#rage is a direction. rage is forward. rage is up. rage is down if you want it to be. rage is dropped ballast.

[neptunescore]

Princess Cake, Letter

Prompt word: Letter | Pairing: Princess Cake

Jenson hadn't been in when the letter had been delivered to his house. He’d come home from a lovely dinner with Mark, stripped down to his boxers, brushed his teeth and then slept like the dead.

The driver had woken up the next day, none the wiser to what was in his post, and had gone about his morning routine lazily; eating breakfast and doing the daily house chores before — finally — deciding to step out and check his mailbox for any new envelopes.

He should’ve known. He should’ve realised immediately, should’ve recognised the letter was from him, he’d always ripped the corners of any sort of paper he had his hands on, always left those tiny (almost unnoticeable) tears at the edges. Jenson hadn’t known, though. He hadn’t looked.

He hadn’t looked.

He’d opened the envelope casually, had licked the tip of his index finger and unfolded the paper as if it were any normal mail. And then—

Jenson doesn’t quite remember what had happened, had only come back to himself while he was booking the flight; his phone in his left hand while his right one haphazardly stuffed an assortment of random clothes into his suitcase.

The letter had been direct, straight to the point — an address, a plea for his presence, and a signature at the end.

What an idiot, Jenson had chuckled softly to himself later in the plane, who the hell signs a letter like that.

Then again, Nico was always pulling shit like this — desperate to remain formal, to have any feel of normalcy he could when things went awry.

His smile had dropped quickly after that thought.

He’s standing outside the hotel room door now, hand knocking incessantly against the dark wood as his foot taps against the tiled floor impatiently, “Nico!”

“Nico, I swear to God if you don’t open this door right now! Nic-”

“Jense.” A sob. A squeak as the door opens.

Nico’s finally in clear view of him; trembling hands holding the handle, his body drowning in an oversized hoodie, hair mussed up as if he’d run his fingers through them repeatedly, and he's crying. He's crying.

Jenson lets go of his suitcase, immediately pulling Nico forward, wrapping up the man in his embrace and pushing the other’s tear stained face into his chest.

“Nico- sweetheart, what’s happened? What’s wrong?”

“Jense. Jense-” A wail this time.

Jenson could feel his heart breaking, his thoughts frantic as he pulled Nico even closer, panicked fingers reaching up to hold the blonde’s soft face.

“Love. love, tell me what’s wrong, please,” he caresses the wet skin beneath his thumb,”Nico, please. Tell me what’s wrong, I’m here now, I'm here. I’ll fix it, I promise”

“I don’t know what to do-” hitched breaths, “I lost my phone, and I can’t remember what to do and he left me all alone, Jense! He left me, and I want to go home!”

Oh. Oh.

Jenson let his body fall still, let Nico bury himself back into his chest as the taller man sighed in relief. He could fix this. It was okay.

“Oh, love. It’s okay. Let’s go home, yeah?”

His hold around Nico tightened as he felt the blue-eyed man relax against him. Jenson could already feel the brief sense of ease that had filled him fading away as a seething rage grew in its place.

Lewis.

Lewis would pay for this.

I love princess cake so much, so seeing this request in my inbox had me GUSHING🤭 Hopefully, you had just a good time reading this as I had writing it💗 Also, I listened to 'Tere Mere (from "Chef")' while writing this, and it made me realise that the songs I play genuinely have an effect on what I write😭 (you'll get it if u listen to the song)

As always, credits to @cafekitsune for the dividers♡

Rules and details☆°•~

[slttygeto]

HUSBAND SUGURU! + PREGNANCY ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

tags: fem! reader, husband suguru!, nsfw, suguru is very hesitant about being a dad, but isnt forced into this :), reader is very motherly, dirty talk and talk about getting off the pill and being bred.

word count: 2,1k

Husband Suguru! whom before you even got married, sat you down and mentioned to you how starting a family wasn’t something he was looking forward to. you know of his past, of the trauma he’s been through. he fully expects you to break up with him when he tells you that, knows how much you want to have a baby of your own, but you don’t. instead, you cradle him in your arms and tell him that you love him and appreciate what you have right now, not what you don’t even see in the picture.

Husband Suguru! who swears he hasn’t changed his mind about babies, about starting a family in general even three years into the marriage. but when he sees you with your friend’s baby, the glow on your face, the motherly instinct—how you gently place your hand on the baby’s head, rock her back and forth and coo at her softly while her mother gets her food ready, his heart feels as though it is about to explode.

“There there baby girl,” your voice is barely above a whisper, and when the baby cries, your lip juts out and you pull the infant towards your chest in an attempt at soothing her. your eyes find his where he is sitting on the couch, and the lighthearted chuckle you give him pulls a nervous one out of his body. you are now convinced that your husband would never ever change his mind based on the horror painting his features as he turns to your friend’s husband to strike a conversation. but in reality, the topic of their conversation is all too surprising.

“Has it been difficult? You know, managing a career and taking care of the baby,”

“Oh yeah very,” the other man admits but Suguru doesn’t detect a single hint of regret in his voice. “but yknow, look at that,” he point his glass of water in the direction of his wife and you holding the baby. “seeing my wife with our baby, our creation—seeing her act all motherly like that? Totally worth it.”

Husband Suguru! who starts to consider the idea of getting you pregnant. he hopes for the rational part of his brain to win over, rather than the horny, disgustingly perverted one. but when you walk out of the shower in a crop top, his mind drifts elsewhere—and suddenly, the image of your belly swollen with his kids floods his mind and he has to put a pillow on his crotch to hide the very evident bulge in his pants.

Husband Suguru! who once he calms down and takes care of his raging boner, texts Satoru in a hurry, asking if they could meet up tomorrow morning. your husband tells you of his plans and you hum sleepily, telling him how catching up with his best friend seems like a good idea. Suguru drops the bomb on his best friend the moment they sit down and the ivory haired’s jaw almost meets the floor.

“You mean you wanna be a dad?”

“I’m not…too sure,” Suguru looks conflicted, he is holding his head in his hands. he knows very well that this is a topic that should be discussed with you, since you were the other person of interest in the situation. but he would hate to give you false hope, he’s seen the way your eyes light up at the mention of a baby, at one of your friends or colleagues being pregnant, how there’s a disappointed look on your face that you try so hard to conceal when Suguru gives you a face in response of a pregnancy announcement. but you are so patient, so accepting, you’ve never once forced him into anything. and truth be told, he wanted to see what kind of mother you would be to your baby—and then toddler, and then teenager and adult—you’d have a life together with a new person who would adapt either your personality or his, with a face of the love of his life. your baby could have your eyes and nose, he’s always pointed them out—even before you started dating.

“Dude, do you or do you not want to have a baby?”

“I don’t know man, it’s hard to think of.”

“Because you are thinking too hard about it,” Satoru says nonchalantly and it irks Suguru a little.

“I am not thinking too hard about it—this is a new responsibility, what if I am not fit to be a dad? I could be a failure for all we know—what if I pussy out of it and—“

“I would kill you.” Satoru warns the man and Suguru doesn’t try to hide how he stiffens up. “I am not joking, I would find you and bring you back to her as a sack of bones,”

“I wouldn’t betray her like that…”

“You’re too focused on the aspect of being a bad dad rather than a good one—yknow, you really think that she’d marry someone she doesn’t see fit as the future father of her children?” Satoru has a point. you did mention to him once (when Suguru was nowhere to be seen at a party you all attended) how falling in love with him was the best thing that’s ever happened to you, but the one thing that would top it is if he became a father to your children. Satoru, knowing his best friend’s stance on the topic, reminded you of how terrified the man was of the idea and all you did was give him a reassuring, understanding wave of your hands.

“I know, but I just know he’d love them hard and make them feel as safe as he makes me feel.”

Husband Suguru! who doesn’t really try to bring up the topic of ‘trying for a baby’. he cringes at the thought, feels as though it makes the process less romantic and intimate and more of a robotic task. as he is stripping you of your clothes, he is silent and lets his eyes wander over your figure. you are extremely shy tonight, unable to meet his eyes as his rough, calloused hands brush over the skin of your boobs before bending down to be at eye level with them. he brings the flesh inside his mouth and sucks—and blood rushes down to his groin at the thought of them being filled with milk, heavy and swollen, more sensitive than usual. his teeth graze the skin at an attempt to catch your attention and your thighs squeeze as you meet his eyes.

“Sugu…” your smaller hands rest on his face as he pulls away from your boobs to plant a heated kiss to your lips, effectively pushing you back on the bed. your back gently hits the mattress, and your chest is heaving in anticipation, unsure of what his next move would be.

“Baby,” he finally speaks up, nose brushing against your stomach as he brings his lips to the skin. “how about you drop the pill tomorrow?” he knows how much of a horrible job he is doing at this, but he feels you move, supporting yourself on your elbows.

“w-why would I do that?” your eyebrows are furrowed in confusion, and Suguru wishes to brush his thumb over the tense skin of your forehead.

Suguru is shameless as he kisses further south, planting his kiss above the tuft of your pubic hair before pushing your panties to the side. He parts the lips and gives your clit a kiss before moving to your inner thighs.

“why not? It’s doing horrible things to your body—“ he brushes his nose over your clit as he speaks. “beside, we need you off the pill if we want a baby, don’t you think?” when you don’t react to his words, Suguru looks up only to find you staring down at him with parted lips and eyes glossed over with tears.

“…are you sure?” you ask softly, and your husband swears he could never say no to you if you asked like that all the time.

“very,”

Husband Suguru! who fucks you with a new purpose. each drive of his hips fueling the other to go harder, deeper, to keep pushing his cum inside you and plant his seed deep within. your cunt does a great job at showing Suguru how ecstatic and excited you are with his sudden change of heart. you keep squeezing around him, barely able to keep your sounds in—he fucks you so deeply that the sound of skin to skin is louder than your moans and his groans. when he puts you on all fours, the cum starts to drip out of you but he pushes it back in with two thick fingers, lips pressed to your ass cheek.

“want more?”

“mmm! please,” you whine when he aligns his tips with your folds and fixes your arch with a hand on the small of your back. the gasp that escapes your lips when he fucks into you hard makes Suguru chuckle and he rubs your sides, soothing you.

“no need to beg for it,” he leans down and presses a kiss to your nape. “I’d gladly fill you up.”

Husband Suguru! who stiffens up when you show him the positive pregnancy test. up until this point, he is in control of his emotions—he lets you cry in his arms about how scary all of this was, despite you saying you’ve always wanted a baby. he is supportive, understanding of the heightened emotions that you are experiencing—when he sees your tears turn into happy ones, only half of him is able to relax. clearly, he is nervous but he doesn’t wanna show it. not right now.

The first ultrasound during your pregnancy was nerve racking—your hand squeezed your husband’s as you stared at the screen showing what appeared to be your unborn baby. Very tiny, but still there.

“Okay mom and dad,” the doctor presses the ultrasound transducer a bit lower on your stomach, a small smile on his face. “I got some news for you.”

“Good?” your anxious voice has Suguru rubbing his thumb on the back on your hand.

“It depends, how long have you been trying for this baby?” You couldn’t exactly disclose of your very active sex life, but you do give the doctor hints that it was definitely wanted.

“Well, look over here—“ he points to the screen with his gloved finger, ushering Suguru to come closer. “Look over here dad, what do you see?”

Suguru swallows hard as he stares at the screen in confusion, unsure of what to say. “..a baby?”

“Babies. Congratulations, you’re pregnant with twins.”

Your husband whips his head towards you fast, and you cover your mouth in shock. This wasn’t planned—twins? And for a first time? You didn’t know if the tears streaming down your face were of excitement or fear that maybe you weren’t ready for this.

But Suguru still comforts you, holds you in his arms—tells you that maybe finding out the gender won’t make all of this sound scary anymore. He knew you never really had a preference for gender—you were a natural mom.

However, finding out the gender was an emotional experience for the same man who never thought he would become a father.

Husband Suguru! who tells Satoru to buy the gender reveal cake for you two. he doesn’t want to throw a party, and neither do you. finding out within the privacy of your own home seemed like the best option—you didn’t want to reveal that you were pregnant to any family members—at least not yet.

“Are you ready?” You hold your own glass as you wait for your husband to stand next to you. Your bump wasn’t that evident yet, but signs of pregnancy were starting to show on your body and it brought this warm feeling to Suguru’s body.

“Yeah, hold my hand.” You chuckle slightly at his request but comply either way. Each of you holds their own glass above the cake before looking away as you push it down—you hold your breath, Suguru rests his forehead on your shoulder as he mumbles something about not being able to look at the cake. But you muster up the courage and lift your glass, eyes wide and lips parted in shock.

“Sugu—“ you don’t need to tell him to look, he was already staring at the glass with teary eyes. The pink frosting wasn’t something he was expecting to see—he knew he was going to be happy with either but two little girls? His own baby girls—the thought of being a girl dad brings tears to his eyes and you’re quickly pulling him towards you.

“Oh baby,” you hold back your own tears as you comfort your emotional husband, his arms wrapped around your middle. You hear little sniffles and a hand rubs your back before feeling a pair of lips pressed to your forehead.

“Gonna be the prettiest mom to the prettiest girls. Ever.”   

note: my posts are all self indulgent at this point… enjoy :D

2023: all works belong to @ slttygeto. do not repost my works on any other platofrm.

[neverendingford]

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[cloudzoro]

Getting Caught | One Piece ♡

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Getting caught having sex with your man by one of his friends.

reaction/headcanon requests for jjk, one piece, haikyuu, fmab & death note (male & female characters) are OPEN!

masterlist | request rules

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genre: smut (minors dni)

characters included: ace, crocodile, zoro

cw: dirty talk, pet names, threesome, size kink, public sex, voyeurism, big dick!zoro, possessive behaviour, Zoros one kinda made me 💦🤭🥵💫 while I was writing it

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Ace

Ace has been visiting your home a lot recently. Since the two of you started dating, he promised not to be gone too long. When you do finally get him back, you're all over him.

He's sitting on your couch while you're on his lap. You grind down against his cock, which he had pulled out of his shorts. The brim of his hat presses against the back of the sofa and prevents him from getting comfortable, so he takes it off of himself and places it on your head. The sight of you stripped naked in just his hat has him bucking his hips up into you.

“sit on my cock, pretty girl,” he says. “Let me fuck you, baby.”

You reach down and guide his cock into your hole. He helps you sink all the way down onto him, and when he finally bottoms out, you moan in his ear. He holds you still as you clench around him. He knows if you start moving now, he'll cum almost immediately.

“Please fuck me, Ace”, you whine before kissing him. He hums into your mouth and slowly ruts upwards. As soon as he moves, the door swings open. Ace is quick enough to grab a nearby blanket and wrap it around you while pulling you to his chest, blocking any possibility of whoever just walked in seeing you naked.

You look to the doorway to see Marco standing there. He seems embarrassed and as if he's trying not to laugh.

“I was just coming by to see how your reunion is going”, he says, a smug grin plastered on his face.

“It's doing fine; now beat it!” yells Ace, throwing a pillow in his direction. Marco runs, but not before yelling through the now-closed door.

“Nice hat, y/n!”

Crocodile

He has you on your back, legs pushed up to your chest as he fucks you. He's so deep inside you and so big that he attacks all your senses. You couldn't focus on anything else if you tried. You can feel his palm pressing against the tiny bulge in your stomach.

“Can you feel that baby? Feel me deep in your pussy?” his voice has you clenching around him. The room smells of smoke and sex, and it makes you so dizzy that you can barely respond to him. You let out a long whine and nod. Crocodile laughs from above you. “Can I flip you over?” he asks. You whine a yes, and he flips you onto your hands and knees.

A large, heavy hand pushes you down against the sheets. He pushes back into you and the new angle makes you scream into the fabric beneath you. Every thrust sends you forward into the mattress, and Crocodile does absolutely nothing to hide your moaning.

A few minutes later, you hear a loud banging at the door, and before either of you can move, Mihawk swings the door open as if he's completely unaware of what you are doing.

Your husband pulls you upwards so your back is against his chest and wraps his big arms around you, covering your most intimate parts. There's a beat of silence before Mihawk launches into a flustered tirade.

“You two are completely inconsiderate. Do you ever fucking shut up?” While he continues ranting, Crocodile leans down to speak in your ear.

“Look at him; he wants us so bad,” he whispers. He's not wrong if the flushed skin and raging boner are anything to go by. “Do you wanna invite him in?” he asks, paying no mind to Mihawk's scolding. When you nod, your husband drops his hands away from your chest and between your legs. Mihawk goes silent now that your body is exposed to him. “She has another hole for you,” says Crocodile, pressing his fingers against your lips. You obey his silent command and open your mouth to suck on his fingers. “y'know if you want help with that,” smirks your husband, gesturing to the tent pitched in Mihawk's trousers.

Mihawk considers the offer for a minute before approaching the bed. Crocodile lets go of your body and pushes you back down as Mihawk pulls his cock free from his trousers. You lick up the underside of his cock and then take him into your mouth, relaxing into taking as much of him as you can. You can hear verbal encouragement from both men, but you're not focusing on the words at all; you're too busy being stuffed with cock.

Zoro

Zoro can't keep his hands off of you, you've been at a bar for all of ten minutes and he's itching to pull into the nearest bathroom and fuck you stupid.

“Baby, come on,” Zoro says, pulling your back against his chest as you stand at the bar. “No one will even notice we're gone.”

Your boyfriend is impossible to resist and you let him drag you to the bathroom. He pins you against the wall, kissing you as he pulls his cock free. He holds his hand in front of your face, instructing you to spit in his palm. He uses your saliva to lube up his cock before lining himself up with your cunt and pushing in. You pull Zoro into another kiss, much nastier and messier than the last. His hips rock into you, cock dragging against your sensitive walls.

“Hold on to me, pretty girl”, he groans as you cling to his shoulders. He fuckss you harder, intending to make you cum as quickly as possible so he can get you home and really take his time with you. Neither of you realise that you didn't lock the door until you notice a blonde man with a familiar pair of eyebrows staring at you in shock.

“Zoro, Sanji's here,” You whine, slightly embarrassed. He knows; he heard Sanji coming in. He just doesn't care. At this point, almost nothing could stop him from making you cum.

“Let him watch. Let that shitty cook see what he'll never have” The cocky smile on his face makes your pussy drool. Zoro isn't jealous; he has no reason to be, but he has one of the nastiest possessive streaks you've ever seen in your life. “This pretty pussy is all mine, right baby?”

“uh-huh” is the only pair of syllables you can form as he fucks you so hard you fear you might crack the wall. You're not lying, though. Every part of your mind, body, and soul belongs to Zoro and vice versa. Sanji tries to focus on glaring at the swordsman, but he keeps getting distracted by your exposed skin and pretty noises.

“Cum for me” He emphasises the word ‘me’ reminding both you and Sanji that every drop of cum that leaks from your sweet pussy is his. Your body follows through on the command, shaking in his grasp as you cum. Both men stare at you in awe. Zoro cums soon after, unable to stand the way your cunt pulses around his sensitive cock any longer. “Get out of here,” Zoro growls, voice startling Sanji back to reality and he hurries off so you and Zoro can clean up in privacy.

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thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed :)

comments and reblogs are massively appreciated ♡

[rebelscums]

Devoted (Qimir x Padawan reader)

Rating: Angst | Acts like he’s not obsessed but he is | Light fluff

Summary: You were devoted, but no matter how hard you try, you never seem to be enough.

The fight was brutal. Each swing of a lightsaber had casted the dark night into colorful arrays of blue, yellow, green, and red.

“Master!” You yelled as you quickly stepped in front of him to take the graze of the green lightsaber that was aimed at him. Your side burned with pain, but that didn’t stop you from protecting your master.

“Go!” He used the force to push you out of the fight, “Find her!” Your master ordered you as you pushed back another Jedi by using the force.

You quickly fled the fight, knowing that he could handle himself. You focused on your task to find Mae… The person you considered a friend since she came into your life. Yet she still betrayed you… Your master… She…

She abandoned you.

That anger surged you forward as you spotted her trying to run into the dense forest.

“You were my friend!” You screamed with rage, using the force to knock down a tree in her path.

There was guilt heavy in her gaze as she looked back, but she didn’t stop in her effort to flee. She only jumped over the tree and continued on her path.

She didn’t try to explain to you why she chose to betray you and your master. She just ran from you.

Before you could follow her into the jungle, a young girl tackled you to the ground. You cried out in rage at the one who dared to stop you from confronting your friend. You struggled beneath the girl until you were able to find your footing just before she could cuff you.

You pushed who, throwing her off of you by using the force. You didn’t care that her back hit against one of the boulders, you could only hope that would stop her from attacking… Of course you were wrong. It seemed like you were wrong about a lot of things lately.

You quickly got to your feet and ignited your blue lightsaber just as she ignited hers. It was clear that she was surprised to see a lightsaber in your hands.

“Leave us alone.” You gave her a warning before protecting what was yours.

“Who did you take that from?” She spat with a righteous glare.

An uneasy feeling grew in your chest as your tears blurred the anger in your eyes, “Myself.” With a cry you rushed at the Jedi, anger filling your heart.

Saber clashed against saber as you evaded her every attack. It was clear that with each passing minute, Mae was getting farther away and your master… You dreaded the disappointment he would show you the moment you return to him empty handed… If you return.

You rolled away from the girl, using the force to push her back, but she got the best of you as you tried to get up. She used the force to send you tumbling back to the ground, your lightsaber being thrown from your hand in the fall.

With all her might ran towards you with her blade raised. Your heart stopped and you watched your life flash before your eyes, waiting for the moment her lightsaber would meet your chest but… That moment never came. It wouldn’t.

Not while he was around.

He would never allow you to die.

Not by anyone’s hands but his.

His movement was swift and fluid, gracefully done with a force of strength that had the girl scrambling to get her footing. But she was a fair fight, using two lightsabers to face your master.

They fought against one another with conviction and speed to the side that they were fighting for, but you could tell that he was running out of time. You could see it in the way the he kept glancing in the direction that Mae ran in.

You wanted to make him proud, make it easier for his mission and so you used the force to send a pillow of sand in the young Jedi’s face. It took less than a second before your master was swooping you up into his arms and leaping over the tree without any struggle.

“Where?” He demanded as he ran faster into the woods.

You closed your eyes and felt through the force. The strong attachment that you had to the force impressed your master, something that he only told you through the hum behind his mask. You tracked Mae with ease and open your eyes to tell him, “Forward. Then left.”

He slowed down and set you on the ground, “Keep up.”

“Wait! Master…” You spoke hesitantly before he could start running again.

“What is it dove?” He held his lightsaber ready to ignite it from any danger that could be heading towards us.

“Maybe we should leave while we still can?” You voiced your concerns, “She chose her side. She doesn’t want to follow this path anymore. How can we help someone who doesn’t want to be helped? We could just—ah”Before you could finish your throat was suddenly constricted by an unknown force.

He tilted his head down, a dark tint to his voice as he pulled you closer to him with the flick of his wrist and suddenly he was choking you with his bare hand, “I will have my acolyte and nothing can keep me from that.”

You struggled against his grip, “I am your padawan too.” You tried to gasp for breath.

“And you are never going to amount to anything more than that.” His words were harsh as he let go of you. You gasped for breath as he turned his back on you, “Let’s go.”

You nodded your head, a dull ache in your chest as you followed behind him.

It wasn’t too long after that you found her, his red lightsaber just missing her head by an inch. Your throat still felt sore but you had nothing to say as you stood behind your master. Your gaze felt tired, betrayed by the two people you trusted most.

Mae was quick to beg for her life, “Please forgive me master, I was weak.”

“You’ve always been weak.” He stated and you thought he would kill her or at least hurt her for her betrayal, but instead his saber sliced through her cuffs.

It made your heart ache in a form of jealousy as you took a step back to distance yourself. You felt an odd rift forming that you didn’t know how to mend.

As he lifted his light saber again, he was pulled back by Master Sol, the same master Mae was meant to kill. Who you sure was his padawan had appeared as well, the two targeting your master in two versus one battle.

Your mind was torn on helping the master who thought you to be too weak to be his acolyte or helping the girl who betrayed your trust.

Instead you chose yourself and the only other person you thought could care about you.

“Mae.” You called out her name as she attempted to flee.

“What is it?” She wondered with a confused look in her gaze.

“Did… Did Qimir bring you here?” You asked her softly despite the battle a few feet away.

“He did… I tied him up not too far from here. About ten clicks west.” Her brows furrowed even more, “Why?”

He must have a ship to get off of this planet. You thought. He could help you right? If your master didn’t want you then why were you here?

You didn’t answer her as the fight suddenly entered your direction and it was time for you and Mae to flee. Your footsteps carried you into the forest, the sound of lightsabers clashing echoed off the trees. Your master didn’t try to find you, intent on getting to Mae instead.

So you kept running with one thought in mind… Ten clicks west and he can take you far away from this place.

You were a few feet away before it felt like you couldn’t move. It was like the force tugged you back to him no matter how far you tried to run. “I can’t…” You whispered painfully out to the string that tugged you back to him, “Please.”

The feeling didn’t stop and you regretted glancing back because it only sealed your fate to him. With a frustrated cry you turned around and ran back sliding behind him just in time to block Sol’s lightsaber from connecting with his back.

“You protect him with a blue lightsaber… Why?” Sol asked in between the blows that were shared.

Because I never embraced the dark side, only him. You thought with a frown as you stared down at the color of your light saber. It mocked you, letting everyone see how you could never be his acolyte… How you could never be anything more to him than just a lovesick fool.

“I will protect him.” Always. You grit your teeth as you lunged at him again and again. Your movements were quick and delicate as you gracefully moved around Sol as if you were in a dance.

“You could be so much more than his puppet.” Master Sol tried to convince you, but it only made you angrier, “Cut your string to him.”

“I’m more than a puppet to my master! He cares for me!” You were almost yelling at him, tears of frustration filling your eyes. He is mine. I am his. He promised. You reminded yourself weakly.

“Then why would he take someone else under his wing? A master only has one padawan.” Master Sol said, “He replaced you because he could not see your potential.”

His words had you fault wrong enough for him to make his final move. You grunted as he shoved you onto the ground with the strength of his force.

“He…” Your voice broke as it trailed off into a pitiful whimper.

“He doesn’t protect you.” Sol spoke softly, “Stop fighting for him and come with me. You would make a great Jedi.”

“Do not twist her mind with useless words.” You master spoke.

It was then that Sol witnessed the fatal three stabs that were given to the padawan as your master came out victorious once again.

You craned your neck to see your master only now realizing that his helmet had be torn off from his head.

“Her allegiance to me is stronger than your former padawan.” His voice was clear, not filtered by his mask.

“Qimir…” You whispered his name just as Sol spoke.

“Jecki…” The anguish in Sol’s voice was clear as he mourned his padawan.

“Was that its name?” Qimir had asked, a cold tone to his voice. He didn’t particularly care as she was not his mission.

No, his mission voiced his name as well, “Qimir?”

“Hi.” He smiled at her with his usual bright tone that had you turning flush each time you saw him.

You thought maybe there could be something between the light conversation and jokes shared, but… You clenched your fists. Of course, it would always be her.

In only a blink of an eye Mae was in his grasp being choked while Sol’s lightsaber was directed at your neck.

“Directing your lightsaber towards an unarmed person isn’t very Jedi of you.” Qimir mused.

“Let her go.” Sol demanded, his threat was perfectly clear.

Qimir thought about it before answering, “Ah… I don’t think so.”

“She is no longer your acolyte.” Master Sol mentioned, “She has been trying to flee from your grasp, that should be answer enough.”

“She doesn’t have a choice in her life.” Qimir’s gaze darker as he looked towards Sol, “Not after she betrayed me.”

“You already have a padawan. Take her and leave Mae alone.” Sol suggested.

It made your stomach twist in knots. Was what Master Sol told me before just a lie then? A trick to throw me off guard? Your gaze darkened as you realized. He didn’t care for my wellbeing either.

“She is too soft… Too… What did you say? Too much like a Jedi to be the pupil I need. She wouldn’t make a good acolyte.” Qimir clicked his tongue at the word, but he smiled as he spoke lightly, “But she is loyal. The shining light to my darkness.” His gaze flickered towards yours, a possessive glint to them, “Aren’t you little dove?”

Your gaze fell away from his. You were tired of all the endless games. Of being used and taken advantage of by men who would toss you aside to get to their true prize... I want to go home. You thought as you stared as the small cuts on your hands.

“Why risk discovery? Why not run?” Sol questioned.

“Well…” Qimir pressed the blunt end of his lightsaber harder against Mae’s head, “I did wear a mask.”

“What do you want?” Sol wasn’t here to play any of Qimir’s games, not this time.

“Freedom.” Qimir shoved Mae to her knees painfully, “The freedom to wield my power the way I like. How I choose without having to answer to Jedi like you.” He explained.

“I want a pupil… An acolyte.” He pressed before shoving his lightsaber once again against the side of Mae’s head, “But this one went back on our deal.”

Qimir clicked his tongue with a sigh, “She exposed me. So, now I have to kill every singly last one of you…” He looked directly at Sol, “I don’t make the rules. The Jedi do. And the Jedi say I can’t exist.” It was then his gaze glanced down towards your direction, “They see my face, they all die.”

Your heart beat loudly in your chest at his words. Did that mean you as well? Would he kill you because you were too weak to be his pupil? Because you finally saw his face?

The silence was defeating, but Qimir was quick to fill the void, “Aw look at you two. Right back where you started.” He chuckled, “I should say the same about us, little dove.”

Sol pushed the light saber an inch closer to your neck. The betrayel in your eyes at both men held a thousand words that Sol would carry in his chest as he made a threat to take your life.

“I am giving you a choice. Your dove or your former acolyte.” Sol demanded.

Qimir’s gaze darkened, “Killing my dove would only destroy the Jedi code you hold so dear.” He bared his teeth.

“If it stops you… I will do what I must.” Sol pressed the lightsaber closer to your neck.

“I don’t need her. Do what you want.” He clicked his tongue and looked away from your rejected form, pitiful on the forest floor, “I came here for one thing anyways.”

Tears trailed down your face when he didn’t choose you. The rejection hurt more than the blinding heat settled near you. Of course he would choose you. Of course he would choose the girl currently frozen in his grip.

“Are you sure?” Master Sol asked one more time.

It was then that you could feel the heat of the lightsaber scorching your skin. The heat became almost unbearable as you were held in place, forbidden to move. A dark red mark appeared on your bare neck, causing you to cry out in pain.

“Fuck— Stop!” Qimir pushed Mae to the ground a stepped towards Sol with a dangerous glint in his eyes.

“Hurt her and I promise I will tear you limb from limb.” Qimir ignited his lightsaber, the red glaring against his skin menacingly, “And I always keep my promise.”

It was in that moment that his helmet began to shake and you saw a yellow beam of light ignite behind him, “Behind you!” You yelled at Qimir and he quickly sprung into action.

He faced the Jedi knight Yord with quick movements, unfazed as he grinned at his impeding victory.

“You?” Yord asked in utter disbelief. You could see the shock on his face at Qimir’s reveal.

“Me.” Qimir grinned before spinning him around and snapping his neck, tossing him to the side without any strain.

Mae fled without a second thought towards the gruesome action and you were able to roll away from Master Sol. You got up and held your ground as you watched Qimir and Sol look at one another. With an angered cry Sol charged at your master and the adrenaline of today surged towards you as you went to your master’s aid.

However, you didn’t see Osha in the forest and the feeling of electricity suddenly shot through you causing you to hit your head against one of the trees. The last thing you remembered was Qimir yelling your name before you blacked out.

It was the feeling of a steady rocking movement that brought you out of your sleep. The familiar hum of masters— Qimir’s ship left you feeling at ease as you pulled yourself out of your daze.

“Good. You’re awake.” Qimir’s voice was clear as he walked towards your bunk, “Thought I lost you there for a sec.”

“Would you even care if you did?” You muttered. It was a slip of the tongue from the pounding in your head, but you felt good saying it all the same.

“You are in my ship are you not?” He answered plainly as he placed a glass of water beside you.

You watched as he grabbed a lock of your hair and admired it between his fingertips, “I should kill you, you know? You’ve seen my face, you know who I am.” He hummed, “But I know you wouldn’t hurt me. We’re connected.”

Tears sprung to your eyes, “Why do you keep me?”

“Isn’t that obvious?” He stood in your doorway glancing back at you with a half grin.

“You’re mine.”

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

You're my favorite writer, and König is my favorite aussie man, so OF COURSE im making you write for him, hal, BEAR W ME !

Alright, what do you think about König with the “You’re here late.” prompt? The reader is part of KorTac and always worked alongside König, since they both entered about the same time, because of the readers personality, they are always fighting, one of these fights are specifically bad, leading the reader to go on a mission with another KorTac member, to help out somewhere else and take their mind off things, when the reader face a problem on the mission and ends up arriving late, König is furious.

Moths Hit the Window

PAIRING: König x F!Reader

SYNOPSIS: Fights with König were always loud, but this time his comments went a bit too far.

WORD COUNT: 5.9k

WARNINGS: Verbal fighting, angst, high tension, blood & stitches, wounds, canon typical violence, guns/weapons, death, suggestive near the end, fluff, hurt/comfort, etc.

A/N: Huge thanks to @idocarealot for the German translations!! Also, König's wearing the arachnid skin in this because I love it sm - enjoy, Anon!

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

You seethe. If eyes could turn red yous would be a beautiful shade of crimson—bloody knives ripping out of the cornea to strike whoever happened to get too close. It was as if the very air boiled with the force of a raging tsunami as you stomped down the local military base’s hallways, covered in blood and guts. Never had you reconsidered working for KorTac more than at this very moment. 

Maybe I should just become a mercenary, you rip at the torn-apart gloves over your hands and jerk your arm out. Passerbyers quickly avert their eyes as you shove them into a garbage can and continue on with a growl. No shitty rules, no regulations—no fucking partners.

If people happened to slide past without noticing the steam coming out of your ears, they would have immediately locked eyes on the pure elephant of a man trailing fast behind. König’s eyes were goring into the back of your neck, gray and tan garb swaying as the packs and flash grenades on his combat vest bounced with every step. Accents of red do nothing in comparison to his visible flesh—the section of his eyes uncovered by his mask and head rig alight around his obsidian gaze. 

 König was muttering to himself far under his breath, curses and harsh comments all in German that he wouldn’t say to your face. At least not right now in view of others. 

“I can hear you, you dimwit,” you hiss over your shoulder, grinding your teeth as you both make your way to the armory, “curse me out quieter!” 

“You are making a scene!” The beast grunts, that heavily accented English striking your eardrums with its harsh dialect. 

“Oh, jeez!” You raise your voice even higher, turning back forward and clenching your hands into fists as blood and guts drip off your gear—none of it yours. “I’m just so damn embarrassed, König! I’m making such a large and obnoxious display. Whatever will I do?!” Sarcasm like a valuable drug is injected into the waves of your voice. People from open doorways look out with shock, brows pulled up. 

Everyone quickly darts back away when you snap your head in their direction and send them a scathing glare.

No one was surprised to find you and the Austrian going at it again but knew well enough to stay out of the crossfire. Lest someone get roped into it.

“Fuck off!” You spit the last curse into the burning air and shove past a soldier ahead of you.

König’s dark eyes flash dangerously, lips under his mask twisting into a sneer. The man’s shoulders seem to dig in even farther, spine curling over as if a brooding child. 

This had all started the second you’d joined up with KorTac. Fresh out of the military and eager to get back into the game after a good vacation the PMC group had been at the top of your list. But if you’d known you’d be paired up with this damn mountain every chance there was just because he’d got into the game at nearly the same time as you, you’d have put in your luck with SpecGru. 

“I do not see how this is appropriate behavior,” König follows as you place your palms on the black metal of the armory door, pressing with your shoulders. “I did what I was tasked to do—”

The masked man is cut off as you whirl on your heels, the door slamming shut as his body is shoved into it with strong arms. Dark eyes go wide in surprise, feeling the dig of your nails on his abdomen as your form presses into him and the chill of the door on his spine. You feel his skin bunch under his thick shirt and even if you want to stare him down that’s just not an option. Your warm figures shuffle together with panting breaths and dangerous glints in your eyes. 

“Bull,” you drag out the word, growling it right up into his neck; sniper hood caressing your chin. König’s breath hitches with shakes of swirling emotions. “Shit.”

Shoving once more so he gets the point, you push off of him and stalk away like a feral wolf, already unclipping grenades and medical packs from your vest. 

“You’re the damn reason the target got away!” Gear is thrown haphazardly to the long table in the center of the room. The Austrian watches with predatory eyes, hands clenched so hard that they quiver. He stays still, watching, as you send scathing glances. “The reason we’re going to be here for ten times longer than we’re supposed to be!” 

“It is not my fault you failed to properly check the perimeter before you rushed in like a fool.” Volatile couldn’t be used to describe this…this was nothing short of volcanic. It was as if there were two sides of a scale filled with bullets and gunpowder—fire in the middle that was equally heating both piles as they raised and lowered erratically. König’s voice grates over the air, “I did what I could to fix your scheiße plan!”

“Don’t you shit on my plan!” You point, voice bouncing off the weapon racks as you rip the rifle strap from over your chest, chucking it away. 

“I will shit on it—it was…it was…!”  König’s voice cuts out and he can’t find the words. The Austrian descends into visceral German ramblings. “Es war so ziemlich der schlechteste Plan, den ich je gehört hab. Welcher halbwegs vernünftige Mensch geht in eine heiße Zone ohne vorher alle Zielobjekte richtig zu markieren?! Ich kann dich und deine Rücksichtslosigkeit nicht mehr leiden — du bringst mich um meinen Verstand! Hast du überhaupt ein Gehirn in deinem Schädel?”

You shake your head to yourself, heart pounding. “You’re still the one that was supposed to focus on the HVT. I rushed so he would flush out, but, no,” taking out the magazine of the rifle you hold it in your hands like an accusatory ruler that a teacher would hold. König shoves off the door and stands to his full height; arms tensed and straining before they coil around his chest in a soothing gesture. 

He hated the fighting—the constant strain between the two of you. But when you were together it could never amount to anything else. The room felt like it was a million degrees.

Your eyes stab at him, “No! You had to go and focus on me! I hate to break this to you,  König,” feet come forward and you once again find yourself close to him—breathing the same air and taking in the scent of gunpowder and blood. You point the tip of the magazine into his chest. His unseen lips pull; jaw clenching with held-back fire. “But I am not your damn mutt to keep on a leash. I had it under control.”

It’s as if you don’t realize the Austrian could snap you in half with a single kick of his leg, as if the sheer size of König had slipped your mind as a whole. His hands could snap your neck in an instant, but that was only if he got ahold of you. 

But that was a line the both of you were never planning to cross. Words were one thing in this profession, actions another. If you ever got into a physical fight, you’d both kill each other, no doubt. 

You’d like to think you’re a bit above that, but perhaps not.

König’s chest rises and falls deeply, taking in calming breaths as he tries to get his temper under control. “You didn’t,” he jeers out, “I saved your life, you Heißluftgebläse. And if you wanted to be treated less than a dog,” he grunts to you, head pulling down close to your face, harshly whispering out, “You could have simply asked me, yes?”

You both snarl at each other's throats like rabid animals, the world disappearing all around the obsidian eyes that match with yours; for a moment you get lost in the shining bits of silver in his iris that seem to burn with chilled iron. What little skin you can see is flushed and tight—hawk nose nearly poking out your eye as you’re leaned over like a giraffe near a bush.

Body vibrating, you sharply breathe, “I’m not even going to ask what that fucking means, you tool.”

“Good.” The words are bitten and fast, “because I am not telling you.”

“Great!”

“Perfekt!” You both were arguing like children. Hot faces and unwilling to let the other have the last word. If you got along it might have been funny. 

“I’m going to dump all of your Einspänner out on the tarmac.” Your sure voice echoes with a definitive promise to the tone. 

Pale lids widen in horror at the threat to the Austrian's favorite beverage, comfortably sitting in the Base’s fridge. 

“You would not,” König’s tone is deathly serious and you smirk, eyes dancing. “You…” a guttural growl meets the air, mind translating words and giving meanings, “beast of a woman!”

“Oh, is that the best you can fucking do?!” You yell, splaying your hands out widely and moving away from him. “Now that’s really a show stopper, König, I’m shaking in my damn boots.” 

“Ich komm mit dir nicht mehr klar.” König yells, moving back and placing both of his hands atop his head, knuckles white. “You’re rude—you do not even try to get along. You are loud and disrespectful; how do you live like this?!”

Your eyes slightly widen, watching the Austrian.

“Don’t try?” You echo, scoffing loudly. “What do you mean don’t try? I was the one to try and smooth things out between us in the beginning.”

“When?!” König spreads his hands out, knees slightly bent. “Because I have no recollection of such events.”

“Well of course you wouldn’t!” The heat was meeting a breaking point—words were getting more personal, sharper. Like a blade being honed for the kill slowly; being sharpened by rocks and whetstones of conviction. 

König points a finger at you, voice going low and thin, “I’ve had enough of you, yes?” His sniper hood moves rapidly with his fast ricochets of breath. “Just about enough. Would you have wanted me to let you die?”

“I had it,” your lips spit, nose scrunched, and forehead tight. The man’s chest vibrates with a mute growl. 

In all actuality, you’d never seen him this worked up before. König wasn’t above giving your quips back even if he obviously disliked it—most of that was due to the strange familiarity between the two of you. In large crowds, the man preferred to stay silent. This only added to his almost deadly aura with others, though you knew the muteness was because of social anxiety and not some built silence. He wasn’t shy per se, just afraid he’d say something wrong; mess up the conversation. You did most of the talking in meetings and you never minded it. Added him in when the topic was something he knew a lot about.

Your mind had addled it up to thinking it was cute, actually. How his feet would shuffle; his half-lidded gaze and his intense eye contact to let them know he was still listening. When he’d have to remind himself to look away with a pinch to his thigh because it was starting to seem threatening. It was endearing, even.

But around people König knew, well, he was going to speak his mind. No matter how long it takes his brain to catch up with his lips.

The only thing the two of you were good at was being moths—hitting the metaphorical window over and over on the same topics and tension points. Slamming heads and flapping wings. You were at the end of your rope just as he was.

“I should have never taken you as a partner!” He calls, feet splayed. “Should have gotten out of this the second you were assigned with me. Gott, ich hab wirklich versucht, dich zu verstehen — Ich hätte gleich aufgeben sollen.” Your lips thin, lungs stalling as all the air vacates the room. You stand still and listen to what he really thinks, fingers shaking.

König’s large form towers over all, great sparks of electricity flying out. His gear shakes as he moves, thigh straps pushing fabric to shift and conform to his body. Your blood pumps with brewing hesitance. 

Maybe this had gone too far. I’ve never seen him like this.

“I can’t stand you any longer! Pathetic squabbles that mean nothing, absolutely ludicrous plans that make little headway.” Your head bursts with aggression and what little warning signs you have are squashed. “I can’t keep saving you because you can’t do your job correctly!”

“You don’t have to save me at all!” You scream. “You can’t keep your damn eyes off of me for five seconds, König.” Feet move away quickly from the armory door as if someone had come to put away their stuff but thought better of it. The next words burst from you before you can think of the contents. “It’s like you fucking love me or something!”

König doesn’t miss a beat, but for months afterward, he wishes he had.

“Oh, do not make me laugh—” he scoffs ferally, adrenaline making him talk, “as if anyone could ever love a woman like you in the first place.” 

Twin eyes widen and both parties immediately fall silent. A sharp inhale.

Too far.

Under the hood, König’s face goes an embarrassing shade of red all the way down to his chest. Fingers freeze. Jaw slackens.

You feel like your heart was just grasped in his grip and ripped out of your ribs with one violent motion—one sentence out of all the others enough to knock down the rebuttal that had formed on the tip of your tongue. Your throat closes up as you blink in shock.

“I-I…” König stutters, mind blanking as he struggles for words. But anger was easier than pain.

Numb fingers rip off the last of your weapons and belongings as you let them hit the floor with defining thuds as warm shame floods your cheeks. Shaky puffs of breath like a panting dog. Dark eyes watch with regretful panic, heart jumping and eyes flinching. The adrenaline it…it made him forget himself on occasion—how to properly act when not on the battlefield. It was like that with everyone but…but he hadn’t meant that.

Shame that it’s already too late.

Your fisted hand slams into his chest, brutal and unforgiving. König lets off a grunt but does nothing as you slither past, hissing into his ear, “Find yourself a new punching bag.”

His hand snaps to his breast where you had slammed your KorTac patch right into his heart, catching it. It’s many moments before he can think enough through the alarm; form words.

“I…I didn’t…oh, du blöde Kuh!” 

By the time the man composed himself, panicked tears burning in his eyes, the door had already slammed shut. His feet squeaked over the tile to an empty audience. 

—

Private Military Companies don’t have ranks. There are no Sergeants, Lieutenants, Generals or Colonels. Just people. Beyond the orders you’d been hired on, there was nothing keeping you in line with König on this mission. And those orders were loose at best.

Adhere to policy and listen to the Base’s COs. Shut up and get the job done. 

The Austrian and you weren’t due out for another week because of rotations. Since you’d failed to capture or kill the HVT that you were assigned, another group had picked up the tracks in the meantime. Like an oiled machine, the gears of this operation kept whirling. 

Evolve, or die. 

“Lieutenant!” You call to the geared-up man on the tarmac—the one heading that very same group. It had been only a few hours since the incident in the armory. You needed a distraction; blood was still running high and brain pounding for release. There were only so many times you could bruise your fists and legs on a punching bag before people started giving you nervous looks. “Need an extra hand?”

Your voice sounds strained, even to you. The man looks you over once and narrows his eyes. Nods not moments later. 

“Get tired of your big friend? Okay, how fast can you be ready for me?” You feel your shoulders loosen, a relieved sigh exiting your lips.

“Three minutes.”

“...get to it then. We move in five.” 

So that was how you found yourself backed into a corner five hours into the op from hell—bloody knife held tightly in your grip and mouth open in ragged pants. 

“Fuck,” your vest is torn and riddled with bullets; your entire chest must be bruised by now because it surely aches like it is. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

You really are reckless, just like König had said you were. Maybe you’d just never realized it because he always seemed to watch your six. This…this was really bad. The comms were awash with screaming orders and panic, ringing out across the abandoned mining factory that exploded with light from gunfire and the sounds that accompanied it. You knew for a fact three soldiers were down; two KIA. 

The Lieutenant is one of them. 

Your hand snaps to the radio strapped to your chest, one eye squinted in pain at the ragged slice across your left brow line. At your feet, two heavily armed men lay dead. 

“Pull back! They knew we were coming!” But your word didn’t carry weight here. Your face twists between pain and rage. König’s comment still rings in your ears as the onset of tinnitus does, as if anyone could ever love a woman like you in the first place. It wasn’t ideal to be thinking about this now—it was detrimental that you didn’t. 

But König and the things he did often stained your brain. No matter how much you tried to distance yourself from that fact. 

Snapping the knife in your grasp down in an arch to dispel the blood from the blade, you take a steel-laced inhale and shove off the wall. Limping, but moving. Sprained ankle. Nothing you hadn’t dealt with before.

The concrete under you is splattered with crimson viscera and you stumble over spasming bodies riddled with bullets. With a subdued shink you slip your knife into its thigh sheath, grabbing the FTac Recon strapped around your chest after slamming a fresh mag into it. With a numb calm overcoming you, you slip your forefinger into the trigger guard, poised over the easy press of the trigger itself. 

The long shadows spread over you; your head illuminated by the dull sheen of the moon as you pass under a stretch of open sky to slink into the building across the empty street. Feral yells still bounce off the air and you go to them readily, purpose settling in your veins. 

Pain flies to the back of your mind, displaced by adrenaline and the rabid puffs of breath that fall like grinding thunder from your lips.  

You wonder what König’s thinking right now—he’d without a doubt noticed that you were gone. He’d even probably gone to your barracks room to try and apologize and found it empty. That was just how he was. 

Would he be happy? You wondered. Relieved to see you out of his life? You’d both done nothing but fight, but there were moments of peace. Understanding. 

Shared meals and comfortable, yet sarcastic, comments; soft glances when the other wasn’t looking. Heat in your face and obviously shown on his when shy hands brushed. 

Your hold tightens on your gun, brows dripping with sweat as it dribbles down along with the blood. Gunfire flashes. 

Closer now.

Shadows scream on top of a raised walkway attached to an in-mountain compound, targets with trigger fingers firing on your fellows who take cover behind crumbling walls. Pinned down. You watch, unseen, from a broken window as dust and moths collide. 

Your eyes lock on the closest hostile and you raise your weapon slowly, barrel resting on the frame between shattered glass. You clock the distance and adjust accordingly; breaths falling steady. 

The small insect that keeps hitting the window plays in your mind over and over—drowning out the yells; the fire. 

Just a moth readily willing to smash into that barrier until it dies. You hum under your breath and rest the gun into the crook of your shoulder, cheek to stock. 

Your finger slams into the trigger. 

—

You stumble out of the loud infirmary with a bloody rag pressed deeply into your forehead, medical pouch under one arm. You hear rushing feet and barked orders from nurses and doctors just before the door closes, cutting off as you stake out on your own.

Limping, you reason there were others with more severe wounds than your own; as blood drips from your flooded rag, your feet take you deep into the base one broken step at a time. You’d figure it out yourself. 

Plus, the silence would give you time to think. Think about König. 

You just gritted your teeth and decided that was better than taking up space in the infirmary. 

In times like these, the Austrian would fix your wounds for you, just as you did his. While you had your disagreements and heated fights, he’d never made it as personal as he had hours beforehand. Never made it hurt. 

“Jesus,” you mutter, rubbing your other crusty hand over the mud along your chin. Everything ached and you don’t know if that’s a good or a bad thing. 

Flinching along like a downed bird, you shove through into the last door into the barracks; thoughts now stuck on finding a chair to sit down on before your legs gave out. The darkness of the common area was deep—staining your eyelids as you grunt, bumping into the back of the couch. 

It’s almost funny the way the lamp flicked on mere moments later. 

You hiss, eyes snapping shut as the rays attack your sight, rendering you blind for a moment. The shaking hand on your dripping rag tightens before the spark of pain makes you lighten the pressure. 

There’s a dark grunt just as you open your eyes back up.

“You are late.” König. 

He sits in one of the chairs—sniper hood still over his head yet only clothed in a large compression shirt and casual camo pants. Like a disappointed parent, the Austrian’s arms were crossed over his chest; feet resting out and crossed at the ankles. With such a big stature the look could strike fear into anyone. 

Anyone but you, that is. 

König’s dark eyes rove over you, stopping immediately on the fabric you keep to your forehead. The previous, furious, tone stops and the flash of very real concern takes precedence. His hands tighten on his biceps, thighs tensing over the cushion; spine just a little bit straighter. 

You watch and say nothing—dead-faced. 

Your heart suddenly skips beats, stuck into the framework of the man’s eyes. König’s brows peel back and a timid stutter stays in your breast.

“...Vögelchen?” Lids blink rapidly, and before you can register anything because of your blood loss and fatigue, you’re being dragged to the couch and forced to sit down. 

Strong hands encompass your shoulders and small breaths flutter in front of your face as König peels back to kneel in front of you; spying the medical pouch in your under-arm. 

“What is this?” He mutters to you, vision flinching along your body but always dragging back to the bloody rag on your face. “What did you do to yourself?” 

Scarred hands raise before pausing, obsidian eyes staring deeply into yours as if in frantic question. Your own gaze keeps him close, spying on his veiled fear at the sight of your blood and your disappearance. He’d heard about the mission, then, that much was upfront because of his earlier comment. 

The humvee had been late arriving back. Half an hour. 

“Fuck off,” you utter, shoving off the couch before you’re captured in an unyielding press again, shoved down. Your anger spikes along with your unease, “König! I don’t have the patience—”

“I’m sorry.” The fight leaves you. 

Fingers squeeze your biceps, hold lightly shaking with nerves. “I did not mean it.” Obsidian pierces you, “Please, Vögelchen, I am sorry. Utterly. I speak so fast I misplace words—get far more,” words fail as you stare so intently at him, a strange feeling swirling in your gut. König’s face was going crimson again, though not from anger. His tone was deep and honest, accent becoming more whole with emotion. The hands on your skin stay. “Rude than I intend. It is not an excuse, but…”

In the horizontal oval of his hood, you spy the dots of tiny freckles; the whispers of auburn hair. That hawk nose still points violently from behind the fabric. König never finishes his sentence, just takes a large breath and looks to the side after a moment of silence. 

Then he steals the medical pack from your grip and opens the zipper with firm fingers, taking out gloves and gauze. Needle and sutures. It’s all placed on the side table as the bear of an Austrian stays on his knees for you—bending and shifting as the bottom of his shirt rides up. 

It’s a tense affair of touching skin; warmth and hissed curses. Gentle shushing. But you say nothing through it. Until he’s up in your face trying off stitches with forceps and a needle holder, breath making his hood lightly caress your bloodless face. His fingers are large and firm, never second-guessing or stuttering over the course of directing tools that dig a needling and thread into your flesh. 

He’s warm and every motion elicits shivers. You see his form from the side of your eye; his face’s outline as the lamp light illuminates the hood’s fabric. Shadowy silhouette of König’s strong jaw that shifts with every other breath from his wide chest. 

“You’re an asshole for saying that to me, y’know.” you slip your gaze away just as he snaps over. “Adrenaline or not.” 

The needle pauses and a swift nod is given. 

“I…I know it was. No amount of apologizing can explain how very horrible I feel. It was like I was so…so…” An annoyed grunt was leveled at himself.

“Pissed off?” You offer quietly. 

“Yes! Pissed off.” Amused glances were shared, the air slowly smoothing out between the two of you. Dark eyes quickly look away from yours and König clears his throat terse-like. But softer, steadier, “I…could not bear it if I were to see you in harm and be unable to assist you. That…is why I was watching. Why I do watch you.”

Inside of you, it was like there was a pot of water on the stove, steadily boiling under the heat. Your eyes are delicately wide when the man’s hands leave your face; kneeling body still tall enough to stare into you.

“You are…” König pauses, but not to find the words. To ready himself. He takes a long breath. “You are special to me, my Vögelchen. I can not see you hurt,” a gesture to your forehead and creased eyes. As if your pain was his own. “Not like this.”

“What are you saying, König?” You whisper, face twisted with hurt and confusion. Apprehension. “You’re giving me mixed signals. We always fight with each other. I’m not saying I’m blameless, but…c’mon, now. Look at us.” 

“Not…always.” He grumbled like a child, tools placed away and hands dripping blood before he slips the gloves off. They meet the side table with a tiny toss. The Austrian leans back onto his ankles, butt to heel. He begins to look at your forehead and you can practically hear his heart break. “I do not like arguing with you, you know that, yes?” 

“Me neither,” you whisper, fingers fiddling as a sheen of anxiousness sets in. “You just,” you pause, “confuse me.”

 König blinks in surprise, head tilting and large eyes shimmering. Your mind flashes to a curious cat and you try to explain with a burning face and fast lips.

“You say we’re partners but you never act like it,” he stares and listens. When had you both had a conversation like this before? “You make it seem like you can’t trust me to do the simplest task. I’m not,” your voice betrays you, cracking, “I’m not that useless, am I?” 

He freezes, muscles going taunt. 

“U-Useless? Nutzlos? No, no,” A hand comes to capture your chin and you let him move you where he wishes. Creased eyes lock on yours. “That is not right. You’re not useless to me—how could you be?” Pained brows move in, “did I make you think like this? Like I did not appreciate your skills?” 

Your eyes burn, and the aches from your wounds mix with the pure fatigue in your flesh to leave your emotions running between sanity and sadness. A moment later you’re turning your head away. 

König recaptures it, hands finding both sides of your cheeks. He looks shaky; desperate. 

“No, please, Vögelchen, please. I need you to look at me.”

“König, I don’t—” You close your mouth before you let out the beginnings of a sob. “I can’t keep fighting with you.”

“I know, oh, I know,” his hands are so grounding it’s like you’re the inner pages of a book, and his grip the thick leather cover—leather laced with shared scars and the same that had stitched you up countless times. This push and pull had to end. “I cannot fight with you either—it tears me apart. Oh, du weißt gar nicht, wie sehr es mich schmerzt, dein wunderschönes Gesicht anzuschreien. Mit dir zu streiten bedeutet, meinen Verstand und mein Herz gleichzeitig zu brechen.” König’s thumbs run up and down your skin, still bloody with dried flakes falling to the ground. He seems not to care a bit. 

“What can I do to fix this? Anything. Anything to get us to stop doing this to each other.” You stare into his eyes, both creased and glazed over. 

There’s a brief moment where you wonder if anyone truly even knew you as well as König did—there was no one else that you shared such a deep connection with. Years upon years of being stuck at his side. 

And someone else’s hands had never felt as good as his. They were hard and callused over but cupped your face as gently as one would cup water from a rippling stream. His eyes were stars; visible skin like porcelain, his breath raised a large and wide chest with a fast-paced heart. You could sense his throat trapping air. 

König kneeled to you and bared himself. 

Anything, he had said, to fix what he had said. To stop this. 

There was one way you could think to stop this—it might not have been smart, certainly not, but…hmm…You gradually raised your hand raised from your lap and slipped it under the front of König’s hood. 

Slowly, with all the delicateness of a glass dragonfly, your fingers strayed to the side of his neck to press into tight flesh. A rapid pulse.

The man goes to stone. It’s like you’ve stolen his nervous system. Dark eyes stay locked onto yours as you gaze back, hand dragging nails up with a light pressure near to the speed of a slug. 

König whispers your name into the empty space and the oxygen seems to dry up. Warm light from the lamp cast phantoms on walls and over skin in a small moment of foreign discoveries. The Austrian swallows saliva and you feel his neck flex. You don’t answer him, just watch and feel his own hands tighten on your cheeks in warning. 

But you never listen, do you? Reckless you were called. And König had been right.

You were reckless.

Your hand had now explored like a map the indents of hidden facial scars; long and short over jaw and lips. The hand that was doing this had hiked the sniper’s hood up around your wrist so that the man’s lashes were twitching as the fabric got too close to his eyes. And you watched. And so did he. 

A twin pair of moths hitting a glass window, staring from opposite sides at one another until they realized the break in the frame. 

“Anything?” You ask in a loose tone, barely heard above the flood in both of your ears. 

König was breathing heavily but didn’t pull away. Pupils wide and body heavy to your touch. His spine briefly straightened, until he realized he had moved back slightly and immediately hunched again if only to keep your hands on him. 

“I…” he grunts, “A…anything.” Fingers touch his nose, they spread under the hood to trace the bumps and marks he keeps hidden like buried treasure. Your vision takes in the otherworldly hue on his visible skin; the glaze of rapture in his eyes yet still that ingrained heat. 

Your body shivers at the gravel in his accented English. 

Fingers stall over his lips, hood showing you the pale being of König’s strong chin and jaw. You shift your touch to the side and find chapped lips revealed to you, a small palate scar that had healed to nothing more than a line up to his nostril. 

You spare it nothing more than a glance before you look back into obsidian. Dark ether and dead galaxies devoid of stars. Swallowed in a sea of pasts and futures. You look for hesitation; for disgust. 

You find none. 

“You said that no one could ever love someone like me,” your head leans in, and your breath mingles together with an intimacy that had never been shared between this type of partners. König, as if broken from a spell, takes down a swift inhale of air into his stiff lungs. He stares with far back lids. Flashes of unidentified emotions. “Why did you say that?”

A moment of silence and of rabid hearts. The man’s lips twitch over yours as he answers slowly, not breaking eye contact for a moment. As if he did he’d be turned to rock. As if he’d miss something amazing from happening. 

He speaks with a whispered confession.

“Because if they did—I would have to kill them. Because no other than I would be able to love you more.” Your world slows and your ears strain with the breathy words. 

Face burning your lips part with shock and awe. Violent to any other, but to you this was a confession from a man that could meet you blow for blow—calm you and infuriate you all in one. Challenge you, but knew when he’d gone too far and how to properly apologize. 

He’d waited in that chair for you all night, you’d realized. 

For you to come back to him. His partner. 

You press your lips to his and hear his pitiful sounds of gasped reassurance. Slipping your tongue into his mouth, you let saliva drip off of your chins to splatter onto bent knees and shaking thighs.

König’s arms cage you; capture your waist and draw you closer, lips breaking apart before you both share a wide-eyed look of momentary pause. There was no room to breathe; to think. Chests hit together and fingers tighten to a tendon-visible hold.

The man's growing smile is wide from where you still hold his hood up by his nose, and with a lick of his red and wet lips, he reconnects your awaiting mouths. 

This time, you’re the one to gasp.

“Lass mich zeigen, wie leid es mir tut, Vögelchen.”

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[jksarchives]

BY YOUR SIDE

PAIRING; jungkook x reader

GENRE; f2l, fwb, angst, fluff

TAGS/WARNINGS; friends with benefits, best friends to lovers, domestic violence (not by jk), oc has panic attacks, violence, blood, injuries, hurt/comfort, fluff, implied smut, lots of crying, jk is very protective of oc

WORD COUNT; 7.9k

𝘛𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬 𝘪𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘱𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯! 𝘈𝘭𝘭 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘺 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘵𝘴 𝘮𝘦𝘮𝘣𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘢𝘭 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘯𝘰 𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘱𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮 𝘪𝘯 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭 𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘦!l

SYNOPSIS;

The question is, when do the lines blur between love and friendship?

𐚁₊⊹

The rain fell cold and heavily, the city painted in shades of silver and black. Streetlights flickered weakly, with their light barely visible through the rain. The night was filled with the sound of raindrops splattering against the concrete, mixed with unsettling rumbles of distant thunder.

You walked alone through the deserted streets at a slow pace, your steps heavy and staggering. Your shoes were soaked through, and they made soft, wet thuds with every movement, as if they were too tired to lift you any longer.

Tears streamed down your face, but they were indistinguishable from the rain that soaked your pale skin. They fell silently, lost in the deluge, as though the sky wept with you. Your breaths were shallow, with uneven gasps, the kind that follow after too much crying and not enough sleep.

The world around you was a blur, the cityscape fading into a mass of blackness cut through by neon signs and faint headlights far in the distance. Cars passed by occasionally, their drivers unaware of your lone figure travelling through the storm.

You were invisible in the rain, a shadow that slipped between those gaps of the night. Your hands hung loosely at your sides, your fingers trembling from the cold or possibly from intern distress.

Every so often, you paused, your body swaying slightly as though on the edge of collapse. But then you would begin again, dragging yourself forward, one step at a time, with no clear direction, no place to go. There was only the movement, the motion of walking that somehow seemed easier than standing still and feeling everything.

But it was comfort that you really sought. It was what you needed right now more than anything.

And so, you let your feet do the walking. Then soon, you found yourself standing before a familiar house, a place that held endless memories of laughter — and intimacy. You summoned the courage to ring the doorbell, your heart pounding in your chest.

The door soon creaked open, and you were met by the face of a man you had known for years — your best friend. Or someone more.

You didn’t know anymore. You’d been through so much together, shared countless moments — some joyful, some painful. Somewhere along the way, things had gotten messy. Emotions had blurred lines, but neither had the courage to define what they were. He wasn’t just your friend, but also wasn’t fully yours. That space between was confusing, painful. You didn’t know how to label what you had, and maybe that’s what scared you most of all.

“Y/n?” he frowned. There he stood, shirtless, his hair wet with droplets cascading down his defined abs. His eyes widened in surprise and concern looking at your distraught state.

“Jungkook” your voice trembled as you felt yourself choking up. Without hesitation, he quickly grabbed your hand and pulled you inside, closing the door behind him.

He cupped your tear-streaked face in his hands, his touch warm, gentle and reassuring. His worried and curious eyes met yours, “what’s wrong?” he asked, his voice a soft murmur.

Your lips trembled as you tried to find the words to express the storm raging inside you, the turmoil that had driven you to seek comfort at his doorstep. In the dim light of the entryway, his gaze fell upon a faint bruise marred against your skin. His heart clenched, a mixture of anger and worry welling up within him. His fingers brushed over the discolored mark with the utmost tenderness, but you winced in pain, causing him to retract his hand immediately.

“Y/n, who did this?” he asked, his voice firm.

The question hung in the air heavily. You bit your trembling lip, desperately trying to hold back the tears threatening to spill. You turned your head to the side, avoiding his intense gaze that was burning through your soul. Jungkook’s jaw clenched, a mixture of frustration and unease crossing his features.

Turning your head back to face him, he stared at you, searching for answers in your eyes. But all he found was a painful vulnerability that tore at his heart.

“I asked you a question damnit! Who did this to you?” he repeated, feeling his blood boil at the thought of someone hurting you.

In actuality, he knew who was hurting. He just wanted you to say the name knowing you’d do and say anything but his name.

And then, as if the dam within her had crumbled, you broke.

Your loud raw and unrestrained cries erupted into the quiet atmosphere as you crashed into her bare chest. His heart ached witnessing your anguish. He held you close with his strong arms wrapped around your vulnerable form, offering his comfort and support.

“Tell me” he persisted with a gentle tone, but all you did was cry, your shoulders shuddering at each sob. So he waited patiently as he held you close in his arms.

“No matter what I do or how much I try, I can never escape him Jungkook. I’m just done with everything, I’m tired. I don’t want to live like this anymore, it hurts” you cried.

Jungkook’s anger ignited like a storm within him, fueled by a protective instinct that couldn't be contained. His fists clenched involuntarily, his voice now a low, simmering growl.

“That bastard, I swear to god I’m going to fucking kill him when I get a hold of him” he said through gritted teeth.

“I just want to escape” you whimpered, hugging his waist tighter.

“And I’m going to get you out this time, no matter what” he promises, pulling away and staring into your eyes with determination.

“But how? You know how he is. He has power, money and strength that you know you can’t fight against” you questioned weakly.

“Do you trust me?” he asked, “more than anyone” you whispered an answer.

“Then let me handle this” he said, “but I’m scared he’s going to hurt you, and I don’t want anything to happen to you Jungkook” your worried eyes looked into his dark ones.

“Just trust me this once. I’m not letting that motherfucker hurt you ever again, I promise you” he said with seriousness.

You were quiet, feeling hesitant, but you were desperate to escape the toxic bubble you were trapped in. Sniffling, you gave him a nod, “I trust you” you told him.

In the moment of vulnerability, your gazes remained locked, and Jungkook found himself slowly leaning in, aching to kiss you. The air was thick with silent and unsaid emotions, and you felt his breath fan against your lips.

But he held himself back.

The bond you both shared was complicated. It was more than just friendship — you both somehow wanted to venture into the realm of lust and pleasure with no strings attached.

Yet, in this moment of vulnerability, he resisted crossing the boundaries you had both set. He was determined to be there for you in a way that transcended physical desires. A bittersweet smile curving up his lips as his fingers brushed against your cheek.

“You’re cold and wet, you should go shower. I still have your clothes here, I’ll get them for you, hmm?” he suggested.

“Hmm” you responded with a weak smile, and followed him upstairs with your hand intertwined with his.

Reaching his bedroom, he went to his wardrobe while you began to strip from your overgarments, leaving you in your black lace underwear and black cami top. You stood there with your shoulders slumped, tired and defeated.

“Jungkook?” you called out to your best friend, “hmm?” he responded, turning around with your clothes in his hands.

“Do you think I’m worthy enough to be loved and be happy like how they show it in the movies?” you asked, your voice small and cracked as tears accumulated in your eyes.

Jungkook’s heart sank at your question. Placing your clothes on the side of the bed, he approached you and pulled you into a tight comforting hug.

“You’re worthy of everything Y/n, who said you’re not?” he questioned.

“Every time I put my love and trust in someone, they always end up hurting me, like I was some easy game for them. Why? Am I doing something wrong? Don’t I deserve to be happy like everyone else?” you whimpered.

Jungkook couldn’t help but feel his heart sink deeper and deeper at your words, “no Y/n, you’re not doing anything wrong” he said.

“Then why? Why is he hurting me like this? He promised to take care of me, to love me, to always be there for me. Yet, he turned out to be the same monster he promised to protect me from” you silently cried.

“Sometimes monsters hide in sheep's skin. It’s not your fault for not seeing it. He had me fooled too, until when you told me about him slapping you. In fact, he has everyone fooled. And if you hadn’t stopped me that day and the other times he hurt you, I swear to god that bastard would’ve been dead by now” his gritted his teeth.

But then his eyes softened when he turned his attention back on you, “but please, please don’t blame yourself” he said.

“You deserve another chance. You deserve to be happy” he added, pulling away and looking into your eyes.

And there it was again, the urge to kiss you was overwhelming, like an irresistible force pulling him closer to you. As your breaths gradually synchronised, an electric tension hung in the air, a silent acknowledgment of something deeper between you.

Jungkook felt your fingers tremble against his back, and he could sense you yearning, aching for something more than just a friend's touch. Your heart and mind became one, both craving for one thing.

You wanted him. You needed him.

And slowly, you felt yourself leaning in. But for a moment you stopped, and he could feel your hot trembling breaths brush over his lips. He felt your hold around his torso tighten, and before he knew it, he felt your lips smash against his. You pushed him on the bed and hovered over him, kissing him hard.

For a moment he was caught off guard as he instinctively held your waist to support you, but soon succumbed to the overwhelming desire as he fluttered his eyes closed.

He kissed you back with the equal force and desire, his arms wrapping around your petite form as you melted into each other's warmth. The connection deepened as your lips moved in sync with his, a blend of comfort and yearning intertwining. Jungkook’s initial restraint gave way to the intensity of the moment, as he found himself exploring every inch of your lips.

The world outside faded away, leaving only your heartbeats echoing in the stillness. In that moment, the boundaries of your friendship blurred, and your feelings for each other were exposed — yet neither of you wanted to admit it.

Lost in the moment, your hands then slowly began to trail down to his crotch. Jungkook let out a deep groan against your lips, feeling a light squeeze around his clothed cock. “F-Fuck” he shakily swore under his breath as he then felt your hands slip inside his shorts.

However, he snapped back to his consciousness realising what was happening. His eyes shot open, and he grasped your hand to stop you from going any further. Feeling his lips detached from your, you let out a soft whimper.

“Y/n, stop” he cut in, his voice low and hoarse, and took your hand out of his shorts. “This isn’t right, we shouldn’t be doing this right now” he said.

“Why? I need you Jungkook. I want you to fuck me senseless and make me forget everything about today” you whimpered, leaning in closer to kiss him.

But Jungkook held you back shaking his head, and he flipped you over so that he was hovering over you. “You have me Y/n, and I’m not going anywhere. I’ll always be here for you. But you’re not okay right now, and I don’t want to take advantage of your vulnerability” he said.

You sighed in defeat, and slowly broke down into tears all over again. Your cries tore his heart apart, and he wished he could tell you how he truly felt about you.

He longed to wipe away not only your tears but all the sadness in your life — not as a best friend, but as someone who would take any risks to protect the woman he loved. He wanted to hold you closer, to whisper that he loved you more than words could convey, but fear gripped him. The fear of losing the beautiful bond you both shared, the fear of being rejected, and the fear of forever altering your relationship held him back.

As your cries grew loud and hysterical, Jungkook’s heart began to race in panic. His breaths were becoming short and ragged, and his eyes began to pool with tears.

“Hey, look at me” he said, cupping your face in his hands.

“Calm down, I’m here okay?” he tried to comfort you, but you continued to cry, your face turning red as you struggled to breathe in between.

Jungkook felt like his heart was going to rip out of his chest. He felt his throat tighten, trying to control his own tears that threatened to spill.

“Please don’t cry baby, it fucking hurts me” his voice cracked as he brought your face closer to his. Your tearful sobs echoed through the walls of his tiny home, your body trembling with each hiccuping breath.

“P-Please help me, please. Take me somewhere far away, somewhere where I don’t have to see him ever again. I’m scared Jungkook. I’m so fucking scared. Please, make me forget everything about him and all the pain he has inflicted. P-Please” you cried to him.

Jungkook’s eyes widened slightly at your panicked outburst, and gently shook you with your face still cupped in his hands. “B-Baby, baby, hey look at me” he grabbed your face, gently shaking you, and you slowly fluttered your eyes open to finally look at him through your blurry vision.

“Breathe for me baby, it’s okay. Just focus on me. You’re okay, everything’s going to be okay. I’m right here, I’m not going to let anyone hurt you again. I promise you” he said, his heart anxiously hammering inside his chest.

He wiped away your tears with his thumbs, caressing your bruised cheek with tender care, and you onto him as if he were your lifeline. Your breaths came in ragged gasps, and he spoke soothing words, trying to calm the storm inside you.

“Everything’s going to be okay, I promise” he whispered, leaning in to press his forehead against yours.

Slowly, your cries began to subside, replaced by hiccups and sniffles. Jungkook continued to hold you, his heartache mingling with relief that he could offer you some comfort in this moment of vulnerability. His eyes never left yours, and with his hot minty breath fanning over your lips, the storm within you slowly began to fade. You reached your trembling hands to touch his face, your cold fingers slowly tracing along his damp cheeks.

He was crying.

Grabbed the back of his neck, you pulled him in closer and pressed your trembling lips against his plump ones.

The kiss was different from the ones you both shared before. It was slow, tender, and filled with a depth of emotion that words could never convey. It was a kiss that spoke of longing, of hidden feelings finally being acknowledged. Your lips moved together in perfect harmony, a silent confession of their own. And it was as if your souls had finally found each other in that moment, and everything made sense.

As you both pulled away, your foreheads gently touching, you could feel your heart pounding, both breathless. You knew that things had changed between you two. It wasn't just about being friends with benefits anymore; it was about exploring the possibility of something deeper and more meaningful.

“I love you” you muttered against his lips as you wiped away his tears.

It was as if your words held an earth shattering weight to them, Jungkook’s eyes widened, feeling his heart swell as he tried to process your words.

“W-What?” looked at you, “say that a-again?” he stuttered.

“I love you Jungkook, maybe more than a friend, I always have. I wish I had told you earlier” you repeated with a small smile on your face.

Jungkook felt his eyes water, a soft chuckle escaping his mouth, “and what if I tell you I love you too?” he asked.

“I know” you answered, which took him by surprise.

“You knew?” he raised his brow, “the way you act, the things you say, the things you do for me, you’d never do it for anyone else. It was obvious” you said, caressing his cheeks.

Jungkook smiled shyly, snuggling his face in the crook of your neck, “I’d do anything for you” he said.

“You don’t know how happy and relieved I am, I thought you wouldn’t love me back” he then said, his tone changing. Feeling a rug in your heart, you wrapped your arms around his bare torso.

“After everything we’ve been through and everything you have done for me, how can I not?” you responded, placing a soft kiss on his shoulder.

Pulling away, Jungkook stared at you with love shining in his eyes. For a moment there was silence as you both stared into each other’s eyes.

“I love you Y/n. I love you so fucking much. If there’s anything I need in this world, it’s you. I want to be with you, protect you, start a family together and build our own little world. And I promise you I will kill any bastards who hurt you, especially him” he said with determination in his voice.

Your gaze was soft and your smile was gentle as an angel as you continued caressing his cheek. “You love me?” you asked, “so much” he answered.

“How much do you love me?” you then asked, “more than anything in this world — more than my life” he answered without hesitation. You felt your eyes water at his answer, heart growing heavy with emotions.

“Then show me. Show me how much you love me” you said.

And the next thing you knew, he stripped you bare, trapping you under his naked body as he explored every inch of you. It wasn't a moment of lust and desire between you, but rather an act of promising love. And it was at that moment you knew this man was going to cherish you forever, and you trusted him with everything you had.

━━━━━━━━━━

▍TWO DAYS LATER

It was nine in the morning, the sun's gentle rays began to seep through the curtains while you and Jungkook lay entwined in a peaceful slumber.

But that tranquility was soon shattered. Suddenly, a series of loud, thunderous bangs echoed through the house, vibrating like a gunshot in the quiet dawn.

Startled, your eyes snapped open, your heart racing in fear. Instinctively, you wrapped your arms around Jungkook’s muscular torso, snuggling yourselves deeper into his embrace.

‘It’s him. It’s him!’ your mind screamed as you began breathing heavily. Soon you felt Jungkook stirring from his slumber as he slowly blinked away his sleep, and quickly registered the panic in your eyes.

“What happened?” he asked, his voice groggy yet concerned as he sat up.

You sat up and held his arm, and you couldn’t even respond as the banging persisted, growing even louder than before. Frowning, Jungkook threw the blanket to the side and rose to his feet.

“Who the hell is banging on the door at this hour?” he muttered under his breath with a hint of annoyance.

However, before he could walk off, you quickly moved to grab his hand to stop him, your wide eyes pleading with him to stay put. You shook your head slightly, a mix of fear and caution written across your features.

Jungkook looked down at you in confusion, “what’s wrong?” he asked. “Don’t open the door, please. What if it’s him?” you whispered urgently, your voice quivering in fear.

Jungkook’s eyes softened, feeling his heart ache seeing how fear was consuming you. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to let him do anything” he reassured, reaching his hand out to caress your cheek.

“But what if he hurts you?” you questioned as you desperately clutched onto his hand.

“His height might be an advantage to him, but he’s nothing compared to me. Trust me babe, I’ll be fine, don’t worry” he said with a warm smile.

But despite his reassurance, your heart still felt uneasy. You trusted him a lot, but that man was unpredictable, and you could never guess what his next move might be.

“You stay here, okay? Don’t come out” he instructed, and you nodded.

“Be careful” you told him, “I will” he said before slipping out of your grip and leaving the room.

The relentless knocking continued as he reached downstairs, now accompanied by muffled shouts and threats. Jungkook’s jaw clenched as he approached the door, his hand hesitating on the door handle. He knew it was him.

He took a deep breath, his senses heightened as he prepared for whatever that might come ahead. He gripped the door handle and uncooked the door. Almost instantly the door swung open, and before he could react, a brutal force struck him square in the chest. The impact sent him flying backward, crashing onto the hardwood floor with a loud thud.

Pain exploded through his body, and the world momentarily blurred as he struggled to catch his breath. And as his vision cleared, he saw a menacing figure towering over him — and he knew very well who it was.

Jungkook struggled to his feet, his chest throbbing from the impact. But he held his ground, his fierce eyes locked onto your boyfriend. Well, ex-boyfriend.

“Where is she?” his deep devilish voice demanded with his jaw clenched.

“That is none of your business anymore Minseok” Jungkook growled.

Hearing that, Minseok’s rage intensified. He lunged forward, grabbing the shorter man by the collar of his shirt and pinning him against the nearest wall.

His grip was tight, and his voice dripped with venom as he repeated his demand, “fucking tell me where she is you bastard!” he screamed.

The tension in the room reached its breaking point, and Jungkook’s patience snapped, pushing him to his limits. Summoning every ounce of strength, he pushed against the other man’s hold, breaking free from his grasp.

Before Minseok could react, Jungkook’s fist connected with his jaw in a swift and powerful punch. Gasping for breath, he stood his ground with his hands curled up into fists in defense.

“Or what?” he challenged as he glared at the man who looked taken back by the hit. But his gaze hardened once again as he regained his composure, and took a few steps towards the shorter male.

“Oh you wouldn’t want to go down there Jeon, you’ll regret it” Minseok warned with a smirk.

Jungkook scoffed, “what are you going to do? Have someone else fight for you as always?” he questioned.

“You’re nothing without your money and power Minseok, and that is what truly makes you a coward” he said, raising his hand and pressing his index finger on the other male’s chest.

Minseok was a man of wealth and status, admired in social circles for his success in the finance world. He owned a renowned finance company, and his reputation as a gentleman followed him wherever he went. Polished, charming, and always impeccably dressed, Minseok had a way of making people feel important in his presence. When you first met him, it seemed like you had found your prince — a man who showered you with love, respect, and attention.

He was everything you could hope for in a partner — or at least that was what he made you believe.

In the beginning, your relationship felt like a dream. Minseok was always thoughtful, planning special dates, surprising you with gifts, and making you feel cherished.

To the outside world, he was the ideal boyfriend, and you were often the envy of your friends. Jungkook too. You couldn't help but be captivated by his charm. He spoke with such kindness, always knowing the right thing to say, especially when it came to your feelings. He made you feel safe, like you could trust him with anything.

Oh how badly you wished you knew everything before.

But as your relationship progressed, subtle cracks began to show — things you had ignored in the haze of infatuation. Minseok had a way of steering conversations back to his needs, his successes, his frustrations, though he cloaked it all in gentleness.

A year into your relationship, he expressed his desire to take things to the next level — intimacy — but you weren’t ready. You loved him, yes, but something inside you hesitated. When you told him you needed more time, he seemed to understand at first. He reassured you, saying all the right things like “I respect your boundaries”.

The second time he brought it up, you felt a little more pressure, but Minseok still kept his composure. However, by the third time, something inside him snapped.

It started with a subtle shift — his eyes narrowing, his voice becoming clipped and tense. You had said, once again, that you weren’t ready, expecting the same understanding response. But instead, Minseok exploded. His face contorted with anger, and he yelled at you, demanding to know why you didn’t trust him. The gentleness that had once defined him vanished, replaced by a cold, aggressive fury.

You were bewildered and terrified. You had never seen him act in such a way, and it left you feeling confused and guilty, as though you somehow caused his outburst.

You convinced yourself it was just a one-time thing — stress from work, maybe. But it wasn’t. The more you pushed back on his demands, the angrier he became. It escalated quickly, and one evening, during another argument, Minseok’s anger turned violent. In a blind fit of rage, he raised his hand and struck you across the cheek.

The moment his hand met your skin, time seemed to stop. You stood frozen in shock, your mind unable to comprehend what had just happened. This was the man who had once showered you with love, the man who made you feel safe. And you always wondered: how could he be the same person who was now causing you pain?

Traumatised and deeply shaken, you didn’t know who to turn to. You kept the incident to yourself, unable to fully process the fact that the man you thought you knew was capable of such violence.

You avoided Jungkook for a week after the incident, afraid that telling him would make everything real. But as the weeks went by, Minseok’s abuse became more frequent, and his once-charming demeanor dissolved completely.

He became a stranger — cruel, controlling, and unpredictable. Each time he hurt you, it was as though the Minseok you had fallen in love with ceased to exist, replaced by someone monstrous.

Or maybe that was who he truly was, and the image everyone had of him was just a facade.

Eventually, the burden became too heavy to bear. You opened up to Jungkook, who had noticed the subtle changes in your behavior long before you even said anything to him. He had seen the fear in your eyes, the way you flinched at sudden movements, and the forced smiles that no longer reached your eyes.

When you finally told him about the abuse, Jungkook was horrified. He had always suspected something was wrong, but hearing the truth from your own mouth shattered the image he had of Minseok.

Jungkook was furious. He wanted to confront Minseok, to make him pay for everything he had put you through. His hands clenched into fists as he ranted about how no man had the right to treat you that way. He was ready to beat him up without hesitation.

But you stopped him.

Though terrified and hurt, you weren't ready for that kind of confrontation. You knew Minseok too well — his temper, his influence, and how easily he could manipulate people. You didn’t want violence to be met with more violence. Confronting him could make things worse, not just for you, but for Jungkook too.

It took everything in you to convince Jungkook to hold back, to stop him from going after Minseok. He protested, his anger still boiling over, but eventually, he agreed. He wouldn’t act on his rage, at least not yet.

Jungkook then tried to convince you to break up with him. But you couldn’t. It wasn’t that easy. Breaking up with him wasn’t as simple as walking away. There would be consequences, and the uncertainty of those consequences kept you paralysed.

You saw the dark side of Minseok, and the thought of leaving him terrified you. You didn’t know what he was capable of if you did try. Every time you imagined the conversation where you told him it was over, your mind filled with dread. What if he hurt you worse?

So, for five more months, you stayed. You endured the abuse, hiding your bruises and your pain, putting on a brave face in public while Minseok continued to control your life.

But now, you were tired. You were tired of constantly running when you knew there was someone who you could lean on — Jungkook. Every time Minseok lashed out, you found yourself retreating into Jungkook’s arms, needing him in ways you had never needed anyone before.

But somewhere along the way, the line between friendship and something more began to blur. What started as simple comfort, a place to escape the pain Minseok inflicted, shifted. The way Jungkook’s arms felt around you lingered in your mind long after you both parted. The warmth of his touch, once so innocent, began to stir something deeper in you. You found yourself longing for those moments, not just for the comfort but for the connection you felt with him.

One night, after yet another moment of abuse, you found yourself at Jungkook’s doorstep, broken and vulnerable. As usual, Jungkook welcomed you in, no questions asked.

But that night felt different. The weight of all the pain, all the confusion, all the emotions you had been bottling up, came crashing down. And in that moment, when Jungkook pulled you into his arms, something altered. The hug lingered a little longer, his hands gentle as they wiped away your tears. Without thinking, you leaned in, and Jungkook didn’t pull away.

The kiss was soft at first, tentative, as if both of you were unsure of what was happening. But the unspoken feelings you both had been hiding for so long surged to the surface, and what started as a hesitant kiss quickly became something more. That night, you sought more than just emotional comfort from Jungkook — you sought intimacy, a connection that went beyond the friendship you had built over the years.

In the days that followed, you found yourself confused. You still hadn’t left Minseok, too afraid of the consequences, but your heart was no longer in it. How could it be, when Jungkook was the one who had been there for you all along? Every time you thought of Jungkook, your heart ached, not with pain but with longing.

It took you long enough to realise that you had fallen in love with your best friend, and there was no doubt that Jungkook loved you too. It was obvious he did.

Back to reality, Jungkook knew he had pulled the trigger with his words with the way fire in the man’s eyes erupted, but he didn’t care — he would do anything to fight for you.

The next thing they knew was the hallway erupting into a violent chaos. The sounds of grunts, fists meeting flesh, and the crashing of furniture filled the air, as two men fought for their own reasons.

“I’m not letting you hurt her again” Jungkook growled, throwing another punch at Minseok’s cheek.

As the man doubled down in pain, Jungkook took the opportunity to kick him with a powerful force, sending him to the ground. Ignoring his bloody fists, he quickly got on top of him and began throwing punches left and right, his anger blinding him completely.

“If Y/n hadn’t stopped me, I would have killed you a long time ago. But anymore. I’m going to kill you today” Jungkook seethed, his voice filled with a burning rage that matched the fire in his eyes.

You, on the other hand, heard the commotion from downstairs, and your heart was rapidly pounding against your ribcage.

You jumped off the bed and rushed to the door, but you stopped yourself just as you were about to twist the door handle. You hesitated for a moment as your mind raced with all sorts of thoughts, but felt your concern for Jungkook’s safety overcome your anxiety, and soon you rushed out of the room.

Halfway down the staircase, you came to an abrupt stop. You clung to the railing, your eyes widened in terror seeing your worst fears right in front of you. Adrenaline surged through your veins, and despite you trembling, you knew you couldn't stay hidden any longer.

Your body began shake witnessing the chaos, especially the blood that was on the floor. With tears in your eyes, you continued your way down and ran towards Jungkook, screaming for him to stop.

“Jungkook stop!” you cried, grabbing his shirt and trying to pull him away.

The room was a warzone, and you felt trapped in the crossfire of emotions and violence. Your hands trembled as you tried to pull Jungkook away from Minseok, but the fury in his eyes kept him fixated on the man below.

“Baby please, stop it!” you sobbed in terror, feeling your grip weaken. Your voice soon caught Minseok’s attention, and his hard glare pierced through your soul. Soon, he found himself using all his strength to kick off the man above him, sending him crashing into a nearby table.

Jungkook grunted in pain, his breath knocked out of him. You gasped in horror, frozen with fear as Minseok staggered to his feet. His eyes darted between the two of you, and a twisted grin formed on his bloody lips, “at last I found you” he said.

“S-Stay away from me” you warned him, your heart pounding in fear as he walked towards you.

“But I came to take you home baby. And I promise to be nicer” his said, his voice innocent as a child.

You shook your head vigorously, “n-no, I’m not coming anywhere with you. Take the hint Minseok, we’re over. We’ve been over since the day you raised your hand on me. You’re a monster, and I’ll never love a monster like you. All you did was hurt me, and force me to do things I never wanted to do. I’ll never forgive you for the shit you’ve done to me” you cried as you stepped backwards.

The twisted grin on his lips widened, and his eyes grew fiercer with anger. “I’m taking you with me whether you like it or not” he said with his deep and harsh, ignoring whatever you had just said.

You felt helpless, trapped, and tears streamed down your face as you took slow trembling steps backwards. “You thought you could leave me so easily?” he hissed, his eyes burning with fire.

“You thought you could be happy without me?” he questioned.

You felt the air knock out of your lungs when your steps came to a sudden halt, feeling your back hit against the wall. Panic began to well up and your breaths became shallow gasps. Minseok’s smirk grew seeing you helpless, and he took the opportunity to close the distance between you both.

“You can’t escape me babygirl, you’re mine. Not his, not anyone’s, but mine” he growled, slamming his hand on the wall above your head as he leaned down to you.

You flinched, and your voice trembled as you tried to respond, but your fear had paralysed you. Your mind raced, searching for a way out, but his threatening presence left you feeling powerless.

In that moment, you realised the true extent of the darkness you had escaped when you left him behind. You had found happiness and love with Jungkook, and you felt safe with him. But now, face to face with your past, you were forced to confront the demons you thought you had left behind.

“And if I can’t have you, no one can, because you’re always going to be mine. GOT IT?!” he screamed, grabbing a fistful of your hair.

You let out a loud shriek followed by a terrified and agonising cry, and all you could pray at this moment was for everything to end. It felt like a nightmare from which you couldn't wake.

Just when it seemed like all hope was lost, a sudden crash shattered the tense atmosphere.

Jungkook, driven by a mix of fear and anger, staggered to his feet despite the excruciating pain in his abdomen and grabbed a vase from the nearby table. With a fierce swing, he struck Minseok over the head, and the impact sent him crumpling to the floor, unconscious. The room fell into a long heavy silence, soon broken by your laboured breathing and the faint sobs that escaped your trembling lips.

Jungkook rushed to your side, wrapping his arms around you, offering the safety and protection you had so desperately needed. “Are you okay? Did he hurt you anywhere?” he questioned, panicked, as he pulled away.

He cupped your face, scanning your face and body for injuries. Seeing nothing, he sighed in relief. “I-I’m okay” you reassure him with a nod, struggling to keep your composure.

But Jungkook could see right through you. You were shaken. The fear of forever being trapped in the hands of a monster, the fear of being hurt, and chaos that unfolded in front of you — you were traumatised.

Without saying a word, he pulled you into a tight embrace. And in that moment, you felt yourself crumble, and all the pent up emotions came flooding down. “Let it all out, it’s okay” he whispered into your ear.

Overwhelmed, you broke down into tears, crying out loud and hysterically as you clung onto him. You cried out all the fear, anger, and pain that had been bottled up inside you for so long.

“I-I was so s-scared Jungkook” you cried.

“You’re okay now. He’s not going to hurt you after this, I promise” he reassured, placing a kiss on your forehead as he tightened his hug. You stay like that for a while until your cries died down, and when they did, you pulled away and turned your gaze to the unconscious man lying on the floor.

“What are we going to do now?” you asked.

“I’ll drop you off at my parents’ house, just stay with them for a while. I’ll handle everything here, don’t worry” he answered. You turned to face him, and it was only then when you noticed his face. Your eyes widened and a gasp left your mouth as you scanned his face.

“J-Jungkook, you’re hurt” you said, cupping his face in your hands — he was bleeding everywhere. The gnash on his forehead, the cut on his cheek and his bleeding lip, it all made your stomach churn.

“I’m fine, don’t worry” he smiled weakly.

“Now go and get ready, I’ll drop you off. I’ll come over later and we’ll stay over for a few days until everything is sorted out, hmm?” he explained, and gave him a nod in agreement.

“But let me treat your wounds first at least” you then said, “okay” Jungkook sighed.

And with that, you held his hand and dragged him upstairs. Jungkook was never a violent person, but in this moment, he knew he had done what he had to do to protect you, even if it meant resorting to violence.

━━━━━━━━━━

▍THREE DAYS LATER

As the rain poured outside, Jungkook sat by the window with his phone pressed to his ear. He gazed at the grey sky watching the droplets that trickled down the glass pane.

“That bastard is done for anyway, but I’ll be over there in an hour or two” he said, and after exchanging a few more words, he ended the call.

Just as he ended the call, his mother entered the room holding a steaming cup of coffee. “Here you go dear” she said as she handed the cup to her son. Jungkook gave her a small smile as he took it from her, mumbling a tiny ‘thank you’.

“How’s Y/n doing? She was complaining of a headache last night” Jungkook asked, “she’s resting in the room. She’s okay now, I made her soup earlier” she replied as she sat down next to him.

It had been three days since Minseok’s intrusion, and you were still shaken by everything. Jungkook knew he had reached his breaking point that day, and he promised himself that he wouldn’t hold back anymore if he came face to face with him.

“Is everything okay honey? You look stressed. Also, what’s happening with that man?” she asked, gently rubbing his back.

“He’s still in custody. He wants to file an appeal despite all the evidence against him. If the court grants that appeal, I know for sure he’s going to use his dirty tricks to get himself out. But I’m not going to let that happen” Jungkook answered with a sigh, and bright the cup to his lips to take a sip.

Jungkook called his family lawyer the moment you and him reached his parents’ house. The man had been a steady presence in their lives for years, handling everything from minor disputes to family issues. Now, Jungkook needed his guidance for something much darker. The attack wasn’t just on him; it was part of a larger pattern of abuse Minseok had been subjecting you to for months. So with the lawyer’s advice, Jungkook made sure that everything was done right.

“What’s the public’s opinion on this? I heard him and his company had a good reputation” his mother then questioned.

Not long after consulting with his family lawyer and further investigation, somehow Minseok’s actions had reached the media. Information not just about the abuse and the recent attack, but the shady business dealings and the fraud had been leaked by internal sources. Reporters had jumped on the story, exposing him for what he truly was — a manipulator, an abuser, a criminal hiding behind a veneer of respectability.

Jungkook had watched it unfold with a mix of relief and disbelief. The world was finally seeing the truth about Minseok, and you didn’t have to hide anymore.

“Well, the good thing is that they’re not on his side. They saw and heard everything, so even if he was to get himself out, he still wouldn’t be able to live the way he did before — they’ll tear him apart” Jungkook explained as he placed the cup on the table.

“Everything is going to be alright, it’s just a matter of time” she reassured him.

“I hope so. I don’t want that bastard near her ever again, or else-” he gritted his teeth.

“Jungkook,” his mother cut him off before he could finish, Jungkook hummed and turned to face her.

“The enemy you’re fighting is not fighting you because you’re weak. He’s fighting you because you’re strong. He’s fighting you because he knows what the truth is and so do you. If anything, he’s scared. He’s scared that you’re not a coward like him who hides behind money and power. Standing your ground and fighting for truth is the biggest weapon anyone could use, no matter what happens. Remember that” she said, looking into his eyes.

Jungkook wished he could snap his fingers and make everything right. But he knew it wouldn’t be that simple. You both would have to face whatever came next — together, whatever that meant. Whether you were his girlfriend or just his best friend didn’t seem so important right now. What mattered was that you were here, safe, and that he would do whatever it took to make sure you stayed that way.

━━━━━━━━━━

▍TWO DAYS LATER

The tension in the courtroom was suffocating, and you couldn’t hide your anxiety and anticipation as your eyes fixated on the judge. Your hands were tightly intertwined with Jungkook’s, who had been your rock through this whole journey.

“Everything’s going to be okay” he said.

You glanced at Jungkook who seemed a little nervous but somehow relaxed at the same time, as if he already knew what the outcome was going to be.

Across the courtroom, Minseok stood as a shell of his former self, looking dishevelled and defeated as the judge read out his sentence. The courtroom felt cold, and the air was thick. You had your eyes fixed on the floor, barely breathing as the words rang out.

“Yoo Minseok, you are sentenced to ten years in prison for abuse, assault, and fraud. As Miss Kim Y/n requested, a restraining order is placed upon your release. And any violations to the order will serve you a further three years in prison” the judge declared, his voice firm and final.

Jungkook exhaled a breath he didn’t realise he had been holding. It was over. The months of manipulation, the fear you had lived in, the attack — it was all over.

You couldn't hold back your tears, not of sorrow, but of relief and joy. The weight that had burdened you for so long had finally lifted. The courtroom seemed to blur as your emotions overwhelmed you. You cried not only for yourself but for the countless others who had suffered silently under his control.

However, amidst the tears and celebration, a sudden angry scream pierced the air. It was Minseok, his face twisted with rage, as the guards began to escort him away. The sound of his furious voice startled you, and you quickly gripped onto Jungkook’s shirt.

“It’s over now baby, he’s not going to hurt you anymore” Jungkook said, placing a kiss on top of your head as he hugged you tighter. You hummed, but kept your eyes at the raging man.

His outburst was ineffective, a last desperate attempt to reclaim control over a life he had tried to shatter. But justice had conquered, and you could finally breathe freely, knowing that you were safe from his abuse.

Jungkook held you close in his arms as your body shook with sobs, crying every drop of emotions you had pent up inside you. “I love you, thank you for staying by my side” you choked in between your cries.

Jungkook kisses the top of your head, holding you even closer. “I love you too, and I’ll always be by your side. And I'm so proud of you for staying strong, and for trusting me” he said.

You looked up and smiled at him, slowly leaning in and pressing your lips on his. As years of heartbreak and suffering came to an end, you finally found your happily ever after with a man you trusted with everything — because you knew he would never hurt you like Minseok did.

𝗔𝗟𝗟 𝗥𝗜𝗚𝗛𝗧𝗦 𝗥𝗘𝗦𝗘𝗥𝗩𝗘𝗗

@𝗷𝗸𝘀𝗮𝗿𝗰𝗵𝗶𝘃𝗲𝘀 𝟮𝟬𝟮𝟰

©️

[yandere-sins]

Angel Shot

This was just a quick warm up before breakfast after I doomscrolled social media :) If you don't know what an "Angel Shot" is, feel free to google it, it's actually a very nice concept.

Warning: Yandere, Fem!Reader, Non-Con Touches, Alcohol, Force Feeding Drinking, Refusal of assistance to a person in need, Humiliation

»»———————— ♡ ————————««

"An 'Angel Shot', please."

The languid polishing of the beer glass came to a slow halt as the bartender processed your order. Your heart was beating so hard that your chest began to hurt from the pressure. The older gentleman looked up, staring straight into your soul with eyes that had lost all their sparkle and all the usual energy one possessed. Those were the eyes of someone who had seen too much in his life and fought too hard to survive.

He reminded you of the self you'd be in the future.

Curling your sweaty palms into fists on top of the counter, you opened your mouth again, repeating, "Angel Shot." Although it was much quieter this time, barely audible over the loud live music and talking patrons in the bar, you knew he heard you.

This was your only chance. You didn't care why that criminal took you to his favorite bar instead of letting you go. Didn't know why he'd care about going out to drink and socialize after you cried out all your anger. He'd just been sitting on the couch without so much of a reaction while you screamed and raged, pleaded, and sobbed, only to get up and announce you were going out, grabbing you by the arm and dragging you with him.

The bartender finally set down the glass, pulling the toothpick from between his lips before facing you, recognizing your presence with his attention. "No such thing here, Sweety."

You watched as his gaze fell over your shoulder, and he gave a short nod to someone behind you. Even though you didn't need to turn around to know it was that psycho who had forced you into his car and made you share his bed ever since, you still glanced back, catching his eyes on you, gaze never wavering. Even as he pushed a hand of party mix into his mouth, he kept staring, a knowing grin spreading as he wiped the crumbs from his lips.

"Nothing personal, Love," the bartender drew your attention back to him. The sound of glasses being set in front of you—a large one obviously filled with beer and a small shot glass with transparent fluids swiveling inside—was what made you focus on him again. Toothpick back in his mouth, the bartender held out a piece of paper towards you, nudging it for you to grab.

"Can't make the boss angry."

And with that, he left to tend to other people along the bar. Tears threatened to well up again in your eyes as you stared at the paper, folding it open to reveal a rankly written 'Angel Shot' on it. You stuffed it between your skin and waistband, not wanting the "boss" to know what it said.

Grabbing the two drinks, you had no choice but to bring them over to the table, his smirk widening at the sight of you serving him. You thought about dumping it all over his head, or at least his crotch, so it would look like he pissed himself and stir up a commotion. But if even the bartender, a savior of lost souls, refused to help you because he was too afraid of your captor, then you doubted anyone here would be on your side.

Setting down the drinks next to the criminal, you banged your hips into the table as his hand fell to the back of your thigh, not expecting the sudden touch. It roused some heads, but once they glanced in your direction and then at him, they all lowered again.

"Thanks for the drinks, Babe," he chuckled, hand driving ever higher on your leg, his pointer stretching away from the others to dig into your supple ass cheek before he ultimately grabbed it with his whole hand.

You swatted at his hand, pushing it down. Shame betraying your expression, you whipped around, ready to complain that you were in public, when this fiend hooked a finger under your waistband and pulled you roughly forward. Your feet threatened to stumble over themselves if not for another arm snaking around your midriff, catching you mid-air, and pulling you onto his lap.

But to your horror, the second you regained control of your body, you felt his finger curl beneath your waistband, the scrapping of paper against your skin unmistakably.

"No, wait!" you gasped, trying to push the note down and pull his hand out of your clothes, but he was quicker. Curling his pointer around the paper, he tugged it out and leaned back in the chair, causing you to go after him to retrieve the message by climbing entirely on top of him. Too late did you realize your mistake, his free arm tightening around your back and pressing you down with force so you couldn't escape, couldn't bring any distance between your bodies, rendering you caught.

"What do we have here?" he teased, and for some reason, you thought he already knew. With only one hand, your captor managed to unfold the piece of paper, leaning his head back to read it. "Ah~" he hummed, sounding almost satisfied. "Clever girl."

With that, he simply let go of the paper, allowing it to flutter to the ground without a care. You watched it sink, your feelings betraying you by shooting helpless tears into your eyes as you felt all your effort being in vain. The paper may have drifted down gently, but it was as if a ton of weight was crushed down on you simultaneously.

"Now, now. You're supposed to have fun. Drink, dance, enjoy some time away from home."

"How could I—"

"Ah, ah, no talking back. Have a drink and be merry."

Swatting his hand against your rear, you jolted, fingers curling into his shoulders where you had found hold. This situation was so infuriating, the way you could do nothing against that bastard. You watched him briefly turn away from you to grab one of the glasses, the cocky, self-assured smile never wavering while you felt your own face go through the first four stages of grief.

He held up the shot glass in front of you, the undefined liquid gently swaying inside, but you tightened your lips, refusing to take what he was giving you. "Angel Shot for you. That's what you wanted, right?"

The mockery wasn't lost on you, and it must have shown as the criminal's grin widened. Then, suddenly, he sighed, shaking his head. His next words were quieter, but the impact was tremendous. He'd not let you argue this.

"Don't be a party pooper," he mumbled. "Everyone's watching, enjoying the show. Let them welcome you to the gang in their own way."

Still, you refused. He held it up for a few more seconds before sighing again. Things happened quickly as he loosened his arm around your waist, only for his hand to shoot up to your head, fingers burying into your hair. With a swift chug, he poured the liquor into his mouth before crashing it against yours. There was no doubt what he wanted to do, the fluids burning against your lips as you tried hard to keep it outside.

But the next thing you knew was your nose being pinched, a gasp escaping you as the burning sensation spread all over your mouth. It hurt all the way down your throat, bitterly and angrily, as the alcohol raked against the sensitive skin of your mouth. You'd never tasted anything so foul, disgust twisting your gut.

It was only made worse by the probing tongue licking up the remnants of the alcohol, perhaps spreading it further. Your head was wrangled by the grip on your hair until your body was bent and bowed in a way that allowed your captor to thoroughly abuse the position you were in, never breaking the toxic kiss as long as he wanted. Breathing was hard; everything hurt. Tears streamed down your temples and forehead, following the gravity while your head was strung upside down.

You didn't enjoy a second of it while your captor only groped you harder with his free hand, letting a low groan rumble from his to your chest. You wished you could have thrown up in his mouth, but it was simply impossible to do anything. When he finally released you, with only one arm around you and gripping your ass to steady your body, you coughed and gagged while he peacefully sat back, picked up the beer, and took a few sips.

Stupidly, you didn't think twice when you were offered a random glass from somewhere, your mouth and nose burning with the aftermath of that shot. If there was no chance of immediately evacuating someone who asked for an Angel Shot, shouldn't the shot not at least have been water to not enhance the predicament of the poor person suffering from it? You didn't even know what it was that had assaulted you so, but it did seem to have amused the crowd, their cheering and applause finally catching your ears.

Eager to stop the pain, you took a swig of the drink that had been handed to you, the disgusting, volatile taste of beer spreading over your tongue. This time, you could stop and spit, not enough to throw up, but at least enough to cause some laughs and "Ew!"s to erupt from the bar patrons.

You pushed the glass back into your captor's hand, not caring if the fluids swapped onto his clothes or anything, as you pushed yourself away. From your excursion to the bar, you knew where the bathroom was, but all you heard were the whistles of the people around you and the laughter of your captor as you stormed off with more tears sullying your face.

This was only the beginning of the torture, you assumed. The lack of knowledge of why it was you that he kidnapped and why he was treating you so cruelly was slowly tearing apart your mental stability, but at least in the bathroom, you'd be able to cry in peace and regain some composure. And most importantly: wash out your mouth from the filth they served at this rundown bar.

"Don't take too long," you heard your captor shout after you, and you shot a glare back over your shoulder as you reached the bathroom door. He was grinning, watching you as he sipped his beer. There was a stain on his clothes, and although small, that victory soothed some of the fury you felt. But his eyes were burning embers. There was a fire in his gaze as he fixated on you, never looking away, barely blinking. You didn't understand how he could feel this passionate while being in a place so void of excitement, but it gave you goosebumps.

You said nothing as you slipped through the gap in the door, but the last thing you heard was, "Bartender! One round of "Angel Shots" for the bar!"

Followed by the roaring and cheers of the crowd, letting you know that no one here was on your side.

[sp0o0kylights]

Wayne takes in a Beat to Shit Steve Harrington after Starcourt as n Owed Favor to Hopper Part 4

Part Three: link

First Chapter (parts 1-3 on tumblr) on A03: Link

The kid was madder than a wet hen.

Just as slippery as one too, when he got like this--music pulsing like a living thing to signal all his rage and upset. 

Not like Wayne hadn’t expected it. 

He just wished it wasn’t quite so damn loud. 

The music had started up almost immediately after Eddie had stormed to his room, startling Steve awake and nearly making Wayne curse for it.

Normally it was a good thing--music meant Eds was willing to listen instead of heading for the hills.  

Normally, they didn't have a house guest who looked like he'd gone ten rounds with a bear.

They had a routine for this, was the thing and the music was a key part of it. It worked all the edges off for Wayne, and he'd long figured out that about thirty minutes was a the perfect length of time for Eddie to stew before he could actually talk things through.

Given the hand Harrington put to his forehead, Wayne wasn't eager to give him that thirty minutes.

Not when Steve deserved little peace he could have.

Unfortunately, so did Eds. 

Still.

 Strutting through the door and demanding to talk right now was a bad move and so, with a sympathetic look given to Steve, Wayne did what he did best

Gave space.

Let Eddie rage, as Wayne got up and shuffled about the kitchen.

Pulled out the soft earplugs he pretended weren’t there for Eds to steal (playing that damn loud guitar all the time could not be good for his ears) and offered them to Steve, before making two cups of what Wayne privately thought was the Munson “chitchat” drink. 

One cup of hot water, one packet swiss miss, a small amount of maple syrup drizzled in, topped with little marshmallows they reserved for these types of situations. 

Wayne took his time with it, thinking through what he wanted to say. 

‘I understand that this is a screen door on a submarine kind of situation...’ 

Nope. 

‘Son I know you hate listening to anyone for anything but this is serious...’ 

Absolutely not--that would end up with the boy bolting for sure. 

‘Ed’s, I love you but could we please turn Ozzy off while we talk? That man wails louder than any damn cat I have ever met.’

That one was purely self indulgent, mostly because the wall was starting to shake. 

Wayne put the finishing touches on the cocoa before staring at both of them. 

Perhaps if he stared the Garfield mug in its eyes hard enough, the right words would come through. 

They did not.

He kept trying, standing there long enough for the cocoa to reasonably have cooled and for Eddie’s song to flip over to something with more screaming in it than singing. 

Wayne supposed that this was the hardest part of being a parent. You just didn’t get to have the magical one liner. The right thing to say at just the right time.  

The joke that would ease all the tension and let things progress forward nice and easy.

Instead, you got to fumble your way through the dark with a flashlight up your ass and hope you were going in the right-ish direction. Ideally without making things worse. 

Wayne was here though, and that had to count for something. 

(Knew it counted for something--because Eddie was still here. 

They had cleared hurdles far higher than this when it came to trust. They’d get through this too, come what may. 

Steve too.)

“Can I just ask,” Eddie started, aggressive as always when Wayne finally gave in and entered his room, feeling all sorts of awful for the migraine Steve had to have, “what the absolute fuck is happening?” 

Sure as fire he was sitting on his bed, leg bouncing a mile a minute.

An unlit cigarette hung between two fingers, looking a little chewed on, but otherwise undisturbed--as it should be, because one of Wayne’s few rules was that smoke stayed outside the house. 

“You could.” Wayne said loudly but agreeably, as he turned himself around and dropped down next to his kid.  

Held out the Garfield mug, and was happy when it was taken from him. 

“Figured you might have other things to say, though.” 

Likely a lot of things. 

It was as good an opening as any, and his kid didn’t disappoint, launching right to it. 

“Why is he here and not at a hospital?”

 ‘Here’ was punctuated by Ed’s hand winging towards the door, and while it wasn’t the righteous fury Wayne expected, it was at least, an easy answer to give. 

“Steve has some people looking for him. Bad people. Hospital makes him an easy target.” 

Wayne was still talking loud. Could only hear Eddie himself because he was looking at the kid’s lips more than he was actually hearing his voice. 

Eddie took that in, swallowing it about as well as he’d swallowed anything he hadn’t liked. 

And thank the stars above, he finally reached a hand out and turned the music down. Not a lot--Steve wouldn’t be able to hear them over all this--but enough that Wayne didn’t have to struggle. 

“We’re hiding him from the cops now?!” Ed’s spat. 

“Cops know he’s here. Hopper’s the one who asked me to take him.” Wayne reminded him, because it was the truth. 

Not the full truth, but given how Ed’s pissed off half the local PD on a good day, Wayne absolutely did not want to see his nephew take on Federal Agents.

(Particularly not the kind who were going ‘round killing kids.) 

“So--what?” Eddie yanked hard on his hair, a gesture that looked less intentional and more like he was trying to fight his own anger down. “Hopper just called you up and said ‘Hey, we had a whoopsie with the rich kid, the hospital’s not safe anymore. Can we stash him with you for a few days?” 

Wayne nodded once, slow-like. 

Always remembered how too fast movements had made Eddie flinch and jerk back when was littler, and given the way Steve was looking, figured it was a good time to be cautious again. 

“He did.”

“And you just--agreed? Just like that!?” 

“I did.” 

He pretended not to see Eddie boggle at him at the simple admission, so furious that he seemed to struggle for words when he normally had too many to say. 

Wayne took advantage. 

“We did talk a bit more than that, I’ll admit.”

Ed’s scoffed. “About the weather I’m sure.” 

“‘Bout trust.” 

Eddie blinked at that. 

“Trust.” He echoed flatly. 

“What have I always told you? People like to ask you to trust them, but you they don’t get to have it until--” 

“They provide proof or a reason.” Eddie finished with an eyeroll. “So which did Hopper provide then?”

Wayne took a noisy sip of his coca. Smacked his lips a little before saying: “Both.” 

Didn’t bother to say anything else, because he knew Eddie would finish the thought for him. 

“One of them was me, wasn’t it.” 

Eds didn’t say it like a question, but Wayne hummed in agreement anyway. 

He wasn’t gonna shame his boy, but he wasn’t gonna sugar coat Eddie’s involvement in this either. Not when he’d already admitted that was half the reason Hopper had gone to Wayne to begin with. 

“No one is expecting Steve to be here.” He said, seeing the chance to hammer home the most important part of this entire shitshow. “So long as no one finds out he’s here, he’ll be safe. Everyone will be safe.” 

Steve from the Feds who were hunting him for while he was busy being involved in shit he couldn’t control and Eddie because he had a mouth that most people didn’t like. 

Not small town people anyway, and absolutely not authority figures with guns. 

“Who’s even after him?” Eddie was theatrical as always, hands waving away as he talked. “Did he make a deal with the mob? Piss off some other rich guy? I know it’s not anything drug related, I’d have heard about it by now.” 

After years of experience, Wayne knew exactly how far to lean away to stay out of range, too used to his nephew talking with his entire body.

“That’s his story to tell ya, Ed’s. It ain’t mine. Same way it ain’t my place to tell him your story.” 

That at least got the boy to think for a minute. Put down that frustration he carried with him all the time, and use the brain they both knew he had. 

“How long is he staying here?”

Wayne shrugged. “Don’t know.” 

Eddie sighed and mockingly mimicked Wayne, taking an obnoxious slurp of his cocoa. “The neighbors are going to notice if he’s here more than a few days. The trailer park isn’t exactly big.” 

“They didn’t notice that time you decided to make fireballs with the cooking spray and about blew up half the driveway. Don’t think they’re gonna notice someone being quiet in the house.” 

Eddie snorted, and probably rolled his eyes again, not that Wayne could see it given the kid was looking into his own mug as he thought it all through. 

Wayne sat with him as he processed. 

Eds worked at his own pace with things, and while life at large might be against that, Wayne was happy to let him do it. Found it easier that way, then trying to poke and prod and force him like so many father figures did. 

Wayne’s patience was rewarded not even a full minute later, when Eddie turned to him and asked; 

“What if he finds out?”  

This in a quieter voice. An unsure one--words and body hunching in a way unlike the Eddie the world outside knew, but very much like the little boy Wayne had brought inside his home. 

It took Wayne  a moment to connect the dots--he’d been speaking out of the place parents and authority figures often do, and in doing so hadn’t thought much of the fact his nephew had a real secret. 

The kind small town minds didn’t like--and would kill him over. 

This all wasn’t about Wayne taking in Steve, he realized abruptly.  It was that Steve being here meant Eddie couldn’t be himself. 

Could not relax in a place he was accepted for who he was, because Wayne knew and made sure Eddie understood he was wanted here, had a place here, regardless of who he loved. 

Now, Wayne had gone and removed it.

‘Shit.’ 

“He won’t.” Wayne said. 

Knew that wasn’t enough, and so, promised: “But if he does, I’ll make sure he understands his safety here relies on your own.” 

Ed’s chin jerked in a nod, the two of them sitting in silence for a moment before the boy did as he often did when he wanted a hug but felt too awkward to ask for one, and tipped himself into Wayne’s side. 

“Thanks old man.” Eddie whispered into his shoulder and not for the first time, Wayne wished things were easier for the poor kid as he put his mug in one hand and hugged his kid with the other. 

Hoped that in the future, it would be.

Even if he had to force everyone and everything coming after him--and now Steve--to do it.

(Wondered vaguely, how bad it was that he was already getting as protective as Steve as he was of his own kid.

Probably very, given his kid clearly hated Harrington.)

xXx

Wayne took the first night of Steve’s stay off.

He wasn’t the type to use his PTO lightly. Was used to rationing it for any possible thing Eddie might need him for.

A night up sick when he was younger, to a night spent chasing him down during some of their bad spots--but the last year or so Wayne had slowly realized he hadn’t had to use it much.

He was still careful with it though, precious as it was, and was thankful for it now as it ensured his nephew didn’t murder their house guest. 

Or at the very least, didn't sit there pecking at him.

The kid might've failed English a few times, but he had a real gift with words and an even better one with insults.

(Wayne wasn't quite clear on what all the "King" jabs were about, and absolutely did not get why Steve looked far more hurt at the comment about his "sad ass floppy hair" but given the increasingly flat look Steve was throwing Eddie's way, Wayne figured it couldn't be anything good.)

Thankfully a pointed reminder about Steve's injuries had finally gotten them all some peace, enough for Harrington to drop back to sleep--and for Wayne to realize he looked a little too dead while he did it to be comfortable getting any sleep himself.

The kids chest barely moved, and that it ate at Wayne’s until he got up and shoved a hand under his nose. 

Felt his breath, and told himself the poor sod was fine. 

Hurt, absolutely, but alive. 

Over and over again, until the sun had made its rotation in the sky, bringing the morning with it.

‘Better than nightmares, I suppose.’ Wayne figured, as exhaustion scraped at his eyelids.

Those Wayne knew, would come later. When Steve’s brain caught up to the rest of him, and stopping dumping survival chemicals through his battered body. 

He'd given up on sleep entirely sometime around 1 am, and now he sat at his small kitchen table, writing out a medication schedule for Harrington so he and the kid both knew when he could have his next Tylenol. 

Wasn’t even halfway through it before Eddie made his typically late appearance and blew through his door. 

Had his back up from the moment he’d stepped a foot in the kitchen and it didn’t take a genius to see he’d worked himself into a snit again.

Unfortunately for him, whatever scenario that imaginative brain of his had cooked up fell flat to the reality that was the poor kid on the couch. 

Steve Harrington was one a hell of a sight.

Didn’t help that he was doing his level best to make himself as small as possible, curled deep into Wayne's ancient couch.

The blankets covered the ribs and hid away most of the damage, but there wasn’t much Steve could do to hide the shiners on his face--or the marks around his neck.  

Not when they’d grown worse overnight, practically inviting questions.

It was almost laughable how quickly Eddie ate whatever words he’d prepared, mouth awkwardly chewing around them as if they were tangible. 

The less-than-sneaky looks he threw at the younger teen were equally amusing, and if Wayne wasn’t trying to peace keep, he’d have given in and chuckled when Eds split attention caused him to pour half his coffee into the sink rather than a cup. 

Looked utterly lost when, after finishing putting his coffee together and grabbing some junk food thing that absolutely was not a breakfast item, he came to stand awkwardly at Wayne's shoulder, openly staring as Steve blatantly ignored him.

Eds didn’t know what to do, and Wayne couldn't blame him. 

Seemed to keep thinking he was going to encounter a boy that likely no longer existed, and whose blood tinged specter just made things sad.

Shit like this, Wayne knew, took a man’s ego and warped it, shaping it to something else entirely. 

At least for Steve, it seemed that getting wrapped up in whatever mess he had had shaped him for the better, instead of pretzeling him into something worse. That, Wayne thought, spoke to the boy's character more than anything he’d done prior. 

(It helped to know what Hopper tolerated and what he didn’t. That he’d vouched for Steve in the same way Wayne knew he’d vouched for Eddie, even if Eddie didn’t yet realize the cop he antagonized so much would do that for him.) 

That didn't erase the history his kid had with Harrington, though.

Wouldn't stop him from seeing the old Steve, first.

‘Don’t you got school?” Wayne asked when he decided Ed had stared enough. 

“Yeah, yeah.” Eddie waved him off, trotting out the door. “Bye old man, house parasite!” 

It was clearly a jab, meant to nettle, but Steve barely acted like he heard it. 

Wayne rolled his eyes. 

“Goodbye, Eds.” He said firmly, much of a warning as he ever gave, and fondly watched his nephew scuttle out the door. 

Turned to see how Steve was taking things, and was once again given a reminder that Steve wasn’t doing a hell of a lot other than feeling his injuries. 

“I think I promised you a game, son.”  Wayne said gently, startling Steve out of the distant, dim look he had trained on the wall. 

It wasn’t a lot to offer in terms of a distraction, but it would have to do.

[annwrites]

sons & daughters. aemond | king’s landing outtake.

— pairing: aemond targaryen x fem!reader

— type: outtake from this series

— summary: aemond is made aware of your new marriage.

— word count: 1,384

— tagging list: @beebeechaos @crypticlxrsh @amindfullofmonsters @yeolsbubbles @icefrye19

Aemond listens idly as Ser Tyland drones on about expenditures, eye glancing to his brother who sits at the head of the table, watching as he puffs out his cheeks, eyes widening before he slumps forward.

Ser Tyland ceases talking. “Your Grace?”

Aegon lifts his head, holding it between his hands, fingers tangled in his hair. “Must we be apprised on every fucking coin that’s spent?”

Aemond’s lip twitches.

Tyland shifts in his seat. “Well, Your Grace, it…it is important that we—”

Ser Otto enters the Small Council chambers then.

Aegon leans back in his seat, gesturing toward their shared grandsire. “Ah, there you are! I would ask where you have been, but you as you have only missed Ser Tyland’s riveting accounting of—”

“She has the North firmly in-hand now,” Ser Otto states, cutting Aegon short, holding up a rolled page of parchment.

Aegon shrugs dramatically, shaking his head. “Who does? Whore Queen of Dragonstone, I presume. We already knew they would defer to her. This is not new information.”

“There has been a development,” Otto replies shortly.

Aemond’s fists tighten in his lap, heart beginning to pound.

“Princess Y/N has wed Lord Cregan.”

He turns to look at Aegon. “The North is the largest Realm in the Seven Kingdoms. And with his army at their complete disposal—”

“I won’t allow it,” Aemond says lowly, all eyes then turning in his direction.

Aegon looks at him in interest.

“Won’t allow—” Otto starts, until Aemond stands abruptly, chair loudly scraping against the floor.

“She belongs to me.”

Alicent shakes her head, looking to him. Hoping that such news would finally cement the realization within him that you were now permanently gone from his life—belonging to another—turns out to have been done in folly.

“Your obsessions with that bastard girl are at an end, Aemond. She is gone. For good. And you have promised yourself to one of Lord Baratheon’s daughters in exchange for his loyalty.”

Aemond’s anger quickly develops into a raging tempest then—his mother the sole object of his ire.

Her fault. It is all her fault.

He takes his marble dish and ball in-hand, and chucks them both across the room—dish shattering against the wall, ball rolling slowly across the floor, causing her to jump—and Aemond stalks toward her.

He leans down, one hand planted atop the table in front of her, other gripping the back of her seat firmly.

“You do not command me.”

A beat of silence.

“You see,” he cocks his head to the side. “She was meant to be my betrothed. She was created for me to have. I would not expect you to understand, but it is mine own blood which I am meant to wed.”

He stands, voice raising as he paces the room. “Some unwashed northern fucking lord is not suitable for her needs! I am!”

He turns swiftly round toward her, Alicent’s emerald eyes now wide.

“You are the one who is to blame.”

He grins then. “So much effort you took in keeping us apart.”

He returns to her, speaking quietly, so only she can hear. “No measure by you, or anyone else, was ever going to ensure that. Do you want to know, then, mother? The things we did with only the Gods to bear witness?”

“That is enough Aemond,” Otto states, coming closer, lying a hand upon his shoulder. “That is quite enough.”

Aemond rises, standing tall, hand gripping the pommel of his sword. “I want her back.”

He pushes past his grandsire, heading toward the room’s doors, which the Kingsguard quickly open for him.

“I’m going to get my bride back!” He shouts, boots echoing against stone floors as he makes to head out of the Keep and toward the Dragonpit, prepared to mount Vhagar and ride North.

He will raze the entire kingdom to the fucking ground, so long as it returns you to him.

You will hate him for it. Though, he imagines, you already would, given that business with Luke.

He had meant what he said in that letter—had hoped his guilt would lessen the devastation in some form, making it easier for your gentle heart to handle. But returning the ribbon had been a mistake. For you would return to him. Mayhaps not in the way he had so many times envisioned—you sneaking into the Red Keep, winding your way through those hidden passages the two of you had utilized so very many times to seek the other out in hours of need—and you finally saying yes to his proposal.

He would then spirit the two of you away to the Dragonpit to mount Vhagar, and ride to Essos where you would finally be free.

Now… Now plans have changed.

His hand has been forced.

How could you have done it? Forsaken him—your uncle, your lover, your blood, for him? He had believed your hearts to always be one. But now you had handed it off to another.

It belonged to him. You did.

And you still would. Whether you wished it or no.

He would bring you round to it—to him. The two of you would have nothing but time once having crossed the Narrow Sea and settling in one of the Free Cities. He knew your mind better than you.

He will not make you happy—Lord Cregan. Not as he had. And would.

You will one day thank him for it.

Aemond paces his chambers like an animal locked in a cage.

He’d returned to it to gather a few things—clothes, coin, a few valued possessions. Such as a hairbrush you had left behind when Rhaenyra took you away from him to reside on Dragonstone so many moons ago. And a bit of cloth you had embroidered when you’d just begun learning the craft when you were a girl—his and your initials bound together crudely in thread.

Once those doors had shut behind him, however, they’d been barred from reopening from the outside. And when he had tried the hidden door in the wall near his hearth? The same result.

He roars in frustration as he considers the balcony one last time, hearing Vhagar do the same from across the city in fury.

He returns to his room then, seating himself before the fire. He leans forward, staring into it, elbows atop his thighs, hands cupped round one another as he holds his chin. And he waits, mind swimming in thoughts…of you.

He does not rise from his seat when the doors open, then close again.

Nor does he react to the sound of soft footsteps or the brush of skirts.

He does not turn when his mother seats herself beside him.

She sighs softly, placing a hand upon his back.

He wishes to be comforted, instead, by another. Wants to have you naked and in his bed—in his arms—as he finally claims you. Fills you with his dragonseed, forever binding you to him.

His niece. His beloved niece…

The hand falls away, into her lap. “What did you think to do, Aemond? Mount Vhagar, turn your sights North, and then what?”

She turns more toward him, clasping her hands. “She is lost to you. Wed to another. She isn’t returning. Nor are you going to retrieve her. We require your presence here. Bringing the North’s forces into the fold needs be avoided as long as is possible.”

A pregnant pause settles between the two of them. He cares naught for her words—her attempt at convincing him to let go of one he has loved since the day she was born.

So he finally tells her then. “I love her.”

“She loves another now,” Alicent replies simply—quickly, as if she’d been waiting to throw such hurtful words at him for some time—before standing, smoothing her skirts. “And, if you are fortunate, so shall you, too, when you and Floris wed in due time.”

He finally turns to look at her, and she bristles at the sight of his empty socket.

He knows you never would have.

“As you did my father?” He asks, repaying the cruel favor.

She swallows, then turns away, exiting.

He begins to cry softly, still clutching that bit of embroidered cloth—only now to his lips—praying for the first time since he was a child…for you to come back to him.

[laurorne]

Hi, can u write Daemon Targaryen x reader where she’s daemon second wife. He married her on the Valyrian way so Viserys had to acknowledge their marriage. Rhea Royce came to the capital because even hating daemon he’s her husband and humiliated her. A meeting between daemon and his wives ahahah

༊*·˚ WITH EACH LOVE YOU CUT LOOSE | daemon targaryen x niece!reader

summary: beheading is the only punishment fit for uncouth behaviour directed at the wife of daemon targaryen.

content: targaryen typical incest (uncle x niece), blood, mutual infliction of wounds, cheating on daemon's behalf, fluff, daemon is a softy, reader is catty towards rhea but feels sorry, possibly innacurate valyrian wedding?, murder!! no beta i'm so sorry

word count: 3.1k

a/n: tadaaa! sorry it took so long hun, i've been flat out with exams but i honestly loved this concept. i wasn't sure about the relationship dynamic you wanted so i assumed you meant for reader to be viserys' daughter, i hope you enjoy tho!!

The cold steel meets your lip in kind, Daemon's pointer and thumb pinching your chin in place so you don't slip from his grasp as he drags it across the soft flesh. Your nose scrunches for not even a second before you're pushing the pain back down. Your eyes meeting those of the man before you as he stares so lovingly at you, your heart hurts in its cage. Your pulse is wild and skittering as you take a deep breath.

His brow pinches slightly as a smile plays on his lips, something akin to hope and possibly admiration settling in those lilac iris'. Oh, ever-sweet Daemon, back from war and he's already offering his mind, body and soul to you in their entirety. It seems being back home, after the Stepstones had lifted a weight that'd been on his shoulders since he was sent away by his brother, your father.

His hair is fluttering along with the night breeze that cocoons Dragonstone on its spring eves. The scent of the lit candles invades your nose as you allow the wind to pull the curtain of your hair along its path.

A droplet of blood begins beading on the curve of your lip, Daemon traces his rough fingers down the edges of it, coaxing more blood to rush from the slit as he blows air onto it, perhaps comforting or enjoying the way your lashes flutter as he does so.

He seems to think the blood enough, as he swipes the pad of his thumb over the beads of blood that bloomed from the cut and he marks the Valyrian rune -fire- upon your forehead. The hand with the knife of dragon-glass upon your outstretched palm, willing you with the dip of his head to do the same he had just done.

Your hand isn't as steady as you bring it to grace upon his lip -you're far too flustered, after all these years of praying to whatever higher power would listen for him to come back to you safely. Utter infatuation and eagerness on your behalf made your cut slightly off but the dragon-glass was sharp and ensured a clean cut that allowed hot blood to pool on the bow of his lower lip nearly immediately.

Another breeze seems to coax you forward as you brush your own thumb along the trail of blood that began oozing its way towards his chin. He tilts himself forward so you can reach him with ease, his hair gathering around his face as it shields you both from the onlooking eyes of the maester and your witnesses. His eyes ever delicate as they trace the way a ringlet of hair dances along your cheek. You catch the droplet of red before it can begin its descent and mark his forehead with 'blood'.

A lingering emotion rolls over his face as your heart skitters to keep up with what's happening, not even a moon ago had he sent a letter pleading for you to greet him on Dragonstone before he returned and here you were, willing to wed this man without so much as a thought about the consequences or the rage your father would berate you with upon your return to Kings Landing. A part of your mind whispering that it was worth it, that you deserved to be loved by a man who didn't only want you for a birth claim of dragons or those pale Valyrian features of snow white hair.

Daemon's hand clasps over your smaller one as he brings the dark edge to the open planes of his palm, pushing down onto it as he guides you through the ceremony with little care of the proper way to do this.

He's waited far too long for this, and he cannot bear another second of not being able to have you as his. His flame, his soon to be wife.

He eases the blade from your fingers as he brings it down upon your own palm, it makes your breath come in shallow bursts at how oh-sp close you are to kissing him. To having him by your side, on the plush bed in the royal apartments of Dragonstone, as your husband and twin soul. Blood of the dragon mingling, like how it was supposed too.

Your tongue rolls over your top lip, licking away the coppery liquid that begins smearing across the entirety of your mouth as part your lips and watch him so delicately hold your wrist and split the warm skin in the cradle of your hand. His thumb brushes across the pulse point of your wrist as he presses your bloody, weeping hands together.

Not even the maester speaking can pull your eyes away from the deep lilac of Daemon's gaze, his pupils are dilated, round and dark as he stares into your own. You can nearly see the way he thinks, can feel what he does with the way he tightens his grasp on your hand.

"Hen lantoti ānogar." Blood of two.

The maesters cold hands brush across both of yours as he begins wrapping the reddened silk around the only point you and Daemon are touching as thick blood mixes and drips to the cup he holds beneath.

"Va sȳndroti vāedroma," Joined as one.

Your shoulders rise and fall as you breath in the salty brine of the ocean, but you cannot escape the man you love dearly as you catch a huff of him. Heady and warm and everything you crave.

"Mēro perzot gīhoti." Ghostly flame

He pushes the cup into your hand and your stomach churns as you bring it to your lips, the intricate headpiece you wear making your neck tilt as you stare deeply into his eyes over the rim as you drain half the cup, licking your lips as the rich blood smothers out anything else you could possibly feel.

Elēdroma iārza sīr. And song of shadows.

He looks down so proudly as you lick the crimson away from your teeth, tongue peeking out for a split second as you capture a stray droplet at the corner of your lip. He had preached when you were but a young girl, that dragons weren't afraid of blood, and you'd be damned by the gods now if you didn't live up to that.

Izulī ampā perzī. Two hearts as embers.

You bring the goblet away from the seam of your lips as you offer it to him between your bodies.

Pūmī lanti sēteksi. Forged in fourteen fires.

He glances down at it with a straight face before looking back up to you, hand wrapping around yours as he moves to take the cup. Warmth spreads from the contact as your lids flutter.

Hen jenȳ māzīlarion. A future promised in glass.

Daemon drags the cup to his lips with a look that burns you down to the core like one of the wicks that struggle against the winds, he lights a fire in the pit of your stomach that you're sure won't be extinguished for years to come. He stares you down, the cup idly held between you as you grasp his hand just the bit harder, eager. He downs what you couldn't in a mouthful, holding eye contact as his adams apple bobs with the swallow.

Qēlossa ozūndesi. The stars stand witness.

He shoves the cup in the maester direction, and the old frail man takes the cup with a trembling hand.

Sȳndroro ōñō jēdo. The vows spoken through time.

Rȳ kīvia mazvestraksi. Of darkness and light.

He cards a hand through the strands of loose hair, tucking it behind your ear as his eyes skate across every feature and dip and slope of your face. Years apart had not changed the way he watched you, the way he took in everything about you without so much as a thought about what he would gain from marrying you, aside from your presence as his wife.

Your heart beats wildly against the cage of your ribs as you place a hand on his cheek, stroking the skin there as you lean up to him, lashes fluttering in anticipation.

His hand cradles your neck as he drags you the rest of the way in, eyes closed as his lips press against yours. Blood is smeared between you both, the cuts weeping anew with the ferocity and want that he kisses you with. Your breath is stolen from you as he bites at your lip, breathing your air as he all but devours you.

Your arrival to Kings Landing after three months of hiding upon Dragonstone with your insatiable, newly wed husband had been rather... quiet. There had not been an entourage of royal maids or knights or even the High Council. It was simply Otto Hightower, accompanied by your fiery younger sister in her riding gear who looked less than pleased as you dismounted your darling dragon alongside Daemon and Caraxes. The Hand to the King had simply said that your grandsire was waiting patiently in Maegors Holdfast, and that, should you say anything, ensure it is an apology.

It was eerily silent as Viserys sat across from you in his chambers, deep within his cups as he regarded you with what you could only consider contempt. Your sister had been no less the same, you had married the man she was pining after, afterall. But you had no qualms about the dissatisfaction of your father or sister, it was your choice, and your life. You'd left your grandsire's chambers in a flurry of fabric as he had regarded you as a child throwing a tantrum, and that you would soon realize that you would come to regret this.

Afterall, Daemon was still married to the lady Rhea Royce in Runestone and that he wouldn't be willing to annul the marriage.

You think that perhaps Daemon had spoken to your father -his brother- because no less than a moon later King Viserys had sent out letters to invite the lords to a tournament in the honour of his eldest daughters marriage. 'To officially announce this bountiful marriage', as Viserys had put it.

So here you were, four moons after your marriage to Daemon, being regarded by your husband as you sat at the vanity in nothing but a shift.

"I feel that today won't be held together well." You allow your eyes to drift from the task of brushing your hair, Daemon is sat against the bed in his attire for today. Dark fabrics that fit him well, staying in Kings Landing for the past month had perhaps tamed him. Or maybe he was laying in wait for the moment he could prove his brother right about his marriage.

"Perhaps. Though I trust you will remain civil." You all but say back, fingers weaving through loose strands as you pull it into a long plait.

"If any lords are to look at you with so much as a lewd face, I may have to pull Dark Sister from their chests."

You hum, hand drifting to your swollen stomach automatically as one of your handmaids steps in to tie the braid off, her fingers not as gentle on your snow white hair as Daemon's were.

"Oh how you make me swoon, husband."

He huffs a breath as he stands from the softness of your bed, hand sitting upon the pommel of his sword. He wanders toward your seated form as he presses a gentle kiss to the crown of your head, hand smoothing over your bare shoulder as it moves past your breast and to your bump. Thumb stroking circles on the fabric above it as he presses a final kiss to your temple.

"I'll let your maids dress you today, send for me when you're ready to join the festivities."

You lean up to plant a final kiss to the corner of his lips before you allow his hand to fall away. His scent stays with you for a moment and so does his warmth, before he pulls away fully. Leaving the room in careful strides as the maids swarm you nearly immediately.

Being apart of the Royal family meant that you had the responsibility of greeting every longwinded lord who walked into the Great Hall, with a gentle smile and a soft greeting and a monotonous non-heartfelt 'thank you for making the journey for today'.

It's as if the King knew that you hated such things, that you loathed the frequent meetings of the High Council and the repetitive greetings. The only thing that got you through such affairs was the soothing presence of Daemon at your side, his occasional mocking words and dubious glances when a lord with eyes to big for his cock made a compliment to close to inappropriate.

Dinner had been served long ago, the rich oily meats sat across the tables made your stomach churn and the berry juices in your cup seem less than appetizing. So you opted for something savory, the lemon cakes and loaves of bread and soup.

Midway through a bite of a warm lemoncake, there was a voice you hadn't heard tonight, someone that had Daemon leaning further back in his chair as he took a deep swill of his goblet, a taunting look on his face as he glared the woman who stepped towards the table that sat before the Iron Throne with the entire Royal family.

"Thank you for inviting me to the events, my King." Her short brown curls were tied back as best as could be managed, she was dressed up in bronzy fabrics that rippled in the light of the braziers that lined the walls. She was... beautiful. Roynish in her appearance and the hardness of her features, a Northern Beauty for lack of better words.

Your Grandsire grinned widely as he greeted her back, "I was afraid you wouldn't be able to make it Lady Royce, I trust you found your travel to Kings Landing well?"

Oh. So this was the Rhea Royce? The... Bronze Bitch? As Daemon had so lightly put it in all his letters.

"It was a long ride, your grace. But worth it to join the festivities. And to see... my husband after so long apart."

The glare that's thrown towards your left is surely meant for Daemon. This situation was becoming more hilarious the longer you waited for her to greet him, and you by proxy. Oh, you had to greet her first.

"Lady Royce." You smile saccharinely, lips pulling back as you rise to greet her from across the table, hand evidently on your growing bump as you bow your head. "I've heard much of your conquests in the Vale. Tell me, how did you deal with those savages from the forests?"

You can see the tick in her jaw as she bows towards you, forced too by your position on the hierarchy and the keen eyes of the other guests here tonight.

"With a steady hand and decisive mind, princess."

You laugh, a true sort of thing as you look back to your husband, he huffs out a breath at that. He knows what you're doing, and he's keen on helping play this falsity of niceties.

"Husband," Rhea says suddenly, it's harsh and possessive as she watches you hold your husbands hand. "It has been a long few years, has it not? I missed your letters so."

She looks like a scorned wife -she is, but she cannot act upon it in the presence of her King, your father. Your smile falters as your fingers tighten around Daemon's scarred ones.

"Husband? You're not married anymore." You withhold any of the ill will you feel for her as her lip curls.

"Oh, my princess. But we are. The King hasn't annulled Prince Daemon and I's marriage. He is rightfully wed to me."

The hand you had on Daemon is swiftly pulled from his grasp, the hand you had on your stomach is twitching as you glare her down, you stand taller than her both figuratively and literally.

"Lady Royce, I would be mindful of your tone. Speaking to the Crown Princess with such speech could find your lands without a Lord." You all but laugh, you can feel the mirth that Daemon holds for her and it only doubles your hatred for this insolent petulant woman.

"I only speak the truth, princess."

"Was there not a rumour that your marriage was not consummated?"

Your grandsire snaps into action at that, a bit off call of your name as you bristle at his intrusion on your conversation. "Father. It's true is it not? There was never proof that Daemon bedded her, her womb is barren and I find that mine is not the same. Would you call me a liar and fraud when she couldn't even produce an heir?"

"You have embarrassed me! I've been dishonoured and cast aside after how many years or marriage? My own husband will not speak while his mistress dares to speak on his behalf. What have you to say, husband?"

You stand with a hand over your stomach and a lip curled up in disgust at the woman stood before you with a flushed face. If this is how your father thought he would turn you against Daemon, he was deftly wrong as he often is.

"You dishonour my wife by simply being here, Rhea." Oh and how the brown haired woman seems to crumble at that. Daemon had always been a man of few words, but he made each one count all the same.

“I dishonour your wife? She is nothing but a platinum haired husband stealing whore!”

The Bronze Bitch all but snarls and picks up a plate of tarts to throw in your direction but Daemon is swift in his movements. Standing before you and taking the metal dish to his chest without thought.

The plate clatters onto the stone floor with such a loud reverberation that Rhea seems to snap out of her rage as she realises that she had indeed just insulted a royal family member, and that she may not leave this Great Hall with her life.

There's a telltale sign as a sword is unsheathed and the whoosh of a blade through air. And then deathly silence as the entire hall settles into silence, as the body of the woman steps once backwards before it crumples and her neck hinges, a spray of blood decorating the table before you as Rhea Royce becomes but a corpse for the Silent Sisters to prepare for burial.

Grandsire stands from his chair in a swift move, shouting at Daemon for such insolence and killing a guest of the King.

Daemon ignores his brother in favour of wiping the blood from Dark Sister and stares out at the full hall. "Insult to the Crown Princess is punishable by death, you will all do well to remember it as such."

Rhaenyra is tensed in her seat and your father yells at him, something pertaining to another banishment and you are left to stand in awe of the gruesome acts your uncle is willing to commit in your honour.

[xlpoww]

Jealousy, Jealousy

i really loved how bad for business turned out, and it seems you all did too!! so here's a continuation of the bfb universe/storyline :) it's not exactly a part two

warnings! jealousy (sanji's)

word count: 1,720

opla! sanji x f! reader

i actually took the time to reference back to this scene in the live action to make sure i got their orders right :) !! also hi i am alive !!! i just got busy with work- and i had a mini con to go to this weekend and i cosplayed nami! :D -> i have also been struggling with tremendous writers block, and was trying to force myself to write about zoro for days! but i couldn't, and i was frustrated with myself untill i rememebred this isnt a job, this is for fun for me and you guys. so i went back to some of the things i've written and felt like i could continue this one :) the story really flowed from there and i wrote a lot in a short span sooooooo &lt;3 ily all! thanks for reading as always <3333

sanji vinsmoke is jealous. 

the cook is used to woman falling at his feet, swooning over his flirty personality. either that or they get annoyed at him and clearly show disinterest. (oftentimes calling him names and sometimes resulting in him getting hit)

but you, the one girl he actually held a candle for, he couldn’t even seem to get a rejection from you. that would’ve made things so much easier for him and his heart. it’s gotten to the point he’s wishing you would tell him you don’t return his feelings. sure it would hurt in the moment, but at least he could have (hopefully) forced himself to move on.

but no, you won’t reject him; nor will you swoon at his advances. they seem to roll right off you like beads of rain on a window. never a hint of blush on your cheeks, no angrily quirked brows. how was he meant to understand? there are two reasonable reactions to such a forward man, either interest or not. how do you manage to toe the line so perfectly?

it drove him mad, not only were you horribly hard to read, every once in a while you would flirt aggressively back at him. it would always catch the poor boy off guard, leaving him stunned and blushing standing wherever he was. oftentimes you did it right in the middle of the kitchen, leaving him to deal with the playful teasing of the other workers, walking off to continue doing your job. 

you would be the death of him surely.

especially when the sight of you smiling so sweetly at that stupid swordsman causes a painful squeeze in his chest. his grip on the tray he was holding is bruising, and there’s a jealous rage brewing inside of him.

-

“hello my name is y/n, and i’ll be your waitress today. can i start you guys with any refreshments?” you flip over a page on your notepad, ready to write down the group's requests. what a charming bunch they were, with just a glance you could tell they really cared for one another.

“i’ll take a beer,” the green haired man speaks up, and you nod with a smile.

“i’ll take two beers, i normally have three but..” he trails off as the woman at the table speaks up.

“i’ll take a water.”

“and a glass of milk!” the endearing boy with a straw hat adds on, his words are muffled by the bun he was still chewing. when coming to greet them you’d brough over a basket of perfectly warmed buns with butter. nodding at them all, your pen into your apron as you repeat back to them. 

“three beers, milk and water, coming right up you guys.” you step back with a bow, turning towards the kitchen. doing so you notice your best friend is glaring in your direction, and as you walk back you tilt your head at him. when you get closer you realize his glare wasn't directed towards you, but the swordsman you had taken the order from. he doesn’t even seem to pay you any mind as you approach him, too focused on the table you had just walked away from. when you reach him where he stands in front of the doorway, you snap your fingers in his face. it seems to snap him out of it, and he looks down at you with a charming smile.

“hello my love, what can i do for you?” his hand is placed on your shoulder sweetly. the touch warms your body, but you shake it off to cross your arms. 

“what’s up with you, why were you glaring at my table? do you know them?” you gesture back towards your table, and a flush washes over his face when he realizes he’d been caught. he straightens his tie in an attempt to shake off his shame,

“not a clue who they are darling.” your eyebrow raises in suspicion, you’re not buying it. he seems to know you won’t, and he tucks his hand into his pockets as he shrugs.

“you just glare at people you don’t know now sanj?” a pout forms out of frustration. while you were wondering why he was lying to you so blatantly, he was internally swooning at how adorable you looked in that moment, and the sweet way you'd shortend his name. the grip you had over his heart was the strongest in all the seas.

“don’t worry, pretty lady, it’s nothing. now if you’ll excuse me i’ve got my own tables to wait on.” he’s internally scrambling to figure out how to distract you from what he was caught doing, in a moment of boldness (or a crazy attempt to change the subject), he leans down to press a kiss to the side of your head.

the action causes your eyes to almost bulge out of your head as you begin to blush. a smug smile forms on sanji’s face at the sight, he’d never felt more accomplished than he did in that moment. not only had he distracted you, he’d made your face light up all pretty and embarrassed. he winked at you before brushing past you to do his job, pushing open the swinging door into the kitchen behind you.

you’re left in shock trying to wrap your brain around his actions, ‘what had gotten into him?’ as bold and flirtatious as he was, you would have never expected a display like that in front of all the customers.

oh shit, the customers. ‘had anyone seen that? oh gods.’ your hands clench into fists as you attempt to bring yourself back to reality and calm down, and you push past the doors of the kitchen. your eyes are focused on the ground as you collect the drinks needed for your table, placing them all on a tray and balancing them on one hand. you take a moment to breathe in and compose yourself before walking back out into the dining room. 

you eyes scan the room and find your favorite blond waiting on a table on the opposite side of the room of your own. his location makes it easy to return to the table without incident, placing down the three beers before the milk and water. with a smile, you tuck the tray under your arm and pull out your notepad again to continue taking their orders. maybe doing your job could distract from the rapid beating in your chest.

“you guys decided on food yet?” 

“one of everything!” the boy with a straw hat speaks up, and you quirk your eyebrow. they didn't look like the big spenders you were used too, but it wasn’t really your place to mention that. your smile never slips as you nod, writing it down and once again bowing before you leave. by your luck sanji seems to be waiting for you at the doorway of the kitchen. so much for the idea you had to avoid him until you’d calmed down.

he holds his hand out, offering to take your tray from you. his kind offer brings a smile to your lips, and you decide to shove down whatever inner turmoil was happening and act like what he did hadn’t happened. (he sure was.)

“any interesting orders?” he smiles, quirking a brow at you as you offer him your serving tray. you laugh, holding out your notepad to show him where you had written down ‘one of everything’ sanji’s heart squeezes at how cute your handwriting is, and he can’t help the chuckle. “well it looks like you’ll need some help taking out this order then, love.” the pet name causes the usual skip in your heartbeat, and you smile, nodding in acceptance of his offer for help, pushing past him into the kitchen to get your cooks started on the order of everything.

-

the food gets taken out in waves, sanji always accompanying you with an extra plate or two. the table is rather nice about it, they’re always caught up in conversation. even still they thank you for every plate you place down, they seem like genuine people. it warms your heart to see such a close group of friends. 

you can’t help but notice the way sanji doesn’t even pay the girl at the table any mind, too busy glaring at the green haired man, his hands lingering on your shoulder or back longer than they needed to. how he’d managed to add on to his unusual behavior, you wouldnt understand.

not that he really had any reason to be placing a tender hand on your back while you were serving guests. the third time it happens you turn to look at him with a raised eyebrow, and he turns to smile down at you sweetly, his hand on your back rubbing up and down. you look at him incredulously, sanji steps back, bowing before walking back towards the kitchen. before he left his gaze lingered on the man longer than should have been acceptable. you have to hold back a frustrated huff, turning back to the table with a plastered smile

“don’t hesitate to call me if you need anything! i hope you enjoy your meal.” you finish off the sentence with a bow, turning to look at the swordsman when he speaks up with a snort. “are you sure, wouldn’t want to make your busboy anymore jealous than he already is?” your eyes widen in confusion, not only at the notion, but the unnecessary insult towards your sanji.

“whatever could you mean.” the whole table turns to you, and the redhead quirks a brow at you, adding on.

“you’re not really that clueless, are you?” your mouth drops open, and a blush begins to cover your cheeks.

“no, i didn’t think i was.”

and then you’re even more confused. what reason would he have to be jealous over you and a random guest? it’s not like the man had even given you the time of day, or you’d even wanted it?  all you’d done was take his orders. 

the thought feels so impossible, even so it has already quickly begun eating away at your brain and heart. it was the only logical explanation for all his odd behaviors tonight.

sanji vinsmoke, was jealous. over you.

taglist: @the-maladaptive-daydreamers @teenyforestfairy @gothicuwusposts @cheesesoda @scentisterror @shuujin @gcldtom

[suuuupernovaaa]

kavuk si

kavuk si [English] vin. betray

Neteyam has chosen a woman, and you know it isn’t you.

1,471 words

Fishing was supposed to clear my mind and calm my nerves, but I was throwing my spear too forcefully, and it was making the fish almost unusable. Plus, I was missing a lot, and that was only serving to further fuel my anger and frustration.

“It’s just a rumor,” my sister said again as I huffed and pulled my spear from the sandy riverbed.

“It is not,” I replied. “His own mother is said to have confirmed it. He has chosen.”

Even without looking at her, I knew Kawti was rolling her eyes behind me. It had been my wish to come fishing alone, but there wasn’t much I had truly done alone since Kawti was born 13 years ago. Despite our seven year age difference, she was my best friend, and I was usually happy to have her along.

Just - not today. All morning, all anyone at home could talk about was how the eldest son of Toruk Makto was finally going to choose a woman, and he was going to make his declaration soon. I knew, in my heart, that Neteyam would have told me already if I was his choice. Just last night we had gone hunting together, and I had eaten the evening meal with his family - he had plenty of opportunity to tell me himself.

Even though we hadn’t exactly expressed how we’d felt, I thought I had been pretty clear in my affections and desires, and I’d thought Neteyam was just shy. Now I felt like a fool. He had not stolen any kisses, or any other affections, and I had been leading myself on. He simply wasn’t interested.

“Come, Y/N. Mom will be expecting us back soon.” Kawti hopped down from her seat atop a tree branch, and extended her small hand to mine.

I grabbed my meager bag of mangled fish, and followed her back to Home Tree.

--

When the rest of my family went to dinner, I stayed back. I wasn’t hungry, in fact I was feeling a little ill, and really did need a little bit of time alone. 

Kawti was annoyed, but her optimism was childish. Not only did she think it was just a rumor, but she claimed to be sure Neteyam was ‘completely in love’ with me.

As if she knew anything about love. She was just a kid.

I could only sit in our little alcove of Home Tree for so long before becoming restless. I was feeling ridiculous, too. If Neteyam did not want me, and had chosen another, then I would have to grow up and move on. There were many fine men in our village, and I knew one would choose me - and I would choose them in return.

I could only barely lie to myself, as dread gripped my chest at the thought of mating with anyone else. So I stood up, trying to shake the thoughts from my head, and walked outside. It was quiet, as most were gathered for the evening meal, and the quietness left me too much to my dark, depressing thoughts.

Without direction, I began walking towards the forest.

“Y/N!” a familiar voice called, and I hesitated before turning.

“Teyam,” I said through gritted teeth. I looked over my shoulder to see him jogging to catch up, a wooden bowl full of food in his hands.

He looked handsome, I thought before I could stop myself. Neteyam always looked handsome, but there was something different... he was wearing a large necklace made of leather that was reserved for special occasions, and his face was painted as if for battle or a ceremony.

“Your mother said you were ill. I brought you this.” He extended it to me, and something about the gesture turned my sadness to rage.

He could choose another woman, ask her to be his mate, and still pretend to be concerned about me? To bring me food? How dare he!

“Bah!” I said, waving my hand. “Leave me, Neteyam.”

He furrowed his brow in confusion and tilted his head to the side, his ears flicking back and forth. “Do you need the healer?”

“No. I need to be alone.” I stepped back, but he stepped forward to follow.

“I need to talk to you,” he said, his voice firm, and extended his hand to me.

I looked at him skeptically, tilting my head to the side, and sighed. It had always been hard to stay mad at Neteyam, and the look on his face was very serious.

I put my hand into his, noting how much larger his was, and we went back into my family’s alcove in Home Tree together.

Neteyam did not let go of my hand when we stepped inside, and I tried to savor it. If he was to belong to someone else soon, this might be the last time we were ever truly alone.

“Well, what do you need to talk about?” I asked, trying not to let my voice waiver. “My family will be back soon.”

This was not even close to the truth, and Neteyam knew it. My mother could talk for hours every night, and my sister was usually exhausted by the time they returned from their socializing. It would be at least an hour before they returned.

Neteyam looked everywhere in our modest home but at me, and I squeezed his hand. “Teyam, spit it out!”

“Damn, you don’t make it easy, Y/N!” he replied in a huff, and my eyes widened in surprise.

“Sorry,” I said, unsure of what I was apologizing for. He was the one who should have been apologizing to me.

Why had we gone on all those rides together? Hunted together? Taken meals together, spent time with each other’s families, if he had not intended to be mine?

“You are mad at me,” he said quietly, and I finally allowed myself to look into his eyes.

“Yes,” I said in a near-whisper. “I am.”

“Why?”

I took my hand from his and crossed my arms over my chest. “They are saying.. they are saying you have chosen a woman. Everyone is to celebrate the mating of the Chief’s son.”

His eyebrows rose up and his shoulders fell. “Well... this is true.”

I nodded, stepping away from him. “Who is she? Ni’awtu? She’s a fine hunter. Or... Petani? She has a fine skill on the loom, and would make a good mate.” I blinked hard to stop the tears rushing into my eyes.

I jumped with surprise when Neteyam laughed so hard that he threw his head back. “You are joking!” he exclaimed.

“I am not! Tell me who it is!”

With considerable effort, Neteyam stopped laughing and closed the gap between us again. He reached out, gripping my upper arms with his hands, and leaned in close.

“You are mad because you are jealous, but you are jealous of yourself, Y/N. Ni’awfu may be a fine hunter, and Petani weaves very well on the loom, but I do not love them. I do not love anyone else.”

Blinking hard, it took me a few moments to understand what Neteyam was saying to me. I stood, slack jawed and stunned, forcing him to continue speaking.

“I wish to ask you to be my mate before Ewya, to spend your life with me, to mother my children, Y/N.”

I took in a long, deep breath. My hands were shaking and the tears had filled my eyes, I could no longer hold them back. It was so hard to find any appropriate response. I had spent years pining over Neteyam, and all day today sure that my chance was gone and I was going to have to watch him with someone else - which would have been a fate worse than death.

“Neteyam, I... of course, yes. I, I have always...” I stuttered and stammered as tears fell down my face.

Graciously, Neteyam stopped our needs for words by leaning down and pressing his soft lips to mine in a kiss I felt as if I had waited so long for.

My body felt on fire instantly, from the top of my head to the tips of my toes, and I wrapped my arms around his neck and leaned into him, deepening the kiss.

It felt like a long time before we pulled apart, both smiling like a couple of idiots.

“You are mine, Y/N,” Neteyam whispered, pressing his forehead to mine. “How could you have thought I would choose anyone else? I have always been yours.”

Tears spilled freely now, and I put my hands on either side of his face. “I feel foolish. I have always been yours, Neteyam.”

He hugged me tightly, pulling my body completely flush with mine, and I breathed him in deeply.

“Always.”

[solbaby7]

Calypso

pairing: azriel x reader

warning: swearing, mentions of being beaten, violence, murder, probably typos, based off a tiktok i saw (pretty sure this is based off a play or something along those lines)

summary: The sweetest member of the Inner Circle shows the Autumn Court the true extent of feminine rage.

—

“Something is wrong,” Azriel couldn’t stop pacing, heart thumping so hard in his chest he was sure there was an imprint beginning to etch its way onto his skin. A hand absently rubs at his chest, clothes feeling too tight and his brothers don’t miss the rigid raise of his wings. Shadows cloak his form, curling around his ears and tugging on his clothes in their own way of communicating the same thing he had. “Something is very, very wrong. She should be back by now.”

Rhysand try’s to remain reasonable—to regain control of the rapidly escalating situation but you were supposed to have been back nearly four hours ago.

At first, the High Lord had thought it was a good idea; that you’d be a pleasant change from Az’s domineering brood or Cassian’s incessant need to mouth off but the longer they waited the more Rhys considered that maybe he made the wrong call. “She’s gone on missions to Autumn alone many times before, Az.”

The shadowsinger nods in agreement but his stance doesn’t relax even a bit. “Sure but she’s never once been late getting back home. Never.” Saying the words seem to be confirmation enough, waiting one second—two before he’s retreating from Rhysand’s office and saying fuck it to any of the consequences that he would surely face if he got there and something had happened to you.

“Az,” Cass shouts from down the hall, bounding steps sounding against the polished floors as he falls in stride with him. “Just wait for one second.”

“If it was your mate, would you wait?”

“Of course not but we just need two minutes to assess the situation before just barging inside—this is Autumn we are talking about here.”

“I don’t care.”

Fingers rake through shoulder length hair, honey eyes clocking Azriel’s determined stride, the hard brow and strong set of his mouth. “I understand that but if it gets her killed—”

“Us waiting might get her killed,” Azriel snaps, nearly growling the words free; shadows stiffening at his shoulders in agitation. “I won’t risk it. I won’t lose her.”

There’s no room for fighting; not when Rhys and Cassian were too busy trying to keep up with Azriel’s brutal pace to cross the wards. Winnowing in a rush never did well on the stomach but the unease that churns in Azriel’s gut the moment they arrive at Autumns borders is anything but normal.

“This isn’t right,” Cassian insists, following behind with a watchful eye; every muscle in his body tense as awareness prickles to life. “Where are the guards? The hounds?” It’s too quiet, the sky too dark and yet Azriel continues on a path of his own making; following the pure string within to draw him back to his other half.

The spymaster rips through the trees, shoving aside offending branches with little regard for the noise being made. It works in his favor, stumbling at the right place at the wrong time judging by the frazzled guards and a High Lord soaked from the waist down. Complete silence fills the space; not even a bird chirps, no rustling of woodland creatures, no crackling cadence of crawling cicadas. “Where is she?” Azriel demands, voice dangerously low as he searched deeper within the bond; scrambling for further direction, desperate for the confirmation of your safety.

Beron Vanserra looks too smug, a devilish smirk crafting in the corner of his mouth. Auburn hair falls from its neat styling, clothes ruffled and Azriel knows he can’t be the only one who notices the petrified expressions plastered on the guards faces—the fact that none of them make a move to comment on Night Court breaching another’s borders without permission. “Where’s who?”

“You know who,” Rhysand says your name carefully, casually pressing forward until he stood before Azriel, serving as a barrier between a male withholding answers and another male willing to carve the world to pieces in order to obtain them. “Your meeting with her should’ve ended hours ago.”

“It never started,” Beron waves a hand dismissively, his clothes drying with the motion. Guards surround him, leaving a gap for visibility but their security is subdued; trembling with fear and eyes glistening with guilt. “She never arrived.”

Azriel’s grip tightens around the hilt of Truthteller, golden irises narrow to slits and his voice is but a hiss. “You’re lying.”

A brow raises, the overwhelming scent of whiskey and cinnamon muddled by sea salt and ocean spray; a confusing combination laced with a distress that did not belong to the High Lord of Autumn. “Do you have proof?”

Shadows creep up Azriel’s form, silently reminding its master of their presence and willingness to eliminate the threat no matter the outcome but before his lips can form words—an unnatural noise cuts through the air. The hairs on the back of his neck stands at attention, golden eyes surveilling every inch of dense foliage. “What was that?”

Its eerie and drawn out, almost like song but the melody held no comfort, no warmth.

“What did you do?” Azriel swallows thickly, shoulders uncomfortably tense as the humming continues, layered feminine voices piercing their ears like the sirens Cass always talked about around a crackling fire after too much to drink.

“I did nothing.” Beron shrugs, voice even and sure but the fear that settles behind his eyes isn’t equally well hidden. His body language betrays him, subconsciously shuffling closer to the readied guards that flank every side of their High Lord.

“Vanserra.” Your silhouette is barely noticeable when cloaked in the night and Azriel’s brow raises at the tears in your gown, the healing split of your lip—and where were your shoes?

Rhys calls your name, taking only a single step before Cassian’s iron grip curls around his arms, swiftly tugging him back and behind him. A general protecting the leader of his court as the scene before them became horribly apparent. “Impossible,” Beron whispers, not bothering to hide the disbelief—the horror. “You died.”

Azriel’s stance faulters, the stony expression unable to hide the unbridled pain that etches its way onto his features at the words.

But, you don’t seem phased.

In fact, you don’t seem much like yourself at all.

The soft glow of your light is replaced with a murky darkness; soiled by anger and the bubbling desire for vengeance and all of it is directed towards the copper haired male with a heart like coal and a soul filled to the brim with ash. “Get in the water.” You command.

“I am immune to your witchcraft, demon.” Beron scoffs your way, attempting to deflect the shake of his voice with the accusatory finger pointed to the High Lord of Night tucked safely behind his brothers. “Control your bitch or I will.”

Azriel pushes back the need to retaliate, golden eyes sliding from the male to the woman he loved; a woman who exuded unbridled feminine rage the longer you allowed such power to flow through you—power you always kept so bottled up, so contained. Soothed into submission by your kindness and grace, the love you shared with friend and stranger alike; all unleashed from the conclaves of their confinement. Az’s grip on Truthteller tightens and it’s a true test of will to tear his gaze away long enough to address Beron once more. “What did you do?”

The Autumn Courts High Lord goes still. The air seems to thin, the water bristling against the rocky shore; howling, shouting, demanding to rise—to bend at your will and follow out the revenge you seeked. “Tell them,” Your voice ebbs through the space between you, unnaturally controlled, unusually low and unbearably empty. “Tell them what you did to me and maybe I’ll show mercy.”

“I did nothing.”

A guard sucks in a shaky breath, sweat lacing his brow and it takes no more than a second before he’s released hold of his weapon and drops to the ground on his knees. “Forgive me.” He begs, hands pressed together as if he were praying. “I-I’m so sorry. So, so sorry.” Cassian regards Azriel with a sharp look, crimson Syphons brewing with power as every cell in his body screamed that something terrible was going to happen—that something terrible had happened and they were too late. Forced to stand by, frozen as you were molded into a woman they could hardly recognize. The pretty blue dress you’d left in is torn, ruined fabric sagging in ribbons, showing off collarbones covered in bruises shaped like fingerprints, in cuts that healed before their very eyes. Soaked hair hangs past your shoulders, dripping down your back as the wind whipped through what remained of your clothes. “I beg of you, please, have mercy.”

The apology does no good and before Cassian can work up a plan to get Rhysand as far away as possible, you’re already wrapping them in a dome of water so crystal clear it’s like glass; shielding them from your rage while providing a front row seat to the events long since forged in stone. “Rhys, can you get in her head?”

“I don’t have to,” Rhysand responds barely above a whisper, violet eyes so pale, pupils so pinpricked as the events were shoved at him at an upresendented speed. You, arriving as planned, joining the High Lord privately for dinner when the two sips of wine began to have your body feeling like a whole night of binging at Rita’s with the girls. The images project onto the other, Cass and Az watching with bated breath as they looked through your eyes, felt your disorientation, the fear, the disgust when hands roamed over your body. It took everything for Azriel not to break, to unleash horrors upon Beron Vanserra and every male involved as he watched you beg for them to let you go. Your shoes left in a hallway in your struggle, soft skin and prettily painted toes marred by the rough tugging, the crude remarks and sick promises to kill you quick.

Cassian’s stomach churns, food curdling from within when he feels you strain against the water, as they held you down and left you there long after your hands went limp.

They could feel the power within you, pumping back life into the tiny sliver of hope left, expelling the water from your lungs and replacing that beacon of light with something the High Lord of Autumn better understood. “Get in the water,” You say once more, stepping closer and the crashing waves seem to move with you, lapping at your bare feet, salving over aches and bruises.

“Or what?” He spits, struggling to grapple into whatever control he had left but his vile tone holds no weight in comparison to you and cold expression settling into your eyes.

“Or I’ll raise the tides so high, all of Autumn Court will die.” There’s no bite in your words, only pure promise; steps strong and filled with an uncapped power so strong it seemed to throb. The bustling waves behind you climb higher and higher, so high the skyline is blocked; so high that nothing else existed behind you but such torrential oceans filled with its creatures that thrashed and snapped their jaws to do as you pleased. “Say the words, Beron. Tell them what you did to me.” Azriel’s feels it before he sees it; the bubbling emotions, the swelling power inside of you coming to a head and begging to explode. “Say it!” You demand so furiously the same guard on his knees visibly flinches, thick streams of tears trailing down his aged face as his back bows in submission before their very eyes.

He sings like a canary, confessing to following their High Lords orders of sending the Night Court a message for foolishly in believing in peace. The male professes how one of the cooks were told to lace the wine to subdue her. He musters up the decency to spare the shadowsinger a pleading glance, spilling out useless apologies and promises to never do it again—how disgusted he felt harming a female; one who was so sweet and gentle but orders were orders.

No one speaks, the other guards eyes are as wide as saucers, mouths parted in utter shock as they await the repercussions of the confession; trembling like branches in the wind under the suffocating pressure of your power.

Beron doesn’t pay the sobbing male swathed in armor any mind. Instead, he’s trained on the fellow High Lord—borderline desperate in his command. “Control her. Please.”

“It’s all about control with you, isn’t it, Beron?” Each step closer has your nose curling in disgust, lip quirking in a snarl. “I should fix that.” Wind whistles around furiously, snatching through auburn hair and ripping the overly expensive cloak right from his shoulders. True terror sets root in cruel eyes and the hairs on the back of Beron’s neck raises; primal instincts warning him of impending danger—of inevitable doom. “I’ll make tidal waves so profound that both your wife and your sons will drown.”

“Seize her,” Beron spits, snapping out the words so fiercely that spittle shoots free but even his own protection detail realizes who’s really in control here and not one of them moves to appease the order. “Threatening a High Lord and his family is punishable by death.”

Birds screech their caws of great displeasure, wings fluttering furiously against the trees in such a frenzy that leaves fall free; taunting the end of one reign and the beginnings of another. You don’t feed into his poor attempts of deflecting, his words entering one ear and flying out the other. “You mistake my threats for bluff,” Swords clatter to the ground, Autumn soldiers sharply turning on the balls of their feet with full intent to run—to rush back to their wives and children for the false feeling of safety. You allow them a few strides as a kindness before unleashing the torrential downpour upon them; sweeping each one clean off their feet in their fancy armor. “You have lived more than enough.” Shades of deep red and burnt orange fight uselessly against the angry seas, rough tides swallowing up the soldiers garbled screams and washing them away.

Beron chokes on the salty water, legs pumping furiously against the current, his eyes burning and lungs filling with the catastrophic affects of your anger. “Stop!” His cheeks turn red, the veins in his neck straining against tanned skin and you find yourself fixating on the way his hands claw at his throat—fighting for the slightest gasp of oxygen.

“Did you stop when I begged?” The oceans cover land with ease, seeping past the borders with full intent to make good on your promises on destroying every inch of Autumn territory. “When I screamed for you to just please let me go?” Deep red shifts to an unusual shade of purple, water seeps from his nose and his eyes all but bulge out of the socket.

Choked noises sputter from Beron’s lips, an arm desperately clutching around the base of a tree to keep from being washed up. “I’m sorry.”

“No, you’re not,” The water parts for you, allowing you a perfect path to the High Lord and you take your sweet time watching his struggle—his disarray. He looks so utterly boyish this way, his hair soaked over his forehead, lashes dark and clustered together under the force of ocean spray smacking at his cheeks like a million microscopic needles. “But, you will be.”

Eerie voices sing their song, layering over the other in a plethora of different pitches until Beron’s head snaps from side to side, eyes searching frantically for the source but he realizes too late.

Water wraiths and their siren sisters cut through the cool waters like a sword through the wind, their webbed fingers eager to grab at the deviant of a man responsible for savagely murdering countless of their brothers and sisters in cold blood just for sport. One of them pause, the features of her face rippling with the tide but there’s no mistaking the respectful nod of her head—one that you return.

You don’t linger to watch the rest, your anger fizzling out and all that’s left is the desire to go home and spend a whole week hidden in the sheets with your mate. If he’d still have you after all this. Bare feet trudge against the ground until you stand before your family, the barrier lowered. You can’t meet their eyes, the wounds too raw and their pity too palpable but the familiar comfort of cool shadows drape over you, evaluating and assessing before relaying their findings back to their master. “I—“

Azriel’s body collides with yours before the whole sentence can even form, strong arms wrapping you up and tugging you as close as he could. His hands go over every inch of you, muttering under his breath about how he’d never let you out of his sight again. “You’re okay,” His shoulders visibly relax, when he can’t find a hint of damage on you—not even a bruise. “Thank gods you’re okay.”

Your eyes slide past him, lips pursing as you prepared yourself for whatever came next. You’d killed a High Lord—there’s no chance anyone would just let that go. “Rhysand, I—“

“You didn’t do anything,” He swiftly cuts in, regarding you fondly even if his stomach swells with guilt at the thought of being the one who put you in harms way in the first place. “You’re safe and that’s all that matters.”

For now.

[the-blind-bard]

Parasite Shigaraki x Reader Pt. 2

|Part 1 | Part 3 (Soon) | Masterlist |

Synopsis: [Strangers/Lovers, Smut, Loser!Obsessive! Shigaraki] - |Shigaraki x Reader| Your family called your quirk "parasite", able to feed off of someone's quirk and make it temporarily your own. Luckily, the only other person on the subway happens to have the most powerful quirk you've ever seen and zero experience with women.

Content: MDNI, stalking, voyeurism, mention of masturbation, mutual obsession, reader has a quirk, submissive Shigaraki

You hadn’t heard from him at all.

Nights were spent pacing around your shitty excuse of an apartment, bitter curses leaving your lips and hands itching to destroy everything around you. 

You were irreparably mad that your lust for power must have -understandably- scared him off. 

For fucks sake, (Y/n). You killed a guy in front of him.

That might have been the most impulsive thing you’d ever done.

If only you had stuck to the friendly and cute act, not showing him the power-hungry monster that lives beneath your skin.

He would have been so easy. 

You could tell the minute you touched him that he would do anything you asked, clumsy and blushing. 

You were sure if you hadn’t scared him but instead had just pressed your lips to his and let your fingers pull his hair like pretty, blue ribbons, he would have been yours.

He was meant to be yours.

You could have both built him up and broken him down.

And now you sit in the silence of knowing what could have been.

What you could have been.

It threw you into a fit of rage at first. 

When a couple of days had passed without a single text or call, you thought surely you might run into him again on the subway.

Nothing. 

You got more and more desperate.

Taking long walks that were way out of your way, hoping to find out which direction he lived in. 

You were trying so hard to push down the obsession of finding Shigaraki, but every time you remembered the feeling of absolute destruction on the tips of your fingers, you took another hour-long detour home.

It had been a little over a week when you noticed it.

You were walking home from work, feet sore and not looking forward to the purgatory state of being on that subway. Today you were wondering if you should once again try to take some random stops home and seek Shigaraki out, but you were too tired for that today.

Good thing.

It had been another particularly bad day, leaving you with depths of unresolvable anger and an itch in your blood.

But things weren’t all bad.

 At least now you were comforted by the gentle footsteps lingering in the shadows behind you.

Leaving work, you noticed the feeling of eyes lurking in dark spaces. 

Red. 

Like you were being watched by a starved animal.

Flashes of blue.

Poor shy, pretty boy.

You were so sure he would either get on the subway and sit by you or he would approach you on the street, feigning coincidence. 

When you reached the subway, you weren’t so sure anymore.

You walked slowly to the subway stop, hands retreating from the cold and into your pockets. 

You could hear the softest patter of feet behind you. 

How cute.

The destructive little street cat wasn’t aware that he was chasing a panther.

And you let him think he was getting away with it too. 

You did for a couple of days, playing the role of the ignorant airhead, acting entirely unaware of the rapid increase in time he spent “with” you. 

Throughout the day and night, footsteps always echo from not too far behind you. 

You let him believe he had the power. 

You wanted him to get hooked to you like you were the memory of his quirk, unable to chase after anything else. 

When there were a couple of consecutive days where you were sure he’d been following you from morning till deep in the night, you decided he was ready.

Leaving work, Shigaraki was there.

Walking home, Shigaraki was there.

Dead of the night, purposefully leaving your bedroom curtain cracked open, Shigaraki was there.

Leaving for work in the morning?

Depends.

Looks like even he had limits on how persistent he could be. It made you wonder what else he did throughout his days.

What was he sacrificing in his daily life as he spent his time muffling whines in his throat as he peeked through your windows? 

On this day, though, he was there. His footsteps were a little more reckless. Sleep-deprived and dazed by you, he was far from stealthy. 

At this point in allowing him to follow you, Shigaraki is over-confident. 

He thought his girl needed him now more than ever. If she was too stupid to notice someone following her for this long, what would she do without him ever again? He couldn’t trust you to walk home alone. 

Not after that pretty but reckless mouth almost had that guy and his friends come at you like that. 

Tomura wasn’t sure of the extent of your quirk, but he hadn’t seen you use a quirk at all since that night. He was so sure now that you needed him as much as he needed to feel your hands caress his face again. Fuck, touch anywhere. He just needs you-

Tomura’s lethal confidence. 

He seemed to be a little bit bolder than you gave him credit for and it was obvious to you that he wasn’t as innocent either. You’d still grant him shy, but hearing him fail to stifle those pretty noises at night derailed some notions of innocence. 

No, you decided Tomura Shigaraki must be a closeted freak, perverted and nasty in the privacy of his mind and wherever he called home. 

That, you could certainly work with to your advantage. 

It was a little warmer today than usual, a murky and humid heat. 

Even the slight chill of the night did little to stop the sticky feeling of sweat on your skin. 

You dressed appropriately, clothes a little bit more revealing than usual. 

To anyone else, you were just a normal person dressing for the weather. 

But to the footsteps behind you, Tomura couldn’t decide if he loved the feeling of seeing you like this more than how disgusted he was when anyone else looked at you. 

You could hear every step of his, smiling to yourself.

You were near the part of the street where Shigaraki would stay hidden and watch -waiting to make sure you got on the subway- when you suddenly stopped walking. 

Your back was turned to him, but your smile never faltered. This was a drastic risk to take, but you had to do something.

“Would you like to walk with me instead of taking the subway today?”

You didn’t turn around, not wanting to startle the lurking man with sudden movement. For a while, you didn’t hear any response aside from the initial gasp at your question and the approaching sound of nails scratching angry skin.

A shadow was cast on the pavement from right beside you. Illuminated by the glowing street light, his shadow loomed over yours. 

Turning your head to him with a sweet smile, you could see the wild look in his eyes, fingers tearing at his skin with his other hand clutched in the pocket of his hoodie. 

Feral.

“Thank you, Shigaraki.” You started back on your course of walking.

It was odd. 

The two of you had been walking for a decent amount of time and no one made a move towards speaking. You tried to read his body language, but you were too worried about enacting his need to run. 

Meanwhile, he didn’t see anything wrong with the silence at all. He was reveling in your presence.

He was bitter about you finding him out, wondering how long you’d known, but he couldn’t find it in him to care now that you asked for him to walk next to you. God, he missed the smell of you. 

To be able to see every detail of you up close. 

This beats fogging up the window of your room, hand traveling dangerously low as he tries to justify the disgusting way your name leaves his lips in a pathetic prayer for mercy. 

How sweet and peaceful you looked, blissfully sleeping.

His angel. 

Surely angels were forgiving, right? 

You could forgive him as he relentlessly fucks into his own fist, brought to euphoria just by seeing you and remembering what your hand felt like on his skin.

“Join the league,” he mumbled to you so lowly your brows scrunched in confusion. 

“I’m sorry, what was that?” You kept walking, leaning in towards him to hear better.

His breath hitched slightly. Every inch closer you were to him the more alive he felt. 

“League of Villians. I saw you dust that fuckin’ guy the other day. But you’re not shit on your own, so you’d be a dumbass to not join us.” Perfect. Tomura was sure those words perfectly reflected that he simply wants you to come live with him, help him take over the world, fuck him stupid…

You were stunned by how boldly he spoke. This wasn’t the same whimpering man that sticks to shadows. Seems like when Shigaraki wasn’t needy, he was rude. 

Is it bad that it kind of excited you? That you felt goosebumps rise on your flesh in the middle of a summer night? That you like how unpredictable he’s proving to be? 

You like how he has the potential to be destruction embodied and maybe you can pave a path to being the only thing he wants to keep whole and to himself?

Hm. But he was proving unpredictable. 

League of Villians? Who the fuck is this guy?

Looks like you might have to be careful to not get attached to the boy more than the power.

Was this a joke? No way he could be this fucking perfect. 

“Villian, huh?” You smirked at him. “That’s why you’ve been my personal shadow lately? They have you on recruitment?” 

Shigaraku scoffed, but his heart picked up pace, anxiety prickling at being called out for following you. 

“I’m not some idiot lackey, side character. I’m the leader of the league. I also just had to make sure you weren’t some crazy bitch after being stupid enough to kill a guy in front of two witnesses and a stranger and not finish off everyone else.”

Fair enough. That wasn’t your brightest moment, but you could hardly be blamed for that when you were running off of the adrenaline of meeting someone like Tomura Shigaraki. 

“I didn’t want to scare you off.”

Shigaraki felt his heart physically pound, throbbing. Was this a fucking heart attack? God, you were going to kill him. 

You were holding back for him? Why the fuck did you care about a stranger like that? He’d never. 

It was all for him. You’re all for him. You’re his.

“Whatever.” Shigaraki shrugged, but the blush creeping up his pale skin told you enough.

Shigaraki tried to instinctively curl in on himself in flustered embarrassment. His shoulders were hunched forward, hands in his pockets, and his hair shielded his face from your view. 

You reveled in knowing all of his attitude was just a front. 

Carefully, you moved a hand towards him to tuck some of those loose, blue strands behind his ear. 

When his face was exposed to you once more, his eyes were blown wide, looking at you. You were the only person to ever reach out and touch him so boldly, and he thought there couldn’t be a sweeter feeling in this world. 

He couldn’t speak even if he wanted to. Anything would come out as an embarrassing noise or he might not be able to stop himself from simply begging you to touch him again. 

Anywhere.

 However you’d like. 

A deep content flooded your chest like the warmth of an ignited fire. 

“Are there more members of this league?”

He nods. You hum, pretending to weigh a decision you’d already made. 

“Take me there.”

Who was he to not follow a command from you? His feet set forward on the familiar path to the decrepit bar he called home and headquarters. 

tag list: @milolooooong @shiggysgf890 @raccoonc0re @faithyinnitt @nymeriiiia @koreluvsspring @fudo-aki @tomura-complex @lovelylyana07 @chxrrybobaby-sin @confused-smol-fan

[sillymercury]

I’m Not the Crazy One, She Is!

Azriel x Reader

<3

Warnings: Slight suggestiveness and swearing

Word count: 7.7k (idk I went a lil cray)

Summary: You weren’t trying to kill your neighbor, honestly, you were just defending yourself. But that crazy fae and her antics land you in a holding cell. Luckily for you, getting arrested turns out to be much more fun than you ever anticipated.

Part 2

<3

My face was set into a hard line as I sat on the curb outside of Rita’s. The sound of the bar closing early was clearly audible from the spot the lawman had told me to sit and not move. Patrons exited with grumbling and angry faces, some glared as they passed and I could only offer apologetic smiles. I was already uncomfortable enough without the condescending stares and occasional curses.

The cool air pushed my hair around and with my hands magically bound behind my back I was repeatedly spitting strands out of my mouth. My thin dress provided no solace against the cold stone under my ass and the unrelentingly wind was only making it worse. I was beyond uncomfortable but the civil servants didn’t seem to care.

This wasn’t fair; it’s not like I started the fight, I just finished it.

I’ve never been a fighter per se, but I’ve also never let someone walk all over me and at this point I’d had enough. The crazy bitch to my left was currently raging against the other two patrols, thrashing around and spitting on their uniform. I scoffed as she screamed obscenities and pushed the female off of her with a hard kick to the chest.

“See!” I exclaimed at the patrol that was half watching me and half watching his colleges struggle to detain the crazed fae. “She’s fucking crazy! Obviously I’m the victim here.”

His eyes moved to mine and I widened them for emphasis, he responded with a scoff of his own. “It took all three of us to drag you off of her,” he crossed his arms over his chest, “not to mention multiple witnesses are willing to testify that most of the property damage was your fault.” His eyes narrowed as he dared me to challenge the statement.

I just leaned back and kicked my legs out with a huff. A couple of chairs, tables, some glasses, some bottles, a few bystanders, and an already weak wall wasn’t enough. I should’ve thrown her into or hit her with something else. Even now, watching her childish display had me itching to go put her in her place all over again.

“Listen, I’m a cool fae. Calm and collected, I don’t start problems. Her,” I jerked my elbow into the direction of the female that wasn’t slowing down, “on the other hand, does. None of this would’ve happened if she hadn’t come up to me. She was pulling my hair and scratching at my eyes! What would you have done?”

I leaned forward expectantly, I knew he agreed. Instead of confirming he just shook his head and looked away. Back-up had finally arrived and three of the four officers assisted in detaining the wild one. One of them used whatever magic they possessed to temporarily knock her out for transport. The remaining lawman approached where I was sitting and looked me up and down.

“I take it you’re the one who fought her?” I looked over at the unconscious female that was being slung over a shoulder and just nodded with a light shrug. “Can’t say I blame ya,” he responded in a much more relaxed tone than the first officer.

“Thank you!” I exclaimed as he helped me onto two feet. I threw the first patrol a look that said everything I was thinking which he only responded with another shake of his head. I didn’t miss the light smile he had and in that moment I felt like I had this in the bag. I assumed I would get a warning, maybe a slap on the wrist and be sent on my way. I hoped that they would lock her up in some far off dungeon and throw away the key.

The new officer grabbed my elbow lightly before winnowing us to the station. I suppressed my groan as I took in the depressing scene. Gray walls, gray floors, gray bars that lined different holding cells on the back wall. The room was packed with multiple desks where about 15 officers sat, some with either with victims or perpetrators in front of them. Every desk though had stacks of papers that threatened to spill to the floor.

I followed diligently behind the officer as he led me farther and farther to the back. I prayed that he would stop at any of the empty desks but he didn’t stop until he reached the cells. He opened up the metal door and looked at me expectantly.

“Wait, I have to go in there?” My voice was slightly shrill and I couldn’t contain the breaths that were coming out rapidly. The cop just raised his eyebrows and nodded like it was the most obvious thing in the world, “For how long? I have to work in the morning. I can’t be here all night!”

The officer just chuckled and shrugged, “Well I’ve got about a hundred other things on my to do list. I guess you should’ve thought about that before destroying thousands of marks worth of property and assaulting someone.”

My hands shook behind my back and I suddenly understood what made that female rage against the law. I wanted to do anything, everything to keep me out of that cell. Screaming, crying, fighting, biting… whatever it would take to keep me out of there. I knew though that none of it would work, it would just make my situation worse. Begrudgingly I forced my heavy feet to carry me into the cell, all the way to the bench on the back wall. I sat with a plop and depression marred my face as I watched the cop lock the door.

I hit my head against the wall with a groan as I thought about what led me here, my stupid crazy neighbor. But seemingly my luck didn’t run out, it was still finding ways to make the situation worse. My neighbor didn’t just live next to me, her limp body was also parked in the cell next to mine. I cursed the wall for not being solid, instead it was just a row of metal bars keeping us apart.

Eventually her body began to stir as she woke up and I mentally prepared myself. Not only for her grating voice but for the verbal abuse that would accompany it.

“Let’s go! Let’s go!” Morrigan called out to her slow moving family, “We’re burning nighttime!”

Feyre laughed as she hauled Rhys off the couch and hollered one more time for Nesta and Cassian. Azriel was ready, standing dutifully by Mor as he waited with her for the rest of their family. He only took off his leathers at the persistent pestering of Mor. Donning black pants and a black muscle tank, his dark shadows concealed most of him and he looked more like a black mass on two legs. Mor wore her famous color in a tight dress that flowed beautifully over her legs accompanied by a slit that ran to her hips. Feyre’s dress complimented Mor’s but in a deep blue that resembled the night sky, Rhys wore his usual tailored garb that matched the silver detailing on Feyre’s dress.

The couple approached the door and Rhys had a far off look in his eyes before speaking, “Looks like it’s just us… Nes and Cass are,” he cleared his throat before flashing a coy grin, “busy.”

“Eww,” Mor muttered Turing around and opening the door for everyone. “Whatever we’ll have fun on our own!” Mor screamed into the house and only the sound of something falling over upstairs answered her. She rolled her eyes before closing the door behind her.

The pairs made their way through cobble stone roads aiming for their favorite bar. At least once a week Mor would drag them out demanding a good time and she always got her wish. Her and Feyre linked arms as they skipped and the boys walked in a comfortable silence behind them.

“Gonna pick up any ladies tonight?” Rhys nudged his brothers shoulder as he teased, “I know Mor will. Wouldn’t want you to have to spend the night listening to everyone else enjoy themselves.” Rhys chuckled as he pondered all the different ways to get Feyre out of that form fitting dress. Azriel shook his head, already knowing where his brothers mind had gone.

A small smirk snuck its way onto his lips, “I suppose I could indulge.”

“Ooo hoo hoo!” Rhys jested, “My brother, the fox.” A low chuckle left Az’s lips as he just shook his head again. The light air that surrounded themselves dropped when the girls stopped skipping to take in the scene in front of them.

All of the lights in Rita’s was on and crowds of people were formed outside. There were multiple patrols going in and out of the bar and some of them were taking statements from the bystanders. Some of the individuals were with medics, either being bandaged or given ice to sooth wounds. Azriel switched gears in the blink of an eye, going from easing going brother to spymaster as he detached to scope the scene.

“What the hell!” Mor practically screeched as she pushed through the crowded street, heading into the pub. Rhys and Feyre shared a glance that conveyed their confusion and worry before following Mor inside.

The place was a wreck. Multiple tables were broken and shards of chairs were strewn about. Wherever there wasn’t wood chips there was broken glass and the stench of the alcohol that covered the floor attacked their senses upon arrival. The wall that separated the entry way to the hall looked like it had been chopped up with an ax and Rita was behind the bar surveying the scene with distress.

“What happened?” Mor asked after rounding the bar and taking a defeated looking Rita into her arms.

“Bar fight.” She said simply, “I’m going to have to shut down for the rest of the week. Some of my best bottles are now in puddles on the floor, and that alone’ll take a month to get a new shipment in.”

Mor looked pissed and Rhys’ expression wasn’t far behind. To see his families favorite oasis in disarray and people of his court injured had redness creeping up his neck and threatening his face.

An officer strolled in and bowed to his high lord and lady before addressing Rita, “We’ve taken multiple statements and taped off the scene. There’s not much more we can do at the moment but we’ll be back to collect damage report.” Rita nodded understandingly but Mor wasn’t having it.

“Not much more to do?!” Her voice was loud as she screamed, “Look around! Look at this place! This… this is a crime!” She was irrational at the moment, she obviously didn’t expect the officers to clean up the scene but she wanted- needed- something to be done.

“Yes…” the cop blinked before straightening and clearing his throat, “it is. We are taking this very seriously. The suspects are already in custody so there isn’t really anything else we can do.” He seemed nervous as he remembered who he was talking to. His eyes darted between a flabbergasted Mor and his high lord, Rhys just nodded and that seemed to calm him down before he practically ran away.

“I am going to kill whoever did this,” Mor seethed, her hands shaking. Rita was her friend and this was her favorite spot in the city, she felt as though the crime was done specifically to her. “I mean- what? What are we going to do?”

Rita just shook her head but Rhys’ attention was redirected when Azriel materialized next to him.

“Bar fight, between two females. Subject A attacked subject B and B used her powers to fight off A. 3 bystanders were injured and by the looks of it,” Azriel keen eyes raked over the room before turning back to Rhys, “thousands in damage.”

Rhys let out a heavy sigh before placing a hand on his brother’s shoulder, “Let’s go. I want to deal with these females myself.” Azriel nodded at his brothers words and there movements were halted.

“Do you want me to come?” Feyre asked, stepping over broken chairs and around puddles to reach them.

Rhys’ eyes softened as he took in his worried mate, her wide eyes scanning the scene for the hundredth time. “No, stay here. Do what you can to help and try to comfort Mor… and Rita.” His eyes danced over to Morrigan who was walking around the hall waving her hands and still screaming, she looked more distressed than Rita did. Feyre nodded and placed a chaste kiss on his cheek, offering Az a supportive smile before making her way to Mor. With that the men shared a determined look before exiting the hall and making their way to the station.

At this point I was hitting my head against the cold wall repeatedly, not hard enough to hurt myself but enough to drown out the nagging from the cell next to mine.

The crazed female, Gala, had woken up and immediately began screeching. She pulled and tugged on the cage door and verbally assaulted any officer who passed. Her attention eventually shifted and she was now honed in on me.

“You selfish bitch! You couldn’t just let me have one night. One peaceful night without your presence! You had to show up and ruin everything! And now, I’m locked in a cage like some wild animal because you can’t control yourself!”

I didn’t want to, but I snapped, “You are a wild animal! I’m the one who doesn’t deserve to be locked up! You might be too dense to remember but you attacked me, I didn’t even know you were there!”

Gala began screeching again claiming that I was put here to ruin her life and I can’t help but indulged in her childish behavior. Something about this female irked me to my core and soon I was partaking in the screaming match through the bars.

The officer was who was unlucky enough to have his desk placed closest to the holding cells stood up so quick his chair fell over. He whipped around and glared with bloodshot eyes, “Shut up! Both of you! Or I’m adding disorderly conduct to your already long lists.”

Gala scoffed at that and I mimicked the sound, “Once again,” I said exasperated, “she started it!” The officer didn’t say anything else but a pointed finger came through the bars. His finger shook with his barely contained rage before he looked to Gala who was mumbling about police incompetence and gave her a finger as well. He turned around and quietly picked up his chair before going back to the gargantuan stack of papers on his desk.

After sitting back down I hit my head against the wall one last time shaking my head. All of the other ways the night could’ve ended mocked me as I closed my eyes.

“Don’t look so forlorn, not when it’s your fault,” Gala was determined to keep the argument going as she harshly whispered into my cell. She had her face squished between bars as she glared at me and continued her verbal lashing.

I counted my deep breaths as I tried to control the urge to reach through the bars and wring her neck. Images of me slamming her face into the bars repeatedly was my only solace as I tuned out her low shrieking. Even when she whispers she’s still incredibly annoying.

The venom kept spewing from her mouth until the same officer that brought me in came and unlocked my cell, I shot up and prayed for freedom. He unlocked Gala’s cell too and had the mind to hold her arm, “There’s someone here to see you two,” his tone was borderline teasing and he led us away from all the desks. “He says he wants to handle this himself.”

I followed quietly behind as nerves overtook my body, was it the police chief? Was someone in Rita’s family a judge who wanted to dish out the worst punishment they could? Cold sweat threatened my brow as we made our way into a private office.

Gala was shoved into a leather chair and I stumbled into my own. The magical binds on my wrists made it hard to sit comfortably and I shifted around while the leather squeaked. The officer closed the door with a smile and at that Gala turned in her chair, glaring.

“Can you stop? Even your shifting is annoying me.”

“I’m annoying you?” I felt blood rush back to my face for the umpteenth time, “Well imagine how I felt when you grabbed my hair and started scratching my face!” Your voices were low but the venom was still there.

“Don’t act like you didn’t have it coming. You go out of your way to ruin my life any chance you get, showing up at Rita’s tonight… I know what you’re trying to do.”

My eyes widened and realization hit me, “Your crazy. You’re just fucking crazy.” That was the only answer. Gala was out of her fucking mind, that’s why even when I breathe she cries abuse.

The word crazy seemed to spark something and the screaming match started up again, this time in a lower tone. Something about the formidable air in the office kept us from getting too loud; but you can still scream a whisper.

I couldn’t even hear what she was saying over my own words but I knew it was bullshit so I continued to say all of the nasty things that popped into my head.

Our voices were haulted when a cool black mist came over the room, obstructing everything. I couldn’t see an inch in front of me as darkness encompassed the room and my entire body. It wasn’t mist, it was shadow, and it clung to me like a second skin. The anger was replaced by fear as I tried to determine what was happening, what had stolen my sight and dropped the rooms degree.

Eventually the shadow cleared and suddenly someone was on the other side of the desk, two someone’s.

The High Lord of the Night Court and his Spymaster. A shiver ran down my spine as I felt the power rolling off them in waves, pushing me further into the chair. They were the last people I expected to see, and the last people I wanted to deal with. There stoney expressions conveyed the anger that was rippling through them.

Rhysand sat poised in the large chair, narrowed eyes studying me and Gala while Azriel stood behind him, arms crossed over his chest with an emotionless face.

Normally I would drool at the sight. Two of the three most handsome men in Velaris, staring me down. Rhys’ perfectly carved face set to impose intimidation and Azriel… I’d seen the spymaster a few times in passing, but seeing him up close was a different story.

His high cheekbones that contoured into a perfect jaw, his Nubian nose that sat perfectly straight above plump lips, hazel eyes that shone through shadows, and a low taper fade that danced across his forehead lovingly. He was the embodiment of beauty, perfection in fae form, awe personified. I knew I should be scared, shaking where I sat, but something in the hazel warmed me, soothed me. I forced myself to look at Rhysand so I could have the right mind of being scared, and it worked.

He stared at us for a few minutes and the tension in the air grew, Gala was crazy but no crazy enough to lash out in front of her high lord, not yet at least. We both sat uncomfortably in the silence and now it was her leather chairs turn to squeak.

“So,” Rhys began, picking up the paper that was laid in front of him and looking it over, “Disturbing the peace, public intoxication, assault, aggravated assault, battery, criminal mischief, theft, resisting arrest, evading arrest, assault of an officer, intentional infliction of emotional distress, reckless endangerment, disorderly conduct, obstruction of justice, trespassing, vandalism, and last but not least hate crimes.” He laid down the paper and I couldn’t help but gape at the list he rattled off, there is no way I was being charged with all of that. Especially not the assaulting an officer or evading arrest, I know that was Gala but hate crimes? They can’t possibly believe I fought her because she is a lesser fae.

“This is quite the list you’ve racked up,” he spoke again his eyes zeroing in on me. I just looked down, ashamed. I wished my power was to reverse time. I would’ve never stepped foot into Rita’s if I knew it would land me here, a meeting with my high lord who seemed determined to dish out terrible punishment. “Do you have anything to say for yourselves.”

I just shook my head, finding my glittery heels very interesting.

“I do,” Gala spoke up, my head snapped to her and I saw a disgusting determination on her face. “I shouldn’t be here! I should be getting medical attention, therapy, a protection detail! I am clearly the victim here!”

I knew it didn’t help my case but I couldn’t help my eye roll. By the looks of it, I was the one in the wrong. I had a couple marks on my face that probably wouldn’t bruise as well as minor scratches around my eyes. Gala on the other hand, had bruises and cuts all over her exposed lilac skin. Her silver eyes were bloodshot and one was swollen with green and dark blue hues, a cut lip, and a nose that suffered a gnarly break.

This was bad.

“Alright…” Rhys started slowly before glancing at the paper once more, “Gala is it?” She nodded fervently, “Since you’re the only one with something to say… tell me what happened. And don’t lie to me.”

Gala took a shaky breath and I almost groaned at her theatrics, “I have been so stressed, you know, I work really hard, with children, not easy work. But I decided to go to Rita’s, grab a drink. I’m a grown woman, you know, I wanted to let off some steam. Then she,” she pointed a crooked finger in my direction as she had some how shimmed her bound hand in front of her. As I looked I wondered if it was always like that or if it was crooked because I broke it. “She followed me there. She’s obsessed with me, you know, always doing whatever she can to make my life hard. She’s my neighbor, you know. always pestering me and my pets and plants. She’s unrelenting.”

I made a noise somewhere between a scoff and a gasp, if anyone was unrelenting it was her. Rhys sent me a harsh glare and the shadowsinger stepped forward, a warning.

I slunk back into my chair and I’ve never seen Gala look so happy.

“Well she followed me to Rita’s, and I didn’t feel safe. I mean she’s always sneaking around doing things she’s not supposed to, you know. As a matter of fact she has- well had- a baby hippogriff. Poor thing didn’t survive, she probably killed it. But those creatures are illegal in this court, you know,” Rhys nodded and hummed along, I just threw my head back on the chair and stared at the ceiling. I’m going to rot in jail.

“Anyways so she was being unruly and loud and that dress, I swear this girl would do anything for some attention. Well I went over there to ask her to quiet down, I wasn’t the only one getting annoyed with her, you know. But when I touched her shoulder she turned around and started screaming, I put my hands up because I didn’t want her to hurt me or anything, you know. She just lost it, screaming, hitting, it was absolutely insane.

She picked up a chair and whacked me. She threw some glass at me and tackled me into the shards. She threw me through a wall! This woman is a danger to our city! A danger to the night court- hel- a danger to all of Prythian! This woman belongs in a cell with no way out!”

By the end of Gala’s tale I couldn’t help but stare, my mouth was practically on the floor. He explicitly told her not to lie and yet she had the gall to do it anyway. If I wasn’t facing persecution from the most powerful man alive I would’ve gave her another black eye.

Rhys hummed, processing the story, his violet eyes turned to me. They were swimming with contempt and I wanted a hole to open up and swallow me. I forced tears to the back of my eyes knowing tears would only egg Gala on. “Still having nothing to say?” His voice was deathly calm.

“Yes- no!” I cursed the nerves that had my brain scrambled, I needed to calm down before I made things worse for myself. I took a deep breath before looking up again, my eyes caught Azriel and for a brief second something flashed across his face. His eyes got a far off look that matched the high lords. The conversation that happened between them was brief and when the high lord zeroed in on me I felt like the decision was made before I could even speak. I was guilty.

“I did hurt her- bad. But, I didn’t start it. I swear I was at Rita’s first, I didn’t even know she was there. I was drinking with my friends and this guy was looking at me, and I was looking at him, and then well we were looking at each other so I didn’t even notice when she came up to me, not until she tapped me on the shoulder. She was yelling about my dress, calling me horrible names. At that point the dude had walked away so I was already pissed when I told her ‘I’m not doin this with you tonight’ and when I turned around she grabbed my hair. Yanked me down to her level and bop bop!” I jerked my shoulder to try and insinuate a punch, “she was doing my head in and so I grabbed her wrist and tried to remove her from my hair and when I turned she started scratching at my eyes-“

“Liar!” Gala stood up and screamed at me.

“No! It’s true and you fucking know it,” I hissed at her. She opened her mouth to yell again but words didn’t come out when Rhys let out a low growl, accompanied by an unmistakable look. She was receiving the same the same warning I got earlier.

Rhys nodded at me and I continued, “she scratched my eyes and I shoved her off of me, that was when she fell into the table. My powers are… interesting so the table broke when I pushed her into it. She got up pretty quick after that, she grabbed a chair and started running towards me with it so I grabbed it before it hit me and I hit her with it. Mind you I had a couple shots in me so I was ready, I turned the chair on her and broke it over her. I thought that would be enough but she grabbed a glass from the table and threw it at me. I know those glasses hit some other people but I think when she missed me it upset her because she was screamed and ran at me-

“You threw the glass at me! I was screaming running away!”

It was my turn to growl at Gala, she only sneered before shutting up again. “She ran at me and I dodged her and she ran into another table, that’s how the second table broke. So I grabbed a bottle off the bar and when she came at me again I broke it, on her face. I really thought she would stop after that but she grabbed a tray off the bar that was full of glasses and threw that at me, some of it hit me and so I threw another chair at her. She was under the chair and tackled me to the floor, scratching at my face again. I hit her and it knocked her off of me, she grabbed the broken bottle and she looked like she would kill me so… well I picked her up and threw her. That’s what put the whole in the wall, and really, that’s when I thought she was done for real.

So I turn around and go to grab my things because I’m trying to leave but she grabbes one of those big bottles from behind the bar and threw it.”

“Bitch!” Gala was up again this time moving for my face, “You stupid whore! You know-“ her voice was cut off when the ground beneath her feet began to shake, the whole office was shaking.

Rhysand braced his hands on the desk and glared at Gala, “We heard your story, now I want to hear hers. If you interrupted a fourth time… you will regret it.” Galas eyes were wide and she was smart enough to look afraid. She just nodded dumbly before sitting down, her silver eyes darting between the angry high lord and the unyielding spymaster. I waited for Rhys to nod again before continuing.

“It hit my head and at that point, it wasn’t about defending myself, I just wanted to to beat her ass. So yes I did run at her and slammed her into a table, kinda roughly so that’s how the third table and those chairs broke. Anyway so yea, I get to her and that’s when I just started hitting her, some guy tried to pull me off but I think I hit him. I really do feel bad about that, I’ll pay for whatever medical treatment he receives. Anyways that’s when the cops dragged me off of her, three of them I think, they detained me and when they went to try and detain her she freaked. Started fighting the officers, she threw another bottle at the short one and they dragged both of us out. She fought them the whole time, kicking and screaming at the cops.”

When I finished the high lord just stared face still blank, I felt like I needed to explain more, pleade my case further. But he spoke before I could, “So you guys are neighbors?”

“Yes!” Me and Gala both said at the same time, the dirty look we gave each other also happened at the same time.

“Yes,” I repeated, “She has hated me ever since I moved in. Actually I’m pretty sure she’s the one who killed my hippogriff.”

Gala snorted, “I wouldn’t go near that thing with a ten foot pole! They’re dangerous creatures and they’re illegal here you know!”

“Yes, I know,” I mocked her and the fire that was in her eyes in, Rita’s returned.

Gala jumped up to scream, “You insolent bitch! You think you’re above everyone but you ruin lives for fun!”

“How did I ruin your life?!” I was standing now too, “I never did anything to you!”

“Lies!” She screeched, “you know exactly what you did! Sneaking around my garden when I’m not home!”

I, once again, gaped at her. “Seriously? That’s what this is about!? Because I watered you plants when you were out of town?!”

“Trespassing!” If my hands were able to I would’ve covered my ears, her tone was dangerously high. “You trespassed on my property! Not to mention you tried to steal my cat, probably to feed it to you hippogriff!”

“What?!” The whole situation was utterly insane to me, “I was trying to be a good neighbor! And your cat followed me home. Probably to get away from you.”

Gala was seething, “You don’t talk about my cat! You stole him after you broke in! Broke into my garden and ruined my work!”

A dark chuckle fell from my lips, “I ruined your work by keeping your plants alive? You’re fucking crazy,” I turned to the high lord to try and find some support, “You hear this? She’s fucking crazy!”

“I’m going to fucking kill you!” Gala screamed as she shook from rage.

“Come on bitch. I’ll beat your ass- again!” She ran at me only to hit an invisible wall and falling onto her behind with no way to brace herself.

“Enough!” Rhys voice was commanding now and the primal part of me coward at the sound. He was visibly angry. “This all started over a garden?” His voice held an incredulous tone and I couldn’t blame him, the story was ridiculous.

“It started before the garden, she’s had something against me since ever I moved in.” My voice was calm as I spoke, I didn’t want to anger him more.

Gala on the other hand didn’t seem to care much, she rose from the floor before continuing her rampage, “She moved into my quiet neighborhood, and my life has been hel ever since! Always singing loudly in the morning. Having friends over at night. Prancing around in skimpy dresses. Growing plants that I haven’t been able to grow just to rub it in my face! You should see it, she’s always flicking her perfect hair and smiling at everyone who looks at her. I can’t stand it! All the males coming to her doorstep trying to be with her, females flocking to gain a friendship with her. In all my years no one has ever tried to befriend me! I hate how everyone loves her! I hate it! And I hate her!”

I just blinked at Galas out burst and suddenly everything clicked. She was jealous of me. I stepped back and slumped into the chair at my knees. I just shook my head, all of this over some petty insecurities.

“Nell!” Rhys called and the officer that escorted us poked his head in, “Can you escort Y/n here back to her holding cell? I’d like to speak with Gala in private.” Nell just nodded, he moved towards me but I stood up and met him half way. All the anger was lost to me as I followed him all the way to the back of the station.

I sat down in my cell and my eyes were trained on the floor, the tears I was holding back finally found there way out. Nell locked the door and when I didn’t hear him walk away I looked up. “I heard everything, and off the record,” he leaned in, “I think she’s crazy too.”

I offered him a sad smile before looking back down. She was crazy but she was hurting, I knew her jealousy wasn’t my fault but I couldn’t help but feel guilty. I was trying to be helpful, living my life as happily as possible but for some twisted reason I was hurting her. Tears continued to fall until a small whisper of a shadow nuzzled my face and wiped them away.

The entire scene that played out in front of the brothers was no less than absurd. Almost comical, Rhys might have laughed if he wasn’t playing the role of the dutiful high lord. But the most interesting part was what Azriel had whispered in his mind. The girl, the main perpetrator, was his mate.

The second your voice hit his ears, Azriel almost fell to his knees. Your voice was melodic, soft and sweet, reminiscent of a summer breeze. The only thing he could do was petrify himself, to keep from falling in front of you, kissing your minor injuries, and tearing the throat out of the female who spoke ill of you.

He saw the tears threatening your eyes as you stood up to move out of the room. Every part of his body screamed at him to comfort you, hold you, inform you that you aren’t responsible for another fae’s bitterness.

When you left Rhys interrogated Gala further, listening to her wild tales of all the times you did something terrible. It truly sounded like you were just living your life and for some reason she hated that. She called you names, names that threatened Azriels resolution. He wanted to rip the spiteful bitch to shreds and finish what you started. He couldn’t lie, he felt some sick pride while listening to your side of the story. He knew if he was there things would’ve ended much worse for her.

Rhysand listened diligently, nodding and humming as Gala went on. Azriel slightly resented his brother for not striking her down where she sat. Rhys eventually cleared his throat, indicating that he was ready to speak. “So Gala, do you remember the first thing I said to you?” She nodded dutifully, “When I told you not to lie to me?” She nodded again, more unsure this time. Rhys just gave her a saccharine grin, “You wouldn’t mind if I checked, would you?”

“I- well-“ she shifted under the intensity of the stares, “It’s just my thoughts are my own, you know… I would like to keep it that way.” Her confidence wavered and suddenly she was unable to make eye contact.

Rhys chuckled lowly, “Look Gala, I just want to help. That- that wretch has made you suffer enough. Let me in; and I’ll take care of all of it.”

A deep growl came from Azriel his tight grip on his shadows loosened, causing them to swirl around him menacingly. Rhys knew the reaction was for him, he would react the same to hear his brother speak such words about Feyre. Galas eyes widened, taking the scene as a threat to her. She nodded lamely and with permission Rhys slipped into her mind.

Azriel tried to reign in his shadows, struggling against their will, it wasn’t until they relayed your voice he relaxed. They carried soft whispers to his ear and a deep breath pushed from his mouth at the sound.

I sat in the cell watching the lone shadow dance around for me, it seemed it was attempting to cheer me up. I chuckled lightly at its antics. An officer walked past the cell and it darted into my hair, hiding. This naughty shadow wasn’t meant to be here, I wonder if my power is what called it or if it came on its own free will. I decided to channel my power, hone it in on the male who the shadow belonged to. After a few seconds of concentration, I was connected.

“Hi,” I whispered and it circled my head, running across my face before landing on my knee.

Hello, hello, it whispered back. Beautiful, so so beautiful.

I laughed airily, “Thank you, so are you.” The shadow whirled around at the compliment, happy to hear praises. “Listen, I’m innocent. You have to believe me, I didn’t start this. I didn’t do anything to her.”

Innocent, innocent, it chanted and I let out a breath. The shadow believed me, I wondered if it was a reflection of its master or if it had its own will.

“Can you tell your master?” I questioned, leaning down, “Can you convince him?”

He’s here, it whispered back and I snapped my neck up to find none other than Azriel. He was leaning against the bars giving me a devilish smirk. He looked beautiful, his tan arms crossed showing off rippling muscles as his eyes glanced over me lazily. I pushed my thighs together, feeling hot under his gaze.

He wants you too, the naughty little shadow whispered, causing a blush to creep up my cheeks as I looked away.

He chuckled lowly as he turned to face me completely, his forearm met the bar above his head as he leaned in. The ravishing sight had me licking my lips, something his smirk told me he caught.

“Cool power,” he mused, his eyes shone with mischief as he held my gaze.

Busted, the shadow whispered and I rolled my eyes at it.

“Very cool, and very useful.” My voice was confident despite the shaking under my skin.

He huffed a laugh before leaning back and crossing his arm over his chest once more. He doesn’t know what he’s doing.

He does, the shadow outed him and it was my turn to laugh.

“I’m guessing that’s where you got the strength from, you channeled someone else’s power to throw that poor female into a wall.”

“Oh please,” it was my turn to lean back. I crossed my legs slowly and I bit my lip as his eyes tracked the movement. “That bitch had it coming.”

“Ooo,” he purred and the warmth between my legs spread to the rest of my body, “Naughty little girl, don’t you know? Every action has an equal and opposite reaction.” His head cocked to the side and I mimicked his movement, a smirk of my own forming. “Bad girls need punished.”

I slowly uncrossed my legs and pushed myself up, moving towards him. I was hot, burning under his gaze. Everything tingled as gave into some intrinsic need that command I be closer to him. I pushed my chest against the bars and my low cut dress showed off my cleavage. His eyes lowered to exactly where I knew they would. The shadow danced excitedly through my hair as if it too loved our proximity.

“And will you be personally handing out my punishment?” I made my voice sickly sweet, conveying an inappropriate innocence. I looked up at him through my eyelashes and batted them sweetly.

A low rumble left his chest and I hummed at the sound. He knows exactly what he’s doing.

Leaning in he whispered, “I don’t think anyone else would do it properly.” His eyes raked the entirety of my body and I thanked the mother for putting on my most flattering dress. The double entendre coupled with his hazy eyes had me ready to tear apart the steel and pounce.

“Promise?”

His scared had gripped the bar so tight his knuckles turned white. Looks like I’m not the only one ready to tear through steal.

Suddenly he leaned back and crossed his arms again, smirk still evident. A second later Rhysand and officer Nell were at the cell door, and Rhys was looking at me with a pleased look that only garnered confusion.

“Where’s Gala?” I looked around but she wasn’t in the station and I didn’t see her exit the office.

“Gala’s not going to be a problem for you anymore,” the simplicity in his words was slightly troubling. I didn’t want anything bad to happen to Gala, not anymore at least. I tilted my head and raised an eyebrow waiting for an answer. Rhys noted my concern, “Nothing bad. But I looked through some of her memories and- what she felt for you, it was completely irrational. She needs help so we’re going to get her some. Very far away.”

I let out a breath which was followed by an airy chuckle. I leaned my head against the bar and my chuckle turned into a full belly laugh. “Thank gods, she was fucking crazy.”

Rhys smiled as he waved his hand and my magical bonds fell. My hands wrapped around my own wrists soothingly and I stepped out of the now open door. “There’s still the issue of all the damage Rita’s suffered,” Rhys cocked his brow, interested in what I might say to that.

“Whatever it is, I’ll pay it,” I made hands that conveyed that of a promise.

“The damage reports come to around 4,090 gold marks,” officer Nell responded, his coy smile ever prevalent. I made an O shape with my mouth and rocked on my heels back and forth. That’s about 6 paychecks, without factoring the need to pay rent or buy food.

“I’ll pay it,” Azriel said simply. I whipped my head around to look at him, on the cusp of disagreeing. “Well you’ll pay it, it’ll come out of your check; when you come work for us.”

My shock was evident on my face and my mouth opened and closed lamely before I mustered up a “What?”

“Your powers,” he clicked his tongue as he stepped next to me, close enough for our arms to brush. “They could come in handy, far more handy for us than they do at some desk job.”

I shook my head as I processed everything. How did Azriel know where I worked? I suppose that’s dumb, he’s a spymaster and I told the police earlier. But was he really able to offer me a job, on Rhysands court?

I looked to my high lord for confirmation and he just smiled, “Way more handy than having you behind a desk,” he shoved his hands in his pocket with a shrug, “plus we already know you can fight.”

I laughed at that and my hand met my head as I mulled it over, I would be stupid not to accept. I knew my powers were unique and I always wanted to do more, I just never knew where to start. “Sure, I never liked my job anyway.” I tried to play it off cool but my soul was bouncing on the inside. The sneaky shadow seemed happy too as it whirled around my head and down through my fingers.

“Sounds good,” Rhys clapped and turned to walk with Nell, “Oh,” he looked over his shoulder, “Be sure to apologize to Rita.”

I brought my hand to my forehead offering a salute, “Yes sir!” He smiled before placing a gentle hand on Nell’s shoulder and walking away.

A giggle stole from my mouth as I clapped my hands over my heart and turned to Azriel, he had a pleased look on his face. I decided in that moment I would do anything to keep it there. “Well, that all worked out nicely.”

“Lucky you,” he purred, before tilting his head down and whispering, “Not lucky enough to escape your punishment though.”

The darkness returned to his eyes and my whole body lurched, begging to be punished right here, in front of the whole station.

I hummed as I wrapped my hands around his strong forearm, pushing onto my tiptoes and leaning into his ear. “Don’t hold out on me shadowsinger.” I giggled as I pulled back and bounced towards the door. On my way out I felt some more shadows, sneaking up and brushing against my thighs before coming up to whisper to me.

Bad, bad girl, they said. I just smirked as I pushed out of the door into daybreak. Who knew getting arrested could be so exciting.

A/N: I didn’t plan on writing this but I got the idea and since it’s my day off I went for it :p

If you guys like it I would be sooo down to do a part 2??? Maybe I’ll be brave enough to make a smutty 2 :D

Anywhooo my requests are always open so don’t be shy ;)

As always, if you made it this far… I LOVE YOU<3<3

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