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

[reveryfics]

Drunk Confessions

Parings: Bucky Barnes x Male reader

Summary: After a night of drinking, Bucky shows up at your apartment soaking wet and drunk, determined to speak his mind.

A/n: Somewhat based off the lyrics "Slurring all your words not making any sense" and "cause I got hella feelings for you, I act like I don't fucking care. Like they ain't even there."

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Bucky, a shadow of his former self, slumped against the sticky bartop. His head lolled to one side, a victim of the relentless pull of gravity. The neon hum of the bar blurred at the edges of his vision, a distorted symphony of light and noise. A half-empty whiskey glass, a testament to his descent into oblivion, sat neglected in front of him. A dark puddle, spreading like a malevolent stain, marred the bar's polished surface.

With a feeble effort, he fumbled for his wallet, extracting a crumpled bill. He tossed it onto the counter, a careless gesture that belied the turmoil within. The bartender, a seasoned observer of human misery, offered to call an Uber. Bucky waved him off, a silent plea for solitude.

The rain, a relentless tormentor, lashed down, transforming the quiet street into a raging torrent. Bucky, drenched and disoriented, stumbled forward, each step a battle against the elements. His mind, clouded by the intoxicating embrace of alcohol, clung to a singular, desperate purpose. He had to see his friend, to unburden himself of the weight that had been gnawing at his soul.

Twenty minutes later, he stood before his friend's apartment, his knuckles rapping against the weathered door. It creaked open, revealing a figure shrouded in a robe. The man, shorter than Bucky, blinked sleepily, his face etched with surprise. "Bucky?" he questioned, his voice thick with confusion.

"Yeah, it's me," Bucky replied, his voice barely audible over the roar of the storm. "Can I come in?"

Without waiting for an answer, he stepped inside, water dripping from his clothes onto the worn carpet. His friend, clearly startled, ushered him towards the entrance, "Wait there. I'll get you a towel."

A few minutes later, Bucky emerged from the bedroom, now dry and clad in borrowed clothes. He sank into a chair at the dining table, a steaming cup of tea clutched in his hands. His friend joined him, a concerned expression etched on his face.

"I gotta tell you something," Bucky began, his words slurred. "Something important."

Something was clearly gnawing at Bucky, a darkness eating away at him from within.

“Is everything alright?” he whispered, his voice barely audible. Even without words, he knew Bucky was struggling, his mind plagued by the specter of the Winter Soldier.

The cozy, familiar setting seemed to amplify Bucky's unease. A glance at the framed photo from last year's birthday party—a snapshot of shared laughter and genuine warmth—sent a pang of longing through him. This man, who saw beyond the horrors of his past, was everything to Bucky. Yet, a shadow loomed over their connection.

Bucky's metallic fingers drummed nervously against the mug, his gaze darting around the room, avoiding direct eye contact. “No, everything's fine,” he murmured, his voice strained. “I just... need to get something off my chest.”

Bucky took a deep breath, the warmth of the tea doing little to soothe the turmoil within him. "Look," he began, his voice barely a whisper, "I've been... I've been thinking a lot lately." He paused, his gaze flickering towards the framed photo. "About us."

A beat of silence hung in the air, the only sound the crackling of the fire in the fireplace. Bucky's friend leaned forward, his eyes filled with concern. "Bucky, whatever it is, you can tell me."

With a surge of courage, Bucky blurted out, "I... I love you. I've been terrified to say it, because of... well, you know. But I can't keep it bottled up anymore."

His confession hung heavy in the air, the weight of his past threatening to crush the fragile hope it carried. Yet, to his surprise, his friend's face broke into a gentle smile. "Bucky," he began, his voice soft, "I love you too. Your past doesn't define you. It's part of who you are, but it's not all of you."

Relief washed over Bucky, a wave of emotion so intense it threatened to consume him. He leaned forward, their hands brushing against each other. "Really?" he whispered, his voice filled with disbelief.

His friend nodded, his eyes unwavering. "Really. And I'm not going anywhere."

In that moment, all the fear and doubt that had plagued Bucky melted away. He pulled his friend into a passionate kiss, a kiss that was years in the making. It was a kiss filled with love, longing, and the promise of a future together.

[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 ♡

[mrsbarnesblog]

cost of betrayal

masterlist

summary: after Rafe finds out the truth about you and Hollis, he comes back from Morocco, expecting you to be gone, but you refuse to leave without trying to work things out first

word count: 1.7k.

warnings: part 2 spoilers, angst and fluff, pogue reader, arguments, trust issues

a/n: i stand Sofia and Rafe, guys. need them together asap 🙏

“I think I told you to get the fuck out of my house, Y/N?” It’s the first thing you hear when Rafe walks through the front door of his house, throwing his bag on the floor and walking right past you, not even looking in your direction. You get up from the couch, wiping your sweaty hands on your pants. 

Your chest feels tight, and your eyes are still swollen and red from the amount of crying as you silently follow him to the kitchen. That one stupid decision can cost you everything, including the man you love, and for the past few days, all you have been able to do is cry and curse yourself for being so stupid. 

You stop when Rafe leans forward with his hands on the counter, his back is unusually tense, you feel anger radiating from him even from a distance and it’s all your fault, you know that. 

“We need to talk.” You whisper, coming closer and hugging yourself with your arms. 

“I have nothing to talk to you about.” 

“Rafe, please. I need to explain.” He turns around suddenly, blue eyes colder than you have ever seen. You almost step back from Rafe’s intense gaze, because never before were you at the receiving end of that look. He was nothing but sweet and kind to you during your entire relationship, so losing that privilege hurts you even more. 

He tries to hold back, tries to calm himself down at the image of your looking at him so sadly, with regret written all over your face. Rafe breathes heavily, trying to hide the pain of feeling played by you—the only person he thought he could trust wholeheartedly. He hates that even now, even with the anger raging inside him, he still feels that instinct to protect you, to calm you.

Hurts at the realisation that he doesn't want to lose you, that a part of him feels like he cannot survive without you, that even after what you’ve done he can’t let you go. He doesn’t want you to actually leave him alone. 

“The fuck you need to explain? The way you betrayed me, huh?” He takes slow steps towards you, intimidating, almost threatening, but his voice shakes with emotions. “The way you went behind my back with that bitch Hollis to screw me up and make me lose my money? I fucking trusted you, I gave you everything and you still did that to me.” Rafe’s face was just inches from yours and you were unable to take your eyes from his, unable to even deny it, because he was not wrong. 

“I know, Rafe, I know!” You sob, unable to hold back your tears. “I never wanted to hurt you, I never meant to set you up like that. I was angry at you and she appeared at that exact moment, and... 

“She was fucking angry!” He yells, throwing his hands up in the air. You flinch but still stay your ground. 

“Because you hurt me, Rafe!”

“Bullshit. I did nothing but take care of you.”

“I heard what you told your friends.” You yell back, not caring about trying to communicate properly anymore. You were wrong for doing that, yes, but the way his words made you feel at that moment was probably the worst pain you’ve ever experienced, so it wasn’t like you were the only one to blame. “That you’re not living with a pogue, that you have standards, that we’re just hooking up... I heard it all, Rafe. How did you expect me to react to that, huh?”

You see a slight shift of recognition or even regret in his eyes, but he quickly goes back to his previous coldness. 

“So you made me lose my money because of this shit?” 

“I know that it was wrong, okay? But... but do you understand what I felt at that moment? Do you understand how much it hurt me to hear it?” You sob again, desperately trying to wise away all of the tears that were streaming down your face. You’re barely able to speak properly with the lump in your throat, but you push it away because you feel there’s only one chance for you to get things straight with Rafe. 

He stays silent, his brows are knitted, whether in still-lingering anger or in a hint of regret and frustration because of the way you were feeling. Rafe always hated seeing you cry, seeing you hurt in any type of way, even if he hasn’t always been able to admit or express it, and now part of him is more angry at himself than at you. Your trembling frame, the way your shoulders shake with each sob, chips away at his anger, leaving only the fear of losing you.

“We’ve been together for more than a year, Rafe. I— I thought that it meant something to you. That I mean something to you. I was hoping that maybe all of your kook and pogue bullshit was long forgotten, but you didn’t even hesitate to say that to Topper.” Your voice is filled with sadness and despair, and you are aware that you are probably looking a mess right now. All  you can do is just wipe your face with the loose sleeves of your shirt, sniffing in between your words and trying to make your voice less shaky. 

"How was I supposed to feel?" How would you feel if you were in my situation, Rafe? If I said you did not mean anything to me and I was just having a good time?" You ask, but don’t get an answer. Instead, he just looks at you silently, with a blank expression, because he knows that he would’ve gone absolutely crazy. “I love you. I did for a long time, but you made me feel as if I was nothing to you. Just another pogue that you despise, that you keep around for fun until you find someone better and just dump!” Placing a hand on your violently beating heart, you take a deep breath before continuing. 

“It was stupid. I regretted it as soon as I did it and I wanted to tell you, but you had already signed the contract. I know I hurt you with what I did. But can you really say you didn’t hurt me first?” 

“Maybe I shouldn’t have said it. I didn’t… I didn’t mean it like that. He finally mutters, his voice quieter now. “But you don’t get it, Y/N. All my life, everyone’s expected me to be a certain way, to follow the same fucking rules I don’t even believe in. I thought… I thought if I kept us under the radar, I’d protect you from that. And you know how hard it is for me to open up—that I don’t want to let people in because everyone ends up leaving me.” 

“I never meant to betray you, I never wanted to be another person who hurts you, Rafe.” You feel like you are about to collapse, burying your face in your hands and crying. 

It feels like a joke of your spiraling mind at first, but when your body suddenly gets embraced in a familiar warmth and scent, you break down completely. Rafe hugs you around your shoulders and you wrap your hands around his waist, gripping the back of his shirt and hiding your face in his chest. You’re sniffing and trembling, unable to breathe properly, until you feel his hand at the back of your head and his low voice shushing you. 

“Breathe, baby. Just breathe. ‘S okay.” He rocks both of you from side to side until your breathing straightens. The steady beating of his heart soothes you quickly, until your tears get dry on your face. “I shouldn’t have said that. I’m sorry. I was an idiot for not protecting you the way I should’ve.” You feel him slightly leaning down. Slow, delicate kisses being left on your temple, on your cheek, and with a slight movement of your head, Rafe’s able to capture your lips. 

Your face is still sticky with tears, and your lips are swollen, but neither of you care as you start to melt against him. It’s been way to long since he left for Morocco. The stress that you’ve experienced from your fight and from the fact that you were going crazy about his safety was overwhelming. 

While he was kissing you slowly, you both realized how hard it was to stay apart for that long, not sure of what was happening between you two. 

“I’m sorry that you lost so much money because of me.” You mumbled when he pulled away, resting his forehead on yours. 

“You know it’s not the damn money I actually care about. I thought that I was wrong about you, that I lost you, Y/N.” You shake your head against his, caressing the sides of his face with your hands. 

Rafe lifts his free hand that was not holding your waist, placing it on top of your hand and you see the way his tense shoulders immediately relax at the feeling of his mother’s ring still on your finger. 

“We’re making it official. I don’t care about this pogue bullshit, don’t care about whatever Topper with his crazy bitch or other kooks think about it. I’m not wasting my time anymore.” You smile through happy tears now, looking Rafe in the eyes, seeing that familiar warmth that you were afraid to never experience again. He smirks back at you, holding you tighter against his chest. “No more hiding and lying, yeah, baby? I love you.” 

“Y-yes. No more of that stuff. I love you too, Ray.” You giggle before he drags you even closer to kiss you again. 

[messenger-of-babel]

The Call

Summary: One little call to each of them. One big consequence. (Batfamily x sibling!reader)

Word Count: 2.9K

Notes: IM LATE AGAIN. I hope you all know that I do stay up wildly late when this happens cause I want to edit before I submit, even if some of these were pre-written (its 1:30AM RAHH). ANWAYS. Batfamily, I tried to get as many as I could but I haven't collected runs for about half the family cause I am biased towards my boys, but I am trying to be as accurate as possible when I can be and that includes those dynamics! So rest assured I am doing my research and hopefully that'll reflect soon. As usual, enjoy your daily feed and I'll enjoy my nap. Warnings just for general description of violence.

Much Love~! xx

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When Dick got the call, he was in his civilian clothes.

Dick Grayson was suit shopping, needing something for an upcoming gala. He had put it off for so long, since he wore the Nightwing suit more than any other in his closet. He had let it ring out once while he got his measurements taken, but when they called back a second time, his lips dipped into a frown. Excusing himself, he clicked the answer call button, stating his name. He hears the voice of Bruce, but in the stern tone of Batman. He doesn’t think that he's ever left a store as fast as he had that day, feet thudding on the pavement and breath cold in his chest as he hurries to his car. He unlocks it and all but throws himself into the passenger seat, lines on his face hardening. Throwing it quickly into drive he pulls out and heads in the direction of the manor.

He tries to keep himself composed, his emotional training kicking in. His fingers are tense on the steering wheel, passing over the bridge at a speed a cop would most certainly pull him over for. Even though he tries to take a deep breath, there's a burning in his sternum. It builds until it creeps into his neck, making him click his tongue uncomfortably.

The sensation is a rage he hadn't felt in a while, a fire that hadn’t burnt that intensely since he was just a boy grieving his parents’ death. It had flickered when he had heard Bruce had adopted a boy called Jason after him, sputtering to life upon hearing about his death. Yet he had grown, he had risen above it and had become a shelter for his younger, extended family. He was dependable, uncrackable, and upbeat, that was Nightwing. Yet as he drives back with that painful fire in his chest, he felt nothing more than Dick Grayson, the boy stricken with fear at the idea of losing his family.

When Jason got the call, he had been on patrol.

Helm securely on his face, it kept the drizzly night rain of Gotham out of his eyes. It had been a rather quiet night, stopping a few minor robberies and assaults that were common down by Dixon Docks. He was eager to return home, wanting to swing by the manor quickly to take full advantage of the hot water system before heading back to his apartment in Old Gotham for a well-deserved rest. He had just finished interrogating some of Penguins' men, about to call the cave to let whoever was on tonight know that they finally had the location of the new drug den they had been chasing the past month. However, the communication device he had set on his bike was lit, screen full of notifications.

Calls, one after another filled the small holographic display and he pressed the button to call back, leg swinging over the side of the bike as he did so. He had only started the bike but already he screeched to a stop, making sure he heard the words properly. A curse and gruffly shouted questions were his only response and when he got the information he wanted, he cut the call and the bike roared to life. He leant forward as if that was going to help him get to his destination quicker, blood boiling underneath his skin. His chest ached with the urge to sputter out pants, desperate to start the sign of panic racing through his veins. Yet he was stronger than that, keeping his cool like a tightly wound coil, muscles tensed beneath the suit.

His mind buzzes with worry, anxiety gnawing at his ribcage like a feral rat.

Jason doesn't often allow himself to be emotional on the job, despite his tendency for rage.

But rage was different. Rage burned and warmed him up from the inside, was the force that he put behind every punch or kick. It was his kindling, and it served to guide him as well as any star. Of course, Bruce had tempered it somewhat, but he had just guided Jason into turning it into something else, not getting rid of entirely. He used rage to protect the people of the city, the outrage he felt when he saw them get treated badly. He used rage when coming to his family's defence, the sight of hands being laid on people he had come to care for sparking it too. Those were the rages he was used to using, although there was always a third.

The pit.

The rage that bubbled away in the back of his mind, hidden behind a tall wall and shoved into the deepest part of him. That was the rage that crept forth, green and poisonous in his veins and clouding his judgement in a fog of pain and despair and anger. When it would appear, he would often take a moment to himself to pack it back away, contain it once more in the bulletproof casing of his heart. Yet right now, he didn't want to put it back. It made him rev the bike harder, made him feel like he was getting there quicker. The bike kicked up water as he zig zagged through the back streets, his mental map of Gotham rerouting anytime the traffic was longer than five cars deep. He couldn't afford to lost time, to not be fast enough. Not now, not this time, and if he had to use the rage the pit cursed him with, he would.

Tim was at the manor, holed up in his room when he got the call.

It had been a long night the night before, tossing restlessly. Not that he would have told anyone, but the last fight with Bane had left him with a few more bruises than he had let on, cleverly hidden from the keen eyes of Alfred. He wanted to nurse them himself, carry his own weight. In fact, he had been sulking in his room going over the things that had been troubling him, knees pulled to his chest.

Dick was capable and dependable, and the first Robin, the biggest shoes to fill. Jason was tenacious but loved deeply, and he fought for what was right. His methods might be unconventional to the Bat sometimes, but he knew what he wanted to fight for. Steph had flown the nest to become Spoiler, Cass already had such a firm grasp of who she wanted to become now that she was Orphan. Barbara had even been able to turn her life around after being put into her wheelchair, her desire to help leading her to become Oracle when she had to hang up Batgirl. Even Damian, the true son of Bruce Wayne, was so confident, growing at a rate he knew Bruce was quietly proud of.

But then there was Tim, who stayed up on weekends trying to redesign his suit, to carve his own vigilante life, only to look on it and see the traces of his time as Robin printed clearly on it. The role of Robin had outgrown him, but there was the shred of doubt that whispered in his ear that just maybe, he hadn't outgrown it. The ringing of his phone snapped him out of his daze, and he let it go to voicemail. When it came again, he grabbed his phone with the desire to turn it off, but seeing the emergency signal had him picking up right away.

"Hello?" he called, sitting right up in bed. His eyes widened and he shelved his pity party, running out of his room.

He winds through the halls of the manor until he finds the door he's looking for. Tim's knuckles rap against the wood loudly, repeating until a disgruntled Damian comes to the door, swinging it open violently. "This better be good, Drake." he deadpans, scanning the flustered state of the older boy. Tim just turns his phone screen, showing the emergency call signal before gesturing to the direction of the grandfather clock with his head. "We've got to go." he says curtly, the young boy hot on his heels after he recovers from his shock.

Both of them head to the cave and prepare to depart immediately. Tim slips the suit over his skin like an outgrown shedding, domino mask sliding onto his face. He couldn’t recognise his own face when he caught sight of it in the glass reflection, but a mask and suit would never be enough to hide the panic that clung to him tighter than the Red Robin suit.

When Bruce got the call, he was at Wayne Enterprises.

He was making a rare appearance at the office, knowing that Lucius had something that he wanted to talk to him about. His office felt foreign and sterile, empty and unreal. The glass surfaces everywhere let him glimpse the face of Bruce Wayne, a face that he was beginning to see less and less. It felt uncanny seeing himself without the cowl, and sometimes when he was working, he could swear he saw a reflection of the bat ears in the window beside him. The night had dragged on, and he was only an hour into the meeting with Lucius when the phone in his suit pocket rang.

He and Lucius shared a sceptical look as he turned the phone screen. The call location wasn't displaying as the Batcave, the only place that could contact this phone directly outside of his children, Lucius and Alfred's personal mobile. Yet he knew Red Hood was taking the brunt of patrol tonight, and Bruce was intended to join him after the meeting. Dick was carrying out some errands downtown and everyone else had either stayed home or didn't contact him like this often. The girls preferred to call his phone as Bruce Wayne or spoke through Alfred, so who could it be?

Lucius gives a nod, silent as he sits down. Bruce's face hardens as he presses the speaker button, accepting the call.

"Who is this?" he says, lowering his voice to the gravelly timbre of Batman.

"Da...B-Batman?" comes a broken, shaky voice on the other end. Lucius's eyes widen and flick to Bruce's immediately, mouth parting. Bruce's jaw ticks, eyes widening as well when he hears your voice.

"This is the Batman. How did you get this number?" He asks, having to focus on keeping his voice low, even though the tone of Bruce threatens to creep back in.

"He-he just had it. I don't know. He just told me to speak, I-I'm not even holding the phone I can't see anything; I’m tied, my eyes are-" you begin to ramble, struggling to get through your words before you're cut off.

"Hello, Batsy." calls a voice close to the receiver, and Bruce swore that his heart fell through the floor in that moment. His fingers tighten around the phone the same way that his lungs are constricting in his chest.

"Joker."

The man on the other end cackles, if Bruce could even call him that. "Miss me?" he snickers, Bruce's mind filling with the image of a red stretched grin. "You see, this is more of a... courtesy call. You know Bruce Wayne, billionaire extraordinaire?"

Bruce's head snaps up to Lucius, who's rubbing at his face nervously.

He didn't know, did he?

"You see, I didn't make a lot of impact going after the commissioner last time, so I had to think to myself, If I wanted to really shake things up in Gotham, who else is there? Then I thought of it, who better than the playboy of the century?" he laughs, punctuated with a sharp snap of his fingers.

"Get to the point." Bruce all but growls.

"Yeah yeah, you always love to rush me, don't you?" The Joker snarks back with fake hurt, before continuing. "Regardless, I have one of his little orphan projects, thinking I might have a bit more success with this one."

He hears a thwack over the phone and a scream, making his nails dig into his palm. He steadies his breathing.

"What have you done?" he asks, low and dangerous.

Another thwack.

"Exactly what I said. But there was a rumour going around that you know Mr. Money, so I thought I'd give you a call, you know, a little gift. If you do know the richest orphan in Gotham, then I want to give you the honour of telling him I've got one of his. Better yet, I want to give you the honour of delivering their body to his doorstep. Maybe that way, you might be able to bond over losing your fake kids."

Bruce feels sick, closing his eyes to try and stop himself from making a mistake right now.

Your life was on the line. He had to play smart.

"Where are you?"

The joker tuts on the other end. "This was a courtesy call, nothing more. I don't want anyone interrupting my playtime. Tata for now~"

"Joker-" he starts but then he's cut off, line going dead. Lucius doesn't say anything, his own personal phone pulled out as he calls Alfred, studying the frozen figure of Bruce. It's almost like there's dark tendrils to the shadows on his broad body, deepening the lines on his face.

Bruce doesn't remember too much, but Batman did.

Immediately he had left the room, suit en route to him and arriving within the minute. As soon as the comfort of his cowl touched his skin, Bruce was gone, and it was Batman calling everyone at the same time. It was Dick who picked up first, a couple of rings earlier than Jason before Tim joined, the sound of Damian in the background. Oracle and Spoiler joined together, while the others were still pending. He didn’t have the time to temper his voice as he relayed the situation, immediately getting as many people on recon as possible.

There were shouts and yelling and cursing before all of their lines became inactive, replaced with trackers signalling that their suits were live. When he enters the batmobile he grips the wheel tensely. The lump in his throat doesn't seem to disappear, only growing larger with each second. His mind is filled with pictures of Jason. Pictures of Barbara. The smiling photos of you.

He might never admit it, but he had your photos front and centre in his wallet (something you did in fact know and used to your advantage frequently in 'dad loves me more' battles). He remembers the first day he ever saw you, cold and scared apart from the other kids in the orphanage. He had been investigating a potential human trafficking ring operating out of the centre, but when he saw you, the fatherly pang hit him. The way your eyes stared forward dully as he greeted children as Bruce Wayne, cameras flashing around him. He had enough wealth to buy the children anything they asked for, the other kids excitedly asking for new toys or clothes or art supplies. However, when he kneeled down in front of you and asked you want you wanted, you said only a few words, 'a family'.

And god be damned if Bruce didn't have money enough for that too.

So, he took you in, hid batman from you like he had tried to with everyone else as well. Yet he failed again, but unlike his children in the past, you never asked to join. Never asked for a suit or to stay up or to train in the cave. Never showed any interest in joining your siblings or throwing yourself in front of danger for the sake of the city. When he asked you why you had simply shrugged, giving him a soft smile.

"All I've ever wanted was to be part of a family. I don't need to be a superhero to be loved."

And then you beamed at him with a smile that could have lit up his world and chased the clouds away from Gotham, so pure and genuinely content. That made Bruce feel like he had finally succeeded as a father, and for once Bruce felt like a father. No Batman, no mask and cape. He didn't train with you; he went out with you to the theatre on weekends. You didn't jump from rooftop to rooftop, you liked to come study with him in his office when he had to take care of Wayne affairs. Batman may have been created to save Gotham city, but he was convinced that you were sent to save Bruce Wayne.

Now, he felt that he had failed you as both Bruce and Batman.

"Hold on sweetheart," he whispers to himself, letting his eyes close for a brief moment during his exhale. "I'll get you home. I promise."

He pressed the accelerator further, Batmobile display signaling that everyone else was suited up and across the city waiting further instruction. He just hoped, he prayed that when he brought you back, it wouldn't be in a body bag.

[lightseoul]

Hiii congrats on 2k! Can you please do no. 22 for this event. Love you💗

hello, nonnie! thank you so much for the greetings <3 and yes, of course! this was so fun to write lol it practically wrote itself. hope this one makes y'all laugh! and love you too 😚

(this is lightseoul’s 2k milestone event ft. bakugou katsuki! to play, view the numbered list of prompts here, then simply send an ask with your chosen number and i’ll whip something up!)

22. "ARE YOU SINGLE?" (1.3k)

none of this would’ve happened if shitty hair—the hulking brute of a gentleman he begrudgingly calls his best friend—didn’t notice.

they were just taking a short albeit much-needed water break at the tail end of the day-shift patrol, the unforgiving sun having pushed them to near dehydration (as it always does) as they guarded this rather quiet part of the city.

and to be fair, it’s not like he did it on purpose.

he was just briefly but thoroughly scanning the area, like a responsible pro-hero on duty would, when his eyes laid on you.

“what was that?” kirishima, who just downed an entire 500 mL liter of cold water they got from the convenience store a block away, suddenly pipes up from right beside him.

“what.”

when the redhead doesn’t say anything for a beat, bakugou chances a glance at him, only to find the man sporting a shit-eating grin.

bakugou feels himself bristle.

kirishima’s grin only widens. “you just did a double take at that girl.”

“what girl?” bakugou grits out, feigning ignorance.

but any plans he had to keep that charade up practically fly out the proverbial window when the damned hardening hero moves to unabashedly point in your direction, and before his mind can catch up, his body lunges forward to restrain the man’s arm.

the man in question laughs. “i knew it.”

bakugou only scowls at him before shoving him away, as if he wasn’t the one who threw himself onto the guy in panic. kirishima takes it in stride, though, used to years of his friend’s rough treatment, taking the opportunity to look at you instead.

“ooh, she is cute.”

“shut up.”

bakugou fights the urge to follow his friend’s line of vision, knowing all too well what’ll greet him at the end of it.

he admits his gaze might’ve lingered a beat too long, not that he’ll ever admit that to his patrol buddy.

no, he’s taking that secret with him to the grave.

“let’s go say hi.”

bakugou instantly looks up in alarm, but before he can lunge forward again and hold the stupid fucking man back, kirishima is already up and crossing the street, the traffic lights having conveniently turned green for pedestrians just a moment ago.

he pauses for a second, the urge to flee and hide from you before his best friend does something to embarrass him and the curious need to go do say hi raging a tug of war inside of him.

but if there’s one thing he knows for certain as a pro-hero, it’s that a second’s worth of hesitation can cause irrevocable damage.

and so with gritted teeth, he follows suit and crosses the street, and in just a few strides, he finds himself trailing slightly behind the redhead, who’s now merely several feet from where you’re standing, holding to your chest what seems to be a clipboard.

you notice kirishima first, probably having heard the heavy booted footsteps of the two men, turning on your heel at the sound. your eyes widen at the sight, before your face morphs into a look of recognition and… pleasant surprise?

“oh gosh—” you start, eyes annoyingly fixed on his best friend, “—red riot, hello!”

“heya, …” kirishima trails off, and you promptly supply him with your name.

his pr prince of a best friend beams at you. “nice to meet ya!”

and only then does his presence seem to register to you, because your gaze finally drifts to him, and your smile falters for just a millisecond before you school your features into a polite expression.

“hello, mr. dynamight, sir.”

he feels his eye twitch at the salutation, and he doesn’t have to look at the pro-hero beside him to know that the guy is watching the scene before him in mild amusement. he doesn’t know how else to respond if not to ask you why the fuck he’s being treated so formally while you regard shitty hair with subtle familiarity, so he settles with a grunt.

that seems enough to satisfy you, though, because you swiftly turn back to kirishima. “my best friend is a huge fan of yours, by the way.”

and as kirishima readily accepts the compliment and thanks you, bakugou finds his mind singlehandedly honing on what you just said.

your best friend is a huge fan of kirishima, not you.

also, that means your best friend is a fan of his best friend.

and if the four of you were to pair up, perhaps on a double date…

bakugou shakes his head at the thought, and perhaps too aggressively, because he catches both of your attention, the two of you glancing at him with worry.

“you okay, bakubro?”

he steals a glance in your direction, which he instantaneously regrets, because he makes eye contact with you. he immediately averts his gaze, choosing to face the guy instead.

“‘m fine.”

kirishima hesitates. “you sure?”

bakugou only tosses him a glare.

“i’m gonna take that as a yes,” kirishima shoots back, before returning the smile on his face and shifting to regard you. “anyway, we were just taking a short break from patrol and wanted to check in. everything alright here?”

that apparently is enough to make you light up. bakugou’s gut churns in what is absolutely not jealousy.

“yeah, thanks!” you reply, gratitude bleeding into your tone. “i was just—” you trail off, eyes shifting down to that clipboard you’ve been clutching this entire time, before: “you know what, do you guys have a minute?”

“sure!”

“no.”

kirishima whips to look at him. “come on, bakubro! let’s help the citizens out, yeah?”

and bakugou doesn’t know why or how, but his mouth runs off before his brain or heart can dictate to him what to say.

“yeah,” he mutters, “for all i know, this is just a fucking pyramid scheme.”

instantly, the air around the three of you goes quiet.

that is, until kirishima pipes up. “he’s just joki—”

“thanks, red riot—” you cut him off, much to bakugou’s surprise, his eyes shooting up to look at you whose lips are now pulled into a tight line.

“—but i think only dynamight here fits my research’s inclusion criteria.”

your what?

and before he could even comprehend the last three words you just uttered, you bring up your clipboard and pen like you’re about to jot something down, and hit him with it.

“are you single?”

bakugou only gawks at you, too stunned to speak. although he apparently doesn’t have to, because you continue.

“are you?” you repeat, before laughing dryly. “of course you are, what with that fucking attitude…”

at that, kirishima instantly barks out a genuine laugh, his booming voice reverberating throughout the street, even startling the cat perched on top of those large garbage disposals.

bakugou, on the other hand, only gapes at you in horror, because who would’ve thought the pretty girl from across the street was a fucking rude ass potty mouth?

a fucking rude ass potty mouth who could clock him like that?

“does he tend to go speechless like this?” you ask kirishima a few moments later, who’s still shaking in suppressed laughter.

“no,” the pro-hero finally replies after catching his breath. “you’re the first one i’ve ever seen make him this way.”

“really?” you reply, voice low and laced with sarcastic disbelief.

“he is actually single, though,” kirishima quickly adds, much to his chagrin. “…if you’re interested.”

as if on cue, you finally turn to look at bakugou, and he—swear to god—feels his heart stop when you glance at him, something akin to curiosity hidden amidst your features.

but he doesn’t get to bask in it, though, or in its implications, because his dipshit of a best friend drawls on.

“if you are, though, that’s great—”

oh, don’t make him do it.

“—because he finds you very much attra—”

BAM!

[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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[cressidagrey]

Stars all aligned - Chapter 8

Summary:

If there was one thing that both Azriel and Zahra Archeron had in common, it was that they were both very good at blending into the background.

They just never thought that their family were going to be the ones who never saw them at all.

Warning:

I'll keep the warnings, even though there is no outright mention in this part: Bashing of like...every IC member? Especially the Archeron Sisters, discussion of chronic pain, discussion of Infertility, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Underage Prostitution, Underage Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault

If any of this triggers you or makes you uncomfortable, please, take care of your own mental health and don't read it.

(Lovely dividers thanks to @sweetmelodygraphics)

You’ll stay with her, he told the shadows fiercely. And if there is anything out of the ordinary, you’ll get me there.

He pulled the wards he shouldered around Rosehall tighter as well, making sure that he would know if there was anything…anything at all…

The shadows flickered around him, the creatures twining over his wings and snaking over his arms, and he felt a shiver of anticipation from them at the prospect of a fight.

They were ready for it. Nearly looking forward to it too. 

Yes, Master, they agreed with him. The High Lady and the General just broke into her cottage, they sneered in distaste. 

Azriel nearly growled when the statement registered with him. Fury rolled down his spine, rage igniting in him like something hungry for a fight.

He had nearly expected something like that. Though he hadn’t counted ont hem outright breaking in, but then it were Cassian and Feyre…maybe he should have expected this. 

Azriel took a deep breath in an attempt to control himself, pushing that anger away.

He needed to focus.

Why? he demanded. Actually, did he want to know? What kind of excuse was there for simply breaking into Zahra's apartment when she wasn't there?

He had to breathe deeply to stop himself from going over there and doing something that he wouldn't be able to take back.

They found your scent, Master, the shadows kept updating them. Now they think you had an affair.

His teeth clenched so hard he was surprised nothing shattered.

An. Affair.

He was going to break some bones.

It was a struggle, to keep himself back and not march right over to the River House.

The mating bond burned in him, as if Zahra felt his anger as well, and he had to force himself to remain in place, to breathe and control the raging emotion that burned in him.

He had a plan, damnit.

He needed to follow the plan.

The last thing he needed was his own stupid actions ruining the chance of his brothers coming around. And he wouldn't do that.

So he flew to Velaris, didn't allow himself to winnow and do anything ill thought out.

The flight was...brutally cold.

The air seemed extra chilled that day, the cold biting and painful.

But Azriel didn't let himself turn away. He pushed ahead, his shadows whipping around him as he pushed his wings to keep himself in the air.

He arrived just in time.

Azriel didn't even give himself a chance to warm up as he landed just outside of the River House.

The house looked tranquil enough, but the air still carried a tense charge to it.

Or maybe that was just his imagination, because fury was kindling deep in his gut.

He approached the front door. He didn't even try to sneak into the house.

No, he didn't give a damn if they heard him approach or not. He didn't bother to keep his wings folded or his presence masked.

He highly doubted that this was the moment for some of the quieter practices he employed as a spymaster after all.

Instead, Azriel took the few short steps up to the front door and pushed through it with perhaps more force than he should have.

Not that he seemed to care or mind in that moment.

 A couple of steps in the direction of the Dining Room... And there they were. His family. Their family. Though he wondered if Zahra was ever truly going to see them as her family after everything that had happened.

"Good Evening." His voice was carefully even. As much as he wanted to scream and hout..he wasn't going to. Not yet.

The room went silent in that instant.

Feyre's eyes widened, and her hand curled around the table, and the others...weren't even trying to disguise their surprise at his presence.

He could feel the mating bond, pulling at him, but ignored it with iron self control.

Feyre's face was set in a hard mask, but her eyes...her eyes were wild.

"You didn't bring your mate?" Mor wondered aloud.

"We need to have a talk." Azriel asked, his voice carefully measured despite the fury that simmered in him. He crossed his arms on his chest as he met Mor's gaze, his face an unreadable mask.

"Yes, we do," Feyre agreed sharply. "You want to tell me why your scent is all over my sister's house?"

"I imagine it's because I spent a lot of time there," Azriel shot back drily.

Fey's eyes widened at that response, but it was Cassian who spoke, his voice an odd mixture between curious and...something else. "You spent a lot of time there?" he echoed. "What exactly were you doing at her house, Az? It's not like the two of you are so close."

"Last time I checked I don't owe you an list of what I do in my free time." Azriel returned frostily. "And I spent time at her house, because we are friends."

"And time in her bed just because?" Rhys said with a sigh. "Azriel, what have you been thinking?" his brother demanded. If this is you trying to get back at me about Elian, don’t let Zahra be caught in the crossfire, he was admonished. 

And he was done.

He would never do something like that. Would never use one female to make another one jealous…and especially wouldn’t use one sister against the other like that. That Rhys even thought he would do something like that…it made him want to throw up. 

"Are you done?" Azriel asked. His voice was low, and the rage that roared in him was clear, as he met his brothers' gazes.

Cassian and Rhys exchanged a look before Cassian turned his eyes back to Azriel.

"Did you really have an affair with that girl?" Cassian asked him drily. 

He couldn't help the laugh that escaped him. Really? Really?!

"No," Azriel said with a snort. "I am not having an affair with that girl." The sarcasm was obvious in his voice. "And not that it's any of your business anyway, because how dare you break into her home and judge what you find there!," he snapped. "But I shared my mate's bed, because she asked me too."

The silence was almost absolute at his words, and Azriel could sense the way the others froze.

They hadn’t been expecting that.

"Your mate," Rhys said flatly, the only one that didn't seem outright shocked.

"My mate," he agreed, his voice fierce. "Zahra is my mate."

Mor looked like she had seen a ghost, and Fey's eyes were like saucers, her mouth opening and closing silently.

Cassian seemed the only one who recovered himself somewhat, his eyes sharp as he studied Azriel as though seeing him for the first time.

Rhys looked between all three of them before he rubbed a hand over his face.

"I would ask if you're sure," he said eventually. "But judging by your reaction, that question is pointless. You are."

"Yes," Azriel said, his voice still a little rough. Oh, he was sure. 

His protective fury was back in full force and blazing away. 

Nesta snorted.

All eyes turned to the older Archeron sister in surprise, and she merely held her hands up in mock surrender.

"What? Am I not allowed to find this remotely funny?" she asked drily, her gaze landing on Azriel and staying there. "My sincere condolences," she drawled.

The reaction was immediate.

If Cassian's reaction, a thin red film of pure killing power...forcing Azriel back a few steps hadn’t been there… he was quite sure that he would have slit Nesta's throat just for that one comment. And if not him...then his shadows. His shadows that were swarming around and muttered about vengeance. 

"Calm down," Rhys said sharply. "Calm Down, Azriel." 

Our mate, Ours the shadows hissed and Azriel clenched his jaw.

Azriel’S hands were clenched in tight fists, his wings trembling behind him as he tried, and failed, to reign in his temper.

The shadows were practically crackling around them, and Azriel took a few deep breaths, struggling to get the fury raging in him under control.

"What exactly is your problem?" he bit out.

"My problem?" Nesta shot back, her eyes narrowing. "You deserve better than her!"

Azriel's head snapped towards her, the movement nearly too quick to follow.

"What did you just say?" he said, his voice like poison.

Nesta's gaze was unwavering as she met his, her face a mask of cool certainty.

"You heard me," she said. "You deserve better than Zahra."

The silence stretched between them, Azriel's words caught in his throat.

Feyre's face had gone a little pale, her gaze flicking between the two of them.

And the rest of the room was just silent. The tension in the air was so thick that a single wrong move might trigger a bloodbath.

 "What exactly is your problem with your sister?" he hissed.

 Nesta's gaze hardened further, the look in her eyes suddenly more likesteel.

"She is a bastard," she said simply, her voice cold as ice. "She uses the people around her for her own gain. She had no problem with sleeping with a married man and god knows what else."

"I am a bastard too," Azriel gave back icily. "So is your mate, Nesta. And you have absolutely no idea what your sister sacrificed for you." 

Nesta's face went a little pale at that, and Azriel noticed Rhys's gaze hardening, his expression one of sharp reproach.

"Did she tell you that?" Nesta said, her voice harsh. "And you actually believe her?"

"I do, yes," Azriel said, his voice harsh. "But even if I didn't take her word for it, I would take Madja’s."

The evidence was right there. 

Nesta flinched at that, her eyes widening in shock. "Madja?" she echoed incredulously. “What does she have to do with anything?"

He regretted his words instantly. He had already said too much. He had already...

His shadows seemed to sense his growing discomfort, and they started to writhe around his form, trying to offer a barrier between himself and the others.

He was already regretting this reveal, but it was too late to stop now.

And he knew that this…this was the only way to mak ehtem understand. Use Zahra’s fucking trauma as a bludgeoning weapong because otherwise they wouldn’t understand. 

"Madja was the one who diagnosed the extensive internal damage your sister sustained during the course of what you call an affair, Nesta. It wasn't an affair. It were 6 years of rape," he spat out. "She was 15 year old when it started and you know why it started? Because, and I quote: Was I supposed to let my little sister die?"

The room went silent at that, everyone seemingly stunned into speechless by that revelation.

No one seemed to be able to form a single word, their minds still processing what they had just heard.

"You were sick with that fever, Feyre" Elain said, her voice shaky. "That first winter in the cottage. Zahra got you...Zahra got the medicine."

That seemed like the last straw for Feyre.

The words seemed to snap her out of her surprise, a look of horror blooming on her face. "Oh Gods," she breathed.

Her shoulders shook, and she seemed to be on the verge of tears, the shock of the revelation hitting her hard.

Nesta looked stricken as well, her face pale, and a small voice in Azriel hoped that his words finally reached through to her.

Rhys wrapped an arm around Feyre, pulling her close as she buried her face in his chest.

The others...were stunned speechless, their expressions reflecting their horror, shame and shock at the magnitude of the situation.

For a few moments, the silence stretched as all of them tried to process this, the weight of it hanging over them like some oppressive force.

The shadows writhed and twisted around Azriel, their own distress felt by him as he remained tense, waiting for the others to speak up.

"Where is she?" Feyre choked out.

"Safe," Azriel responded, his voice even.

"Where?" Feyre demanded weakly, pulling back from Rhys' arms.

"As I said, in a safe place," Azriel gave back, voice sharp. "Why do you want to know?"

"Why do you think?" Feyre shot back, her voice wavering. "She's my sister!”

“Is she really?” Azriel asked with a sigh. "You forgot her very existence," Azriel continued, his voice even, emotionless. "None of you ever treated her like you were her sister. For cauldron's sake, you didn't even ask her to come with you to your father's grave when Elain told him about her engagement. She wasn’t your sister then, was she?"

The blunt words hit home, and Azriel could practically feel the way everyone in the room sucked in a breath.

Feyre winced as though slapped, her expression one of shock and then, shame and pain.

 "How does she even know about this?" Elain whispered.

Like that was the thing that mattered. How Zahra had found out. 

"Because, she saw you," Azriel answered nonetheless.. "She saw all three of you." The words seemed to echo through the room. Everyone froze, their eyes widening in shock at the implication of that one sentence, and Azriel felt a wave of vindication at the look of guilt that flashed across all their faces.

Maybe that would make them understand. Somehow he doubted it though. 

They should feel guilty, he thought as he clenched his fists in an attempt to get his rising temper back under control.

"You just..ignored her. Acted like she wasn't even there," Azriel accused, his voice as cold as ice, eyes blazing in fury. "Like she didn't matter, like she wasn't good enough because she was only your half sister, only a bastard."

Elain looked ready to break down in tears, her hands curled into fists as she swallowed, her face pale.

Cassian and Mor were silent, both of them looking sick, their faces twisted in a look of shame.

 Rhys's face was blank, as though he was trying to keep himself from falling apart.

Nesta was staring straight ahead, but Azriel could see the tightness of her clenched jaw, like she was gritting her teeth together.

 And Feyre...had tears in her eyes, the shame and pain written so clearly on her face that Azriel wasn't sure whether he should feel pity or fury.

"Did you even realize what you did to her?" he asked, his voice still cold. 

"No," Feyre muttered. "No, I didn't."

"You know what, I don't even care," Azriel said with a shake of his head. "Let me just make one thing clear. Zahra is my mate. Which means, she will be treated with a modicum of respect from now on. Clearly you can't manage that for eitherof us, but it stops now."

 "You have no right to keep us away from her," Nesta started to say, her face twisted in fury.

No right? No right?!?

"I have every right," Azriel snapped. "Why should I even let you be in the same room as her? So that you can berate her? So that you can fault her for something that's not any of her fault?" 

"She's still my sister!" Nesta shot back, her eyes blazing.

"You have a weird way of showing that," Azriel snapped right back.

Nesta flinched back at the words as though he slapped her. 

Azriel's shadows writhed violently, twisting in the air as he stepped closer to Nesta. "What gives you the right, huh? What right do you have, to even be in the same room as her, much less demand her presence? You never treated her like your sister, not for a single moment. So why should she consider you family?"

The words were like a slap to the face, and a few tears fell down Nesta's face.

Feyre looked ready to break down in tears as well, a look of agony on her face as she clung to the Rhys.

Azriel clenched his fists as if to stop himself from doing something he would regret later, and even Elain looked shaken by Azriel's words.

Cassian was staring at the floor, Mor was staring at him, wide eyed-brown eyes lined with tears. Emerie next to her met his gaze, her own eyes flaring with anger. 

Rhys had a look of regret in his eyes, his gaze hard as he stared at the rug on the floor.

Azriel's gaze darkened as he studied each of them. "You don't get to do this. You don't get to act like this. You don't get to treat her like garbage for centuries and then demand that she let you step into her life."

"She can't just...keep us out forever," Elain protested weakly. "She's still family."

"Elain." For the first time, Lucien's voice rose and he gave her a sharp shake of his head. The others seemed a little startled at the outburst, Feyre and Nesta both blinking at Lucien in surprise.

"Zahra is, and will be treated with respect," Azriel said firmly, his gaze sweeping over them all. "That is non negotiable. And if that means that I need to keep you, your sisters or the entirety of Prythian away from her, then I will."

The threat seemed to catch them off guard. "You wouldn't," Rhys said, breaking his silence. “She's still their sister Azriel."

"She's my mate," he hissed. "And I am your brother, but we do not want to start that discussion now, do we?"

An uneasy silence fell over the room at the threat, but Rhys didn't back down.

"Azriel. Be reasonable," he said, voice low and pleading.

“I am being reasonable," he insisted, voice rising. His fists were clenched as he glared at Rhys, a wave of emotion rolling off of him. “I am being so bloody reasonable, Rhysand, you wouldn’t believe it. If I wasn't being reasonable, I would let the shadows slaughter you," he snapped. “I had every fucking right to rip you into a dozen pieces of treating my mate like that, but I am not doing that because for some godforsaken reason, Zahra actually loves her sisters and would never want any harm to come to them!”

The words, spoken with icy coldness, echoed through the room and Rhys flinched as he glanced at the shadows twisting in agitation in the air.

The others in the room looked pale and a little shaken at the threat.

"We will not harm her," Feyre tried again, her voice a little shaky.

Azriel let out a snort of derision. "You already have," he said coldly.

"You let her believe that no one would miss her," he seethed. "You let her think she was worthless for years, to the point she didn't consider her own life worth living. She was ready to let herself die. You let her suffer alone for three years because you were more concerned about your own pain than hers. She starved herself because she believed her own life wasn't worth living! You ignored her, you belittled her, and you took her for granted! Nesta treated her like a whore for something she did to put food on the table, for something she did to safe your fucking life, Feyre!" He seethed. "She sacrificed her dignity, her body, her own self and her future for you!"

His words echoed through the room, the pain and rage he felt evident in every word, every syllable.

The others in the room seemed to reel from the harsh words, their eyes wide as they stared at him with a look of shock and shame.

"She was 15," Azriel seethed, his voice trembling with emotion, "She was 15 fucking years old, half a child and she sold herself to put food on the table! She didn't have anyone to turn to as she suffered! And then when Nesta found out, instead of talking to her, she jumps to the conclusion that Zahra did this willingly.”

The room fell silent, everyone staring at him as the weight of the words sunk in.

"So don't you dare," Azriel snapped, voice still trembling. "Don't you dare act like you have any sort of right to see her now. Not after everything you’ve put her through. Until she wants to see you, you’ll leave her alone."

The others remained silent, staring at him with a mixture of shock and shame.

Feyre looked close to tears, and she looked away, her face pale and drawn as she stared at the floor.

For a moment, it seemed like everyone in the room was frozen stiff, unable to do anything but stare at one another in the oppressive silence.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Elain spoke up, her voice shaking slightly. "How...How is she supposed to forgive us now?"

"She doesn't have to," Azriel replied immediately. His voice was soft and cold, almost careless, "and if she never chooses to forgive you, she would be completely justified."

A silence fell at the words, the others staring at him in shock as he held their gazes one by one, his chest heaving with the emotion coursing through him and his shadows twisting in agitation at his sides.

"Do you understand now?" he asked sharply. "Do you finally understand why I won't let you near her?"

"I understand," Rhys said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper.

Azriel looked him dead in the eye as he said those words, his gaze unwavering.

Rhys looked like he had just been punched in the stomach, his face pale and his eyes wide as he held Azriel's gaze.

The feeling of adamantium tipped claws on his mental walls. I understand. I am sorry. Let me know if you need anything.

[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.

[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

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

©️

[kateschi]

into the ashes

synopsis: amid the chaos of flames and debris, dabi bares witness to you getting injured. he does not like it.

pairing: dabi x f!reader

⊹ ࣪ ˖ notes: behold i have forced my bestie into liking him

the air reeks of smoke and burnt metal, debris scattering across the alley as another explosion rocks the street. you’re cornered, body trembling from the impact, struggling to regain your footing.

blood trickles down your arm from a gash on your shoulder, and the sharp sting makes your vision blur for a moment.

dabi stands a few feet away, eyes locked on the thug who had dared to strike you. his entire frame is tense, shadows dancing across his scarred skin, the blue flames licking at his fingertips ready to erupt.

he doesn’t even glance your way at first—his gaze is trained solely on the scum in front of him.

"you’re going to regret that," he says, voice low and lethal, a dark promise wrapped in fire.

the thug grins, clearly underestimating the depth of dabi’s rage. but you can see it—the way his blue eyes darken, how the flames around him burn hotter, more unstable.

there’s no room for banter now, no time for him to throw his usual sarcastic remarks. the second you hit the ground, his entire focus narrowed to one thing: absolute destruction.

but as much as his fury is directed outward, there’s something more dangerous in his posture—something sharp and suffocating in the way his hands shake, just barely under control.

for once, he’s not just mad. he’s terrified.

"dabi—" you start, trying to push yourself up, the pain shooting through your side forcing you back down.

he whirls around at the sound of your voice, and for a split second, you see something in his eyes that you’ve never seen before.

it’s brief, but the fear is there, raw and unchecked, the kind of fear that cracks through the facade he wears so well. his lips curl back into a snarl, but the flames flicker dangerously as he rushes toward you, the thug all but forgotten in that moment.

"don’t move." his voice is harsh, sharper than usual, but there’s an edge of desperation beneath it. "just—stay still, alright?"

you blink up at him, dazed, but you manage a weak nod. he kneels beside you, one of his hands hovering just above your wound, hesitating.

his touch is scorching, his quirk on the verge of slipping out of control, and he knows it. the last thing he wants is to hurt you more.

"fuck…" his breath comes out in a shaky exhale as he forces himself to calm down, though the fury in his eyes hasn’t diminished.

"you—you're so goddamn stubborn, you know that?" his voice wavers for a second, betraying the vulnerability he’s trying so hard to conceal.

you manage a faint smile despite the pain. "takes one to know one."

his lips twitch, almost forming a smile, but the moment is fleeting as the sound of movement snaps his attention back to the thug behind him. instantly, his entire demeanor changes.

his hand slips away from yours, blue flames surging to life once more, but this time, they’re different—brighter, hotter, more dangerous. the air around him pulses with a terrifying heat, and the ground beneath his feet begins to blacken.

"you think you can touch her and walk away?" dabi’s voice is venomous now, dripping with pure hatred. "I’ll burn you until there’s nothing left."

there’s no mercy in him anymore, no restraint. you can barely keep up with what happens next as he moves in a blur, his flames surging forward like a wildfire.

you can hear the thug’s screams as dabi unleashes the full force of his power, the blue fire consuming everything in its path.

the heat is suffocating, but you can’t look away. you’ve seen dabi angry before, but this is something else entirely.

this is him unhinged, relentless, the raw intensity of his emotions laid bare for the world to see. it’s terrifying and yet… there’s a twisted kind of beauty in it, in how fiercely he fights for you.

in minutes, it’s over.

the alley falls silent, save for the crackling of dying flames, and dabi stands amidst the ashes of what used to be the thug. his chest rises and falls heavily, his skin gleaming with sweat, but his eyes find you immediately.

without a word, he’s back at your side, kneeling down, his hand reaching for yours again. his fingers are still warm, but gentler now, as though he’s scared you’ll break under his touch.

"don’t you ever—" his voice is hoarse, ragged with emotion. "don’t you ever get hurt like that again."

there’s no teasing this time, no snide remark to hide behind. his grip tightens, not enough to hurt but enough to let you know just how much this is affecting him.

he doesn’t want to say the words, doesn’t want to admit just how deep you’ve gotten under his skin, but it’s there, in the way he holds onto you like he’s scared you’ll slip away.

you give his hand a gentle squeeze, offering him the only comfort you can in that moment. "I’m okay, dabi."

his jaw clenches, and he shakes his head. "you’re not. and that’s the problem."

for a moment, he just sits there, staring down at your intertwined hands. his flames have finally receded, the heat dissipating, leaving only the cool night air around you both.

when he speaks again, his voice is quieter, almost vulnerable. "I can’t—" he stops himself, frustration flashing across his face as if the words themselves are too hard to say. "I can’t watch you get hurt. not you."

it’s not an outright confession, but it’s close. as close as dabi can get. and in the way his hand trembles slightly in yours, in the way his gaze softens, just for you, you realize that maybe that’s enough.

for now.

kofi — navigation — masterlist

do not copy, translate, or plagarize

[suksatoru]

𝙄 𝙡𝙤𝙫𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪, 𝙞𝙩'𝙨 𝙧𝙪𝙞𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙢𝙮 𝙡𝙞𝙛𝙚

synopsis; you find a broken touya todoroki bloodied and bruised. and as a civilian with a healing quirk, you make the mistake of saving what you believed to be an innocent man.

Touya Todoroki was all alone.

He's been this way for a while now. He never expected his life to go back to the way it was before - when he was loved. So when his eyes shudder open, the feeling of someone struggling to hold him up while he is barely conscious, he immediately lunges forward to attack.

Your eyes widen as you dodge the blast of fire directed right at your face, letting out a gasp as you move out of the way - holding up the bloodied man in your arms with all your strength as his eyes finally pry open

"Don't move! You're going to bleed out, please! I'm not trying to hurt you, ok?" You desperately plead, but he lunges again - this time narrowing his piercing gaze on you as he tries again to attack you. He misses, and he realizes yes, you were right. He was, in fact, bleeding heavily.

His movements become groggy and slow, and he struggles to lift his arm once again to pry you off as he drops it in defeat. "Let go." He muttered, and you could barely decipher his words because of his raspy voice - he squeezes your arm threateningly, but it doesn't hurt because he barely has any strength left to make an impact

His eyes fight to stay open, he's digging his nails into your skin and you're saying something - but he can't hear a word.

── .✦

He wakes up an entire day later, lifting his head off the couch as he rubs the sleep from his eyes.

You freeze in the hallway, hearing a groan from your living room as you quickly rush in to see if the man in your apartment is finally awake - you've been on edge all morning for him to wake up - and now that he was, you were terrified as to what he would do.

"Where the hell am I?" He growls, and you hesitantly waver in the doorway - waiting for him to notice you.

Black hair was tousled from sleep, and he gazes down at the bandages wrapped around his arms and abdomen as a strange feeling flickers through him - who did this?

"Good morning."

His head slowly turns towards you - and you swallow the lump in your throat when he glares at you with nothing but hot, burning rage.

"Who the hell are you and what did you fucking do to me?"

You frown. Did he know you collapsed onto the floor after using every ounce of energy you had to heal his wounds? Surely not. Hopefully, he'd let you live to explain your intentions. A silent part of you is chanting please don't kill me, when his lips pull back into a scowl.

"I have a healing quirk. Please take notice to the fact that you no longer have any injuries - !" You snap, hands on your hips as he stars back in utter confusion

"Hah?"

You carefully take a step forward, moving to reach out towards his stomach to unravel the bandage - but he jerks away from you almost immediately

"The bandage. Let me take it off for you." You say, voice softer as you hover a single finger over his skin. He stares at you - the gears shifting in his mind as he moves his arms - giving you room to work.

Your touch is gentle. That's what he notices when he watches you carefully unravel the material around his waist - you're quiet. Too quiet as you stare at him with the same intensity in his gaze as he stares at you.

"Did you save me?"

You look up, finally smiling for getting the recognition you deserved for saving a total stranger

"Hell yeah I did."

── .✦

He didn't know how it happened, but he blamed everything on the fact that you were simply irresistible to him.

It's because of you - he is most definitely not in the wrong. You were completely at fault for touching him so softly and speaking so sweetly. He should've jumped out of your window the moment he regained his strength - but you kept him stuck there with that smile.

He was stuck on that damn couch for nearly a week, with you spooning him soup and chatting his ear off.

"See, I was just trying to get my groceries. Then, a guy beat half to death is thrown out at my feet from an alleyway! Did you know I dropped half of my bags trying to pick you up? Oh! Speaking of groceries, I'm going shopping for some today. Do you want anything?"

He sinks further into the couch, silent and still glaring at you.

You blink back, feeding your 'patient' another spoonful of soup as he swallows down the hot meal greedily

"Soba." He finally mumbles, and he doesn't miss the way your entire face brightens at his words - he hadn't spoken a word all day, and the fact that he had some sort of a preference for what food he ate made you realize you could make his recovery process the slightest bit easier.

He'd became accustomed to eating your cooking over the years. Even when he'd come back from missions hours after he'd promised he'd be back - he'd find you sitting at the table, cold food plated beside you while you fell asleep waiting for him to come home to you.

He blamed you for a lot of things he couldn't control - he blamed you for making him soft, turning his heart to putty and welding the broken pieces back together. He wanted to hate you sometimes for how you had changed his perspective on things - things he had been taught to hate.

"Touya."

His eyes flutter open, and you hover over him with a smile as he let's out a groan of annoyance

"What do you want?" He mumbles, wrapping his arms around you and nuzzling back into his spot between your shoulder and neck

"Get up sleepy head!" You whine, trying to pull him off of you as he nestles further into your embrace - pressing an open mouthed kiss onto your chin that has you squirming beneath him

"No." He mumbles with a small smile on his lips. His words were muffled against your skin as you gently cradle his cheek

"Shigaraki said we need to go."

Right. It wasn't too long after he met you that he introduced you to the league - insisting you were a valuable asset. Asset. That's all you were - nothing but a piece in his puzzle to getting his revenge on the past. So why was he sleeping in your bed every night, holding you and running his fingers up and down your spine while promising a better future?

He was conflicted - one part of him seemed content with running off with you and finding a quiet little house on top of a hill somewhere far away from the world, making it a home where the two of you could live out the rest of your lives in peace.

And another part of him wanted to push everyone away - including you, to achieve his plans. Create a future where the fragments of his past did not exist. Like a world where his father is erased.

He was losing you - so slowly as he descended into madness.

He failed to notice you too were falling apart.

── .✦

How many times had Touya said he'd be home before midnight? Well, just about every night.

Sometimes he wouldn't come home for days, leaving you stuck at the Leagues hideout for too long - letting your mind wander and come up with all sorts of possibilities.

You had found Touya during a dark part of your life - when you were rejected by your family and kicked out, forced to live your teenage years in a dangerous town simply because it was the only way you could survive.

Touya made those years a little easier.

"Where were you?"

He freezes in the doorway. You can see the muscles in his back tense as he sighs, turning to you with tired eyes as he meets your heartbroken gaze

"I told you not to wait up for me anymore."

You step forward, tears threatening to spill as you reach for his arms - he jerks back, but you tug his sleeve up to reveal new burns on his once supple and soft pale skin.

Your eyes brim with tears as you shake your head - crying out why as his lips pull back into a growl

"Don't you dare cry - "

"You're hurting yourself!"

It was the same argument every time, the one thing you two could never agree on. He told you he needed to do this. You told him he didn't - but he never listened. He's always been so stubborn - even when he was a little kid.

Touya would regret not seeing what he truly needed had been right in front of him the entire time.

He's falling apart - and you were struggling to hold the pieces together as he ruined himself beyond repair.

── .✦

Keigo Takami was the hero Dabi had been so hell bent on recruiting, the one who would look at you with a sadness you didn't understand.

"He's losing himself. I just want him to stop." You confessed one day, and Hawks could only lift a hand to swipe the tears rolling down your pink cheeks as his wings spread out to wrap around your trembling figure

He didn't know what to say.

── .✦

After he loses his fight against his family, you realize Touya, Dabi - whatever he was, is gone.

He disappeared without a trace. Leaving everything - the League, his family, you, behind.

After being told he was almost certainly dead, you realize all those years ago when you believed you saved Touya - you were wrong.

It didn't matter how many times you pieced that broken boy back together - when it was you falling apart, he had left the shattered renments on the ground and walked away.

a/n; i have an idea for part two in mind! lmk if u guys want one 🤗 plz don't be mad at me for this i was in a teehee mood! :(

[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.