they fit and i thought it’d be a bit redundant to rewrite this scene lmao -> the implication that dream’s admissions abt exile mightve been the result of ,, torture is. uh. yikes.) 

(This one is DARK, please heed the warnings)

TW: PHYSICAL/EMOTIONAL ABUSE (heavy warning for this one), starvation, toxic relationship, manipulation, references to the prison and exile, c!sam/warden!sam critical, violence, blood, dark themes, emotional distress, child abuse, torture

“Be honest,” Sapnap starts, quiet. “What did you do?”

Sam opens his mouth - hesitates, looks away. He should’ve known that his vague words and half-explanations that had been enough to push away most of the crowd - or at least, postpone the conversation for later - wouldn’t have been nearly enough to convince the man standing in front of him, but a part of him must’ve hoped, anyway. He’s not ready to speak, not ready to admit anything to himself, never mind someone else entirely - but ‘ready’ doesn’t matter, not when Sapnap is right here, waiting.

(He ignores how ‘ready’ didn’t matter for Dream when Sam had gone in, that first time, pick in hand and nothing but questions and rage spinning in an endless cycle in his mind, whirling together into something incomprehensible, insatiable, vicious - he’s not thinking about it.

He can’t think about it.)

“Well?” Sapnap’s voice raises, impatience coloring his tone, and it’s almost enough to draw a chuckle to Sam’s lips - he’d always been a little overeager, not doing well with silence, waiting, even as a kid. It’s part of the reason why he got along with Dream so well, Dream jumping at the chance to spend time with someone that didn’t shut him down for rambling and Sapnap simply excited at the chance to have someone that would join him on his hare-brained schemes instead of dismissing him as a dumb kid- and oh. Right.

The scrunch of his face is the same, Sam realizes, absently, as the expression Sapnap had when he was little; it’s the same crease between his eyebrows, the same slight jut to his bottom lip. Even with a new scar decorating his left jaw and the shadows under his eyes and collection of faint wrinkles belying his stress, he doesn’t look all that different - still looks young, a kid playing dress up in armor too big and too war-torn to belong to him. It’s easy to forget, but even after all the wars they’ve fought, even with all of the combat experience he’s had, Sapnap’s still barely twenty - only a few weeks out of being a teenager.

(He crushes the thought of what that makes Dream - he’s not. Thinking. About. It.)

“Hello? Earth to Sam?” Sapnap snaps his fingers in front of his face, and Sam blinks away the memories, the guilt, boxing it up and filing it neatly away to deal with - later. Never, ideally.

“Are you going to answer my question?”

Only later is now, there’s no escaping this conversation, and Sam. Really doesn’t want to be talking about this, right now. Sapnap fidgets, leaning on his right foot and then his left and then rocking back again - the feeling is mutual, then, but he knows the look in the younger’s eye well enough to know that neither of them are leaving without an explanation leaving Sam’s lips.

(Netherite and iron and smoke, bloodstained pickaxe tipping up a gaunt face, hand reaching around a too-prominent jawline with bruising force - are you going to answer my question, prisoner? Or are we going to have to do this again?

He’s not-

He can’t-)

“I-,” guilt, thick and heavy, circles his throat, chokes the words rising in his mouth. What can he even say? Can words really capture the sweat-slick desperation, the bubbling lava and heat and smoke stealing away all breath and thought, leaving nothing but a humming buzz of rage burning, hissing, begging for release? Can he really describe the endless darkness and weight settling on his shoulders, the hard edges and jagged fear taking anything soft, anything kind? Words swim in the back of his throat, try to reach his teeth, fall short; bloodstained memories haunt the back of his eyelids every time he blinks; there is so much, too much, to say, and yet nothing at all.

How does he even start?

There is no sympathy on Sapnap’s face when Sam looks, but there isn’t any cruelty either, just dark, watching eyes, lips thin and pressed together, jaw clamped shut, tense. Indifference, or a pale imitation of it, meant to hide the mess of his hair, the tremble in his hands, the helpless, desperate thing growing in his pupils. Sam understands and wishes he doesn’t; regrets, and wonders if he has the right, anymore.

“It- started, as an interrogation,” Sam stumbles over his words, stares at his hands because looking at Sapnap’s face will be too much, is too much. “I was angry. The prisoner- Dream- was desperate. That cell-” he shakes his head, remembers obsidian in his hands, remembers tearing away carpet, paintings, plants, remembers leaving the box bareboned, desolate, a cage and nothing more, “It messes with you. Screws with your head. I knew it, he knew it, but I guess we didn’t realize- I guess I didn’t realize-”

(Blood and crunching bone and shrill screams - tell me what you did to him-)

“I needed information. He wasn’t talking. I got- heated, and he laughed, and something- snapped, I guess.”

(I’ll tell you I’m sorry please please sam stop please)

“All I had on me was a pickaxe. He wasn’t talking, I was desperate - angry - I needed to know. I didn’t-”

(I just knew I needed to drag him away, he was ruining everything, he was destroying everything, I just needed him to leave before he brought down the whole damn server with him - the tnt was supposed to be a one time thing)

“It was supposed to be- one time. Was never supposed to happen, at all. But I guess I got mad - for me? For Tommy? I don’t- I don’t know, and it was- easy, you know? Take away the clock, one day. Give him less potatoes the next.”

(It was easy to do it again, I guess, mess with his invitations a little, take some of his stuff. There was nobody around but me and him and he’d ruined so much, he’d messed everything up - I thought that maybe if I took away his armor enough, he wouldn’t be able to go back. He wouldn’t ruin everything.)

“He’d done- so much. He was so awful to Tommy, to everyone- I thought I could prevent that. I thought maybe if I broke him enough, he wouldn’t be able to hurt anyone again. I renamed the pickaxe Will Breaker, to remind me, to remind him, I don’t know. I-”

Sam laughs, tired, poisonous, ignoring the way Sapnap whispers, stricken, looking at his hands and seeing nothing but red. Dream’s face, bruised, bloody, but glimmering with something almost like satisfaction comes to mind - and oh. Oh.

(Bloodstained teeth twisted in a bitter smile - Sam, I thought I had to.)

He gets it now. He wishes he didn't.

“I thought- ha-” His hand comes up to his face - he’s crying. When did he start crying? ”I thought I had to.”

[aiden-png]

to celebrate the end of 2020, I’ve decided to share the highlights of the writing I did this year! I’m going to share a few of my favorite snippets from 2020, and I think this could be a fun tag meme to invite friends to join in on so they can appreciate their progress and hard work too! I couldn’t have written so much if it wasn’t for the great online community supporting me and all my wonderfully talented friends!!

I’m gonna tag @freshie-writes @silverdragon-imagines-blog @st0rmy-writes @fuckit-hero-of-trains @no-themes-just-memes @timeturner-jay and anyone else who wants to join in, feel free! you don’t have to do this if you don’t want to, but you all wrote amazing things this year and I’m gonna appreciate you for them!!

snippets below the cut (please do this or make a new post if you wanna join, just so we don’t flood everyone’s dashboard lol!)

it’s difficult to count for certain, but across 7 google docs from April to December 2020, I wrote 324,782 words just of Legend of Zelda fanfic! it’s been a crazy fun year and I think my writing has improved a ton since I started writing fic again in April! thank you all for supporting me through the last 9 months!! <3

here’s a highlight of some of my favorite excerpts from fics I wrote this year! Smoke on the Wind and Dream With Me are two of my favorite pieces I wrote this year for angst, while Four Feet of Pure Flirtation and Lessons in Love are my favorites for crack/fluff :D the other snippets are featured bc I’m proud of how the fics turned out !

Dream With Me: June 28, 2020 Legend and Hyrule sat on the beach, a mere two feet separating them. It felt like much more. Farther than they’d ever been apart before. The other heroes stumbled onto the sand, frozen in shock as they took in the scene before them. Legend, knife drawn and hands shaking dangerously. Hyrule, knees buried in the sand and hands held over his chest, trying desperately not to reach out again. The sun was rising, pinks disappearing into vibrant gold and crushed purple and bright blue. As dawn broke, their vision wavered. Hyrule gasped, Legend blurring before him, the sand beneath him fading, the roar of the waves diminishing. Magic hour was ending. “This isn’t a dream,” Hyrule whispered, and Legend’s shoulders shook with silent sobs. “I’m real. I’m here. Legend, come with me.” Hyrule stretched out his arm, fingers splayed, eyes begging. Legend flinched back, dagger slipping from shaking fingers. He stared, disbelieving. Vertigo consumed Hyrule’s senses, his vision clouding with black dots. “Take my hand, Legend!” Hyrule cried, and Legend jumped. He sprung forward, hand grasping. Hyrule felt nothing as Legend’s hand passed through his. “Hyrule!” He blinked, and found himself in an unfamiliar field, reaching towards sunrise.

Smoke on the Wind: August 7, 2020 Wind hadn’t always had this ability, but before his second adventure, before the ghosts became tangible to his skin and visible to his eyes, he still had a sixth sense of sorts to rely on. Back then he’d called it instinct, but now he called it a curse. It never helped him do better on his adventure, never showed him the way, never allowed him to prevent someone’s demise--only forced him to bear witness to it in all its excruciatingly gory detail. Some spoke of death like a mercy, others like a boon. Wind knew death like an old friend and he despised it with all the rage contained in his tiny body. Some feared death, some prayed for its delay. Wind feared no man, god, or figment of imagination. There was no reason to fear something he couldn’t prevent, there was no reason to pray to something that would never hear or listen. Some ran from death, some hid. Wind stared death in the eye and spat in its face. He thrust a magical fucking sword through its head and banished it to a watery grave.

Four Feet of Pure Flirtation: June 26, 2020 Maybe he should have shared just a tad bit more with them, but that was a regret for future Four to deal with. And really, he hadn’t been expecting it himself, so they couldn’t exactly blame him when Dark Link materialized in their camp one morning and sent Four’s heart racing in an unfamiliar-familiar way. Four felt the heat crawl up his chest, felt his tongue loosen, felt his eyes trail over Dark’s lithe form just a bit too slow to be innocent. No one had told him Dark was attractive. Although, Vio reminded him, we are the only ones attracted to villains. We are most decidedly not! Four shot back. The denial was empty. They most decidedly were.

Hero Through the Ages: June 19, 2020 Wild sighed, chin resting on his knees. He glanced over at Sky, feeling anxiety buzz within him as a question pushed at the back of his mind. “Hey, Sky… does the sword still recognize me?” Sky froze at the unexpected question, eyes searching Wild’s carefully schooled expression. Wild felt his anxiety rise but he held his ground as the older hero tentatively reached back and unsheathed the Master Sword. He closed his eyes for a moment, and Wild tried hard not to notice the new eyes on them as he waited for Sky’s response. He knew what the answer should be, but when the other slowly opened his eyes and held the sword out for Wild, it was still conflicting to feel the familiar weight of it in his hands. Not too heavy. Not burning. Perfectly at home, as if he’d just begun his adventure and still had many years left before the Calamity struck. Wild felt a pit in his stomach as he handed the sword back, Sky’s concerned gaze not helping. “How old were you when you pulled the sword?” Sky asked quietly, and Wild stared at his hands as they trembled slightly in his lap. “Too young.”

A Shower to Remember: July 4, 2020 Enter Twilight and Wild. TWILIGHT     I can see thee up th’re.     Come hither.     I simply wish to speak with thee.

Enter Legend to Shower Crashers. LEGEND     all’s well that ends well, I believe our plan hath been a success. cheers to thee all. FOUR     didst thou not see     Wild running     for his life not     a minute past? LEGEND     that is’t his problem, not mine.

Lessons in Love: July 9, 2020 The offer though, that’s what truly made Legend pause. Show you the ropes, he’d said. He should be insulted that Ravio thought he was that hopeless, but the man wasn’t wrong. Legend was absolutely, positively hopeless, evidenced by the situation he now found himself in. Should he say no and move on? Should he accept--and then what? Maybe he should laugh it off, say he was joking, or perhaps he should come clean now and tell Ravio how he felt? But he still didn’t know if Ravio felt the same, those dark eyes betraying nothing in the fading light of sunset. So, naturally, Legend continued to panic. “What do you mean by ‘show me the ropes’?” Legend asked, quick, defensive enough to pass as insulted. Ravio snorted, tasting the hot chocolate, and Legend’s eyes were drawn to his lips once more as if under a spell. “I mean no offense, Link,” Ravio laughed, seeming not to catch the blush on Legend’s face as Ravio used his name. “I just figured you might want some pointers. Flirting, hand holding, relationship advice, y’know? You don’t have to accept the offer by any means!” Flirting? Hand holding? Legend gulped. He was already an idiot. Maybe he could play dumb for a little while longer…

Scars: June 2, 2020 “I used to try and cover myself in public--I didn’t like the way people would whisper or stare when they saw. But eventually I came to accept the scars as part of me. I remembered how I got them, and I realized I wouldn’t be the person I am today without the journey that led to me getting these scars. And I like who I am…” Wild trailed off, sifting sand through his fingers as Warriors listened. “I’ve come to love my scars, because they hold such important memories for me. Even if some of the memories aren’t so great, I wouldn’t be who I am today without them, you know? And I wouldn’t trade that for anything.”

Beneath the Surface: July 13, 2020 For the first few months he had lied to himself, blaming the others or the weather or Shadow or Vaati or anything rather than admitting he had a problem. But Blue did, in fact, have a problem, and fighting and yelling it out wasn’t the healthiest solution. For the others it was easy. Green had Vio, for Wind could rarely move Earth, and Red got along with everyone he was so full of love to give. But Blue wasn’t good at teamwork, he wasn’t good at strategizing, and he wasn’t good at showing affection--he was good at being angry, and that was it. He was the protector, the toughest of them all in strength and will; but when you’re always protecting others, no one protects you. Not like Blue made it easy for the others to approach him, and he didn’t blame them for giving up. They were all struggling, they all had their own issues, and while Wind was a gentle breeze and Fire a warming comfort and Earth a steady rock--Water was impossible to hold down. He was forever changing, flowing, and while it meant that he could adapt well to new situations, it also meant that every time he felt close to getting a handle on his emotions they would slip from his grasp once more. His magic ebbed and swayed and his emotions followed their tide, not his, and so he pushed others away rather than admit he couldn’t handle himself. If protecting them meant distancing himself, then so be it.

The Point of No Return: June 19, 2020 He turned back to Four, brushing the back of his hand across his cheek. He’d wanted to share a meal with his partner. He’d wanted to see Four’s small smile--just for him--as he tried Hylian food for the first, second, hundredth time. Long ago, they’d promised to travel the world together. Four wanted to share everything with him; wanted to show him the forge, wanted him to meet his Grandfather, wanted to take him to see the Minish. After the adventure, Four had promised. He’d be free to go and do whatever he wanted, right by Four’s side. Well, he was at his side now. And this was not what they’d promised each other.

A Major Test of Strength: May 7, 2020 Even being worthy of the Triforce of Courage didn’t mean he was brave enough to act on, or even think, about how he felt about Sidon. He reasoned it was better not to say anything, especially now. He was going off to a battle he may not return from. Even if he burned to know if Sidon felt the same, it would be selfish to ask knowing he may be leaving for the last time. Link would rather go to the grave with his feelings then leave Sidon alone with them. At least if he died before confessing, Sidon would be able to move on, he hoped. Sidon was his best friend, and that was enough for now.

[masonscig]

first line tag game

thank you for the tag @crackerdumortain !!!!! yours were so much fun to read omg !!!!

Rules: List the first lines of your last 20 stories (if you have less than 20, just list them all!). See if there are any patterns. Choose your favourite opening line. Then tag some of your favourite authors!

[disclaimer: i write for the choices fandom and some for litg so you’ll see a mix of those fandoms on this list LMAO]

1. stay [twc – mason x sofía]

The first time was casual. She had a knack for musing her thoughts aloud, tossing her harmless opinions out for anyone who’d catch them.

She was good at starting conversations in that way – while he’d never been one for talking.

She never did it with heavy topics, though.

2. thieves in the shadows [choices – blades au – mal x zilyana]

bullets pelted the crates they were crouched behind, wood splintering in every direction. bodies were strewn across the warehouse, the unmistakable pools of blood streaking across the stone.

“raine! to your left!” immy yelled her way, barely sparing her a glance before unloading her clip, shell casings clinking against the ground.

the gun trembled in yana’s hands. she’d shot one before – practice at the gun range, glass bottles in a back alley – but never a live target.

3. if we meet again [choices – open heart au – bryce x spencer] 18+

year one

The ride from the airport to her parents’ home was long and grueling, the slushy ice pelting the windshield barely passing for snow.

It was practically sub-zero outside, a stark difference between the mid seventies weather she’d just left.

4. clandestine [twc – mason x sofía] 18+

“hey. hey wake up –”

she stirred at the greeting, but jumped when he kicked the desk. her face contorted into a grimace, the imprint of her tweed jacket on her cheek outlined in pink. “hmm?”

“you fell asleep again,” he said, plopping a bag in front of her.

5. undying [choices – blades – mal x zilyana]

Zilyana stirred, resituating herself against Mal’s bare chest, feeling his arm instinctively tighten around her shoulders. When she realized she was missing the sound of his deep breathing, accompanied with an occasional soft snore, she cracked an eye open to see his chin tipped upwards, his gaze trained on the ceiling.

6. talent show [choices – platinum – shane x dom]

There wasn’t a day that went by where she didn’t cross his mind. Even since they were kids.

He admired so much about her – her fiery spirit, her drive, her unwavering tenacity.

And he’d been in love with Dom for as long as he could remember.

7. redeemed [choices – platinum – raleigh x dom]

As soon as he stepped off stage, he was shuffled to his tour bus, Fiona on his heels. She looked like the human embodiment of rage in a grey blazer, a look in her eye that made him thankful he wasn’t the one it was directed at – or at least he hoped he wasn’t the reason she was two seconds away from a murderous rampage.

8. hidden [choices – foreign affairs – blaine x carina] 18+

Her cheek slipped out of the palm of her hand, forehead smacking the desk, nearly jumping out of her skin at the abrupt awakening.

“Ow.”

She prodded the tender spot on her face, thankful her foundation was thick.

A soft snore caught her attention – next to her, Blaine was passed out. Leaning back in his chair, his head was thrown back, arms crossed against his chest, the textbook on its face in his lap.

9. is this fate? [litg au – bobby x mc] 18+

The peroxide was cold when it hit her skin, the liquid bubbling on her knee, relentlessly stinging. She sucked in a breath through gritted teeth.

“Sorry… should be over soon,” he murmured, wiping up the stray liquid that streamed down her leg with a small rag.

The heaviness of the atmosphere between them was almost too much to bear – they’d barely spoken since he helped her onto the counter in his small office, leg propped up between his own, where he sat in his desk chair.

10. asvista cove [litg college au – bobby x elena]

Bobby’s thumb flicked the lighter repeatedly until he got a consistent flame, moving slowly from left to right over the edge of the blunt. His cheeks hollowed out as he sucked in, the tip of it an auburn ember. He pulled it out of his mouth and sucked in an even deeper breath, holding it.

When he blew out the thick cloud of smoke, he passed it to her, coughing under his breath. “Whew. Your turn.”

She followed suit, the thick smoke coating the inside of her lungs, bitter and heavy. She exhaled, the shroud smoke enveloping her view of the sealine.

11. reticent [twc – mason x sofía] 18+

She was bare.

Bare in the way that one is when they’ve been stripped down and torn apart with a trained gaze just calculating enough for them to feel seen – parts of her she didn’t know she’d hidden splayed out like withered pages of a book, dog-eared and marked up like a frequently reread novel.

One he’d reread because it was familiar, because it had fallen into his lap (he hadn’t searched for it), not so much because it was his favorite.

12. more [twc – mason x sofía] 18+

He laced his fingers through her thick hair, reveling in the way his skin looked contrasted against the midnight of her hair.

[the way i can’t post more than this bc it’s....... very nsfw right out the bat LMFAO]

13. calm before the storm [choices – open heart – bryce x spencer]

Since the moment his hands trembled amidst one of the most important surgeries of his life, Bryce was holding on by a thread.

With each half-assed joke he cracked, each wavering smile, each time he tried convincing others – including himself – that he was coping, he fell apart more and more.

The first night he went home after Spencer was quarantined, he trudged through the halls of Edenbrook, like he was dragging his legs through wet concrete. He was nearly magnetized to her bedside, not wanting to leave, but he needed to rest – he’d been awake for nearly a day and a half by the time he clocked out.

14. envy | part two of the attached series [twc – mason x sofía x felix]

He strode down the hallway, hands in his pockets to give the illusion that he didn’t give a shit, when he was most definitely on edge. His fingers flicked his lighter open and closed against the twill lining of his pockets, trying to focus on the soft clicking noise it made instead of the swarm of thoughts clouding his conscience.

He still couldn’t figure out why he cared so much.

15. comfort | part one of the attached series [twc – mason x sofía x felix]

He noticed it before she did.

Her pulse didn’t jump the same way it did the first dozen times he walked into the room. The blood didn’t rush to her cheeks, or creep up her neck, the crimson flush absent even when he tried his hardest to fluster her. And it normally took next to nothing to get her to turn into a bumbling mess.

16. out of time [choices – open heart – sienna x danny]

She sprinted down the hallway, pager still beeping erratically on her hip, the weight of the numbers enough to make her feel like she was slugging through wet concrete.

No, no, not him, please, not him, she chanted to herself, vision blurring with tears before she had the chance to let the negative possibilities set in.

17. unrequited part three [choices – open heart – bryce x spencer]

She slumped into the seat in the deserted waiting room, her joints popping as she stretched, her deep sigh echoing off of the tile. She was exhausted.

She could usually push through the worst of her shifts, but fatigue settled into her bones, a lethargy she’d never experienced entrapping her like a net, and she couldn’t fight her way out of it this time.

18. signs [choices – ride or die – logan x raquel]

“A final in sign language? Couldn’t you just have a conversation with the teacher or some shit?” Logan sat across from her on the couch, watching as her fingers bent and flexed, transfixed.

She stopped abruptly, screwing her mouth to the side in concentration. She repeated the same few moves, getting more and more frustrated with each sequence.

19. mementos [choices – ride or die – logan x raquel]

The sound of his boots slapping against the damp pavement reverberated off of the brick of the alleyways, his gasping breaths adding to the symphony that was his escape.

20. warmth [twc – mason x sofía]

“You’re going the wrong way,” Mason grunted, looking particularly stiff in her passenger seat.

“I thought we could take the scenic route,” she shrugged, flicking her high beams on as she turned off of the main road leading downtown, easing on the brakes when the tires hit the gravel.

okay so....... i didn’t really realize just HOW MUCH i’ve written since the summer? i’ve fallen into a pattern where i think i’m a failure bc of how slow i am to write because i have so many series i’ve started and dropped off and wips i’ve abandoned but.... i’ve managed to write for most appreciation weeks i’ve both hosted/participated in and i’ve written for THREE fandoms.... i don’t normally gas myself up but? i’m really? proud of myself? KSJDJKSD if you read this far thank you and you’re prob watching me have a breakdown over how much i’ve managed to write oh my GOD ok i need to lie down KLSDFKASFJD i didn’t even think i could hit 20 but i did???? alright i’m officially gonna treat myself at some point bc i did all this in less than a year.... these are from the end of july 2020 to now..... wow ok im done i promise SKDFJKSDF

tagging: @raleighcarrera and @pixeljazzy !!! <3 

[zuffer-weird-girl]

How u think kai will react if he raised his hand during argument&his s/o flinched thinking thst he will hit her? He didn't know but s/o was abused by her*hero*parents for being quircklss&went through inhuman experiments to activate it.They abandoned her in orphan announcing their*precious daughter*died while the truth thy didnt want her 2 bring shame 2 them.Kai discovered that latter bc those info are top hero secrets&she didnt tell him thinking kai will hate her if he found shes hero's daughter

HAHAHA, HOW WOULD KAI REACT?! KAI CHISAKI?! OVERHAUL. REACT TO THIS?!

My god; he would be enraged, completely surrounded by hatred and desire of execution of these two worms considered to be your biological parents.

Discussions between you two were normal; you are a couple, it happens; but even knowing that Kai would never lay a finger to hurt you, you couldn't help but squirm in terror and guard youself with your arms at the moment he raised his hands to only emphasize his point in the argument.

He immediately stopped talking as soon as he saw your scared look; sadly, he knew that expression way too well; and ended the argument right then and there.

Hearing your back story was enough for making his blood boil in a way it never had before but he maintained his composure for your sake.

Now, really, you only increased like, 100x more his hatred for heroes... Congrats.

"They're all sick. This hero syndrome has to be cured, look at what happens when we let those verms in the street... Absolutely disgusting."

Chisaki would become a little more affectionate after this just for ease your nerves. But when he is certain that you're at peace again...

That's when the real show begins...

The hero entered his home completely exausted due to his busy day at the agency as he took off his boots and called for his wife. When he heard no response he went in allert; knowing that she had taken a day off, she must had stayed in home.

He called once again checking every room in his big mansion. When he entered the living room he went rigid when he saw, not his wife, but a man in a green jacket holding one of his extremely expensive cups looking at the window.

Frightening and cold golden eyes; that seemed to pierce his soul; found them qs he finally spoke

"You're late." He spited the words before the hero felt something strongly hit the back of his neck, causing him to pass out immediately.

The man awakened feeling extremely sore as he heard his wife pleading for him to wake up. When he finally got back to reality, he noticed that both of them were chained tightly with their backs against each other.

"W-we were kidnapped dear...!" She whispered in fear "Use your quirk to get us out before the raptors come back, hurry!" She pleaded.

"Alright don't worry, we will be out of here in no time."

Suddenly, a bullet came out of no wear and hitted him straight on his chest, causing the woman to scream if her husband was okay.

"I wouldn't move around too much if I were in your shoes..." spoke a man covered in a plague mask and white hoodie aproaching the trembling couple, never once lowering down his gun.

The man winced in pain before trying to use his quirk to attack the shooter.

Sickes bitch

"W-what?" The man spoke in shook "W-what happened with my quirk?! What ylu did to me your fucker?!"

"Language." Spoke coldly the man before merciless shooting the woman's leg.

The female hero cried in pain letting out a few curses at the stranger.

"For two heroes, both of you are completely useless and disposable, aren't you?" A hushed voice spoke in the shadows of the cold building.

"What do you want from us, damn villain?" Struggled the man in the chains.

The young yakusa boss lifted himself from his place on the dark and slowly walked toward the frightened couple; looking at them with murderous, wide, psychotic eyes; following right after them two mans with also plague masks covering their faces.

Actually now that they notice, there was eight in total... all of them around.

"W-wait a second-!" Said the woman in realization "You're that young leader of Shie Hassaikai! That young yakusa group, his name is Overhaul!" Chisaki didn't seem to even listened the woman, opting to look down in nothing but disgust at the quivering man in front of him.

"Despicable, you and your wife are just disgusting... Not only carry in your veins the hero syndrome but also did something that I can't just let slide..."

"We didn't even once got into the yakusa young man, I swear on all of my career-!"

"Your words are simply equal to trash to me so don't even need to spend your breath." Interrupted the villain, extending his open hand at his side.

A black thing that was on the shoulder of a much taller man gave it to him what seemed like an really old newspaper. When the young leader grabbed, he immediately oppen it on one od the pages, reading out loud.

"'Today, unfortunately, we announce the loss of our beloved, quirkless yet respected only child (Y/N) ... While we were just enjoying the few but precious family moments together, a despicable villain attacked us and took her life during the combat. We, with pure grudge and thirsting for justice, have put the evil factor in behind the bars, but still it does not fill the void that our beloved deceased daughter left us ... rest and peace my sweet (Y/N), we will always have you in our hearts.'" Chisaki read all of what was written in pure rage.

"You two are quite the actors, to have to say that on a jornal." The man wearing a white hoodie spoke coldly.

"Actors?" Laughed nervously the woman "Our daughter died during a villain's fight long ago... She was quirkless, couldn't even protect herse-"

"I don't even need to use my quirk to identify your lies woman." Spoke the man on Overhaul's side "Those are beautiful words but clearly false."

"You really think we are that dUMB YOU PUNks?!" Screamed Mimic in offense.

"What will be your orders boss?" A blond with green shirt spoke in pure sadistic exciment.

Overhaul raised his hand, demanding silence with his gesture, as he messed in his jacket pocket before pulling out a small picture.

He abruptly shoved both of the old newspaper; which had the photo of the supposed deceased child; and a picture that he had took it of you.

"Don't you verms think that these two are a A BIT too similiar?!" He couldn't contain his wrath and shouted at both at them making both heroes flinch in fear.

"Abandoned by you both in a shelter just because they couldn't reach your expectations of being what you two are..." Spoke coldly Chrono aiming his gun close to the womans forehead.

Overhaul gave the paper back to Mimic and right after, saving the photo back in his pocket.

"Usually I don't like dirting my hands, but you two are a real special case..." he started to lower his gloves down.

"Wait a second, please!" Pleaded the man almost tearing up "H-How about a deal? Me and my wife can give you all of our money we earned as heroes! Think about about it!" The woman gave her husband a glare due to his offer.

Greddy woman... despicable. They didn't remind him any of you... thankfully.

"How much you're willing to gave us?" Spoke in interest Mimic.

"Anything really! Just let us go and don't mention about... her to anyone." Chisaki wanted to rip this man's head out of his body at the way your "father" mentioned you.

"Give them all of your credits cards and you passwords. Now." Demanded the quivering man at his wife who hesitantly showed where it was in her purse.

Chrono took all of them, right after giving Kai a silently sign that it was real and he got them right.

"Everyone, except Chrono and Mimic, get out of here and wait outside." Commanded Overhaul which everyman respind with an "yes sir."

Right after Nemoto closed the door, Mimic unchained the couple, but just as them got up to their feet, Kurono headlocked the woman as Chisaki punched the man with all his force, making him hit the floor.

"HON-" Chrono pressed the gun in the women's temple.

"Shut your mouth if you don't want your brain to explode it with this damn bullet."

Overhaul marched his way and grabbed the man's collar shirt staring at him what only could be described as a death glare.

"B-but our deal-!"

"Yo punk, we accepted the money but we didn't say anything about letting you go." Said Mimic checking all of the credit cards while holding a phone.

"You didn't really think I would let go that easy did you?" Groaned Chisaki "After everthing you and your project of a wife did to my angel..."

"Y-your what-" the man couldn't even complete his question when Chisaki merciless touched his forehead and overhauled him on the spot.

The woman screamed in terror. Trying to get out of her captor's hold.

"Don't worry I didn't forget about you... disgusting." Overhaul muttered as he rubbed his hand.

"MONSTER! WHY DID YOU DO THAT?!" the woman shouted not even caring about the gun glued to the side of her head anymore.

"You really are just as dumb as your husband here. I will bring him back, his punishment isn't over..." he looked at her with threatening eyes "Monster huh? Look at both of you, damn hypocrites... Listen closely." He approached the woman who trembles in fear and hate at the villain.

"For every moment of pain; physically and emotionally; for every single tear that escaped from my angel's eyes due to your actions... I will kill; torture even; you both and bring you back over and over again until I am deeply satisfied..." the woman started to sobbing in fear as she pleaded for forgiveness and beged for let them go.

"Isn't it glorius? Feeling completely vulnerable, useless and totally submissive at the power at someone else's hands? I am not the person who you should be begging for forgiveness, but I guess you let that chance slip years ago, didn't you? What a great mother..." he spoke in pure sadistic sarcasm.

In a quick move Chisaki comanded that Chrono let go of the woman, making her hit the cold ground. And just before her eyes could've had catch it, he touched her face with all of his hand and overhauled her.

"Despicable creatures..." mumbled Chisaki as he saw the mess on the ground. He made his way to your once father when Chrono called his attention holding his cellphone for Kai to see.

"It's (Y/N), she's asking how are you doing and if we will take too long to come back. What should I respond?"

"Hey Overhaul? Isn't tommorow or after the day when you meet her or something?"Asked Mimic pointed one of the many credit cards at his boss. Subconsciously giving the young villain an idea.

"Tell her is going to take a little more than we expected, my job here isn't totally complete... But tell that I have a surprise for her so just be patient." Chrono nodded as Mimic snickered.

"Getting lucky with your partner Overhaul?"

"Shut your mouth Mimic."

[tunemyart]

Angsty prompt ff: Gab's drag because as you said in the message, there is no way Xena would do that to Gabrielle (even tho she was partially under Ares' influence, but still). How would they deal with both the physical and emotive aftermath if Illusia didn't happen? Thank youuu!

Hmmm I thought about how to come at this for a while, partly bc I tend to gloss over/not deal with the Gab Drag on the way into the glorious Bitter Suite, and partially because I’m not really interested in erasing Illusia… which would really require a full length fic, anyway. As a compromise, here’s some post-Bitter Suite continued reckoning of their situation.

Illusia didn’t solve everything. 

There had been a brief hope that it would, Gabrielle thought, on both their parts. It had been easy to imagine it might, there in the setting sun at the edge of the ocean, a warmth in Xena’s eyes Gabrielle hadn’t seen in months grabbing hold of her heart and making it whole again. 

But Xena had told her more than once that the body didn’t forget, and after everything, Gabrielle really should have remembered this.

“Things have a way of sticking in your body, in your blood,” Xena had said once, her eyes far away in a place where Gabrielle couldn’t reach her. And Gabrielle, young and stupid, had nodded along and not understood until Dahok, until Hope, until the first time Xena had tried to touch her afterwards and Gabrielle had flinched and tensed without entirely understanding why. Xena had been apologetic and solicitous once she’d realized, but something in her eyes had shut down too, and she hadn’t tried again. 

Gabrielle had remembered then how she’d once liked to think she knew Xena’s body better than she knew her own, and while the impulse had been to laugh, it had manifested instead as choked tears where she’d slept that night, cold and alone while Xena lay five feet away and turned in the opposite direction. How foolish that girl had been - Xena had scores of secrets, and Gabrielle hadn’t managed to divine them in the solid map of her body yet. Why should she even think it was something she was capable of when she couldn’t even manage to parse the foreign language of her own changed skin?

And so the first night that Gabrielle had awoken panting and in a terrified sweat, she very nearly cried after she realized where she was and what was happening. 

She’d already buried her face in her hands in a despair so heavy it was difficult to breathe when Xena’s voice had come groggy and concerned: “Hey - somethin’ wrong?” 

The answer was obvious, but it was nothing Gabrielle could bear to tell her. How could she, when every day Xena was more at ease with her and with herself, when every minute brought back more of the woman she loved with all her heart, and her own heart along with it? 

“I’m fine,” Gabrielle said. “Go back to sleep, okay?” 

Xena didn’t, of course. Gabrielle couldn’t say how long it had been when she felt Xena settling tentatively next to her, but it prompted her to open her eyes and turn to look at her. Xena looked perfectly miserable, and Gabrielle’s heart clenched to know she must have accurately discerned the problem. 

“I’m sorry,” Xena said when she could seemingly no longer bear Gabrielle’s silent gaze. 

Gabrielle resisted the urge to reach out to her, knowing Xena wouldn’t be able to bear that, either. 

“I think we’ve had enough apologies between us,” she said instead. “Everything has already been forgiven.” 

“There’s a difference between forgiving and being able to move past it,” Xena noted, and now she did look up. “I tried to kill you. It’s a miracle that I didn’t manage it. Your body hasn’t forgotten that - and maybe it won’t. Just because Illusia healed your body doesn’t mean it doesn’t have the scars, even if you - or I - can’t see them.” 

It was the first time Xena had acknowledged it so starkly. Gabrielle wondered if it would be easier for her in a way if Gabrielle’s body were still beaten, broken,  bloody - if the evidence were still before her every day, something tangible for her to reckon with and do penance over. 

In the long history of Xena’s sins, Gabrielle knew that dragging one woman behind a horse was nothing, knew that to Xena herself, cold and dangerous and strange in that moment, it had been nothing. What was one more kill among thousands, especially in the name of vengeance? 

Gabrielle had wondered before what Xena would have done if she’d managed it. Would her own Xena have ever resurfaced? Gabrielle had never been able to decide if she hoped so, knowing only with a chilling certainty what Xena would do if she ever found Gabrielle’s blood on her own hands, trembling and rage-drained. 

Gabrielle suspected Xena knew it too, and the fear of it was behind her voice when she spoke again. 

“I won’t blame you if you decide you want to part ways,” Xena said quietly. “Your friendship is the most important thing to me in the world. Knowing that I still have that, somehow - well, it’s enough.” 

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Gabrielle chided her. “We’ve come too far for either of us to give up now.” 

“There are some things that sheer willpower can’t overcome.”

Maybe it wasn’t calculated to hit Gabrielle’s own natural stubbornness, but Gabrielle felt it rearing up in defiance all the same, and with it, for the first time in a while, she felt the beginnings of a grin on her lips. 

“What?” Xena asked warily as she spotted it. 

In answer, Gabrielle moved to face her, and, as Xena’s wariness increased, settled herself as close as she could without actually being in Xena’s lap.

“What are you doing?” Xena asked, alarm starting to overtake her wariness. 

“You don’t trust yourself with me,” Gabrielle said. She picked up one of Xena’s hands and placed it on her own arm, encouraged into motion in a steady stroke from shoulder to wrist. Xena’s eyes tracked the movement, and Gabrielle watched as something like awe started to surface behind her alarm. 

“That’s hardly the main problem,” Xena reminded her, but she was focused on the gooseflesh breaking out under her fingertips. Gabrielle shivered, surprised by pleasure. By all the gods, she’d missed her. 

“It’s the one that’s keeping us here,” Gabrielle said. “You were saying something about sheer willpower not being enough?” 

Xena hesitated, but Gabrielle could sense she was close to giving in. “I don’t want to hurt you,” she said, and in her voice, Gabrielle could hear what she meant: I don’t want to hurt you again. 

Gabrielle smiled, encouraged Xena’s limp fingers to twine with hers, waited for her other hand to lift up of its own volition to trace Gabrielle’s cheeks, nose, eyes, lips, feather-light. There was so much danger in those hands and the way they thrummed with potential, even now. She’d been naive about it before, too caught up in the excitement dancing on the knife’s edge of it to notice the sharpness and inevitability of the fall. Maybe Xena had been too, for different reasons.

You won’t, Gabrielle couldn’t promise either of them. She knew better. Xena knew better.

“Then don’t,” she said simply instead. 

Xena nodded gravely, as near to an oath she could swear. Both hands now smoothed their way back up Gabrielle’s arms. Her eyes still held Gabrielle’s, deepening in hue and intensity until Gabrielle was dizzy with it, until she had crawled the rest of the way into Xena’s arms and pressed her warming face against Xena’s temple, until she acknowledged that in terms of sheer willpower and this knife’s edge, for better or for worse, it would always take more to keep her away from it rather than to submit to the thrill and the balance one more time.