#this is the only reason we need rise to come back so we can continue the legacy of drag mikey

[lotus-duckies]

you know you'd think out of all the mikeys, it would be rise to canonically wear a dress

but no

he's like the only tv show mikey who Doesn't wear a dress

[manmuncher777]

WHINY CHOSO WHINY CHOSO WHINY CHOSO

‘Please baby, I’ll be quick. They wont even notice we left.”

Choso’s lips brushed against the shell of your ear as his begging continued. Warm breath tinged with pitchy whines for only you to hear. His hands resting on your thigh under the blanket as you sat in your friends apartment, you had come over for a night of drinks and chat. But alcohol seemed to do one thing and one thing only to choso, make him increadibly horny. Absolutely insatiable. You were lucky it had gotten to the point where groups had broken off to have conversations, leaving you and choso sat on a couch.

So now you had your gorgeous boyfriend, flushing in the face and glossy eyes begging to whisk you away and fuck you. And you found it harder and harder to turn him down with each promise he made you.

“Please baby, I don’t even need to fuck you. Just wanna feel you so bad.” The grip on your thigh tightening with desperation. You did your best to stay nochelant, hand stroking the back of his neck, hoping that maybe it might act as some sort of soothing agent for him, but little did you know your touch was only making things worse for him. The way your perfume wafted to his nose with over stroked to his neck, the feeling of your nails as they ran over his skin, it had his spine tingling and his mind running with need.

“You know you want to…” his tattooed hand rising further and further up your leg, and you suddenly became grateful for the blanket concealing his actions

“Cho…” you tried to reason with him, but it was no use, his mind was set on you, and nothing was going to stop him.

“You know you want me to baby, I’ll let you use me in any way you want.” His eyes never leaving your face, trying to gauge if he was wearing down your resolve at all, pulling out his best tricks. “You can have my mouth if you want….” His hand diving underneath your skirt, trailing your inner thigh. “My fingers…” your mind whirring with thoughts, filthy thoughts about what would happen if you jjst gave in, if you just left. You could feel yourself flushing with his every move, getting more and more overwhelmed. His voice barely a whisper, only to be hear by you. His whiney tone gracing your ears with each word.

“My dick… anything you want baby, im all yours.`’

Well shit.

Looks like he’d won this battle, with his final sentence his fingers resting over your soaked panties - unmoving, only applying a cruel ammount of pressure. You couldn’t take much more of his teasing, it might seem like he was the only desperate one, but you had been trying so hard to keep your resolve and not just stay home with him the whole night. But that plan had gone out the window, and now you were dragging this huge man by the hand behind you as you gave a hurried goodbye to your friends.

You were frustrated, fuck him for teasing you the whole night, getting you all worked up when you were trying so hard to have one night with friends that wasnt cut short by you two leaving to go fuck. But fo course his sexy fucking voice and gorgeous face just had to go and ruin that for you again. Dragging him into your appartment, brushing him with kisses as you let out all your frustrations on him. And he was more than happy to take it, swallowing each kiss with just as much passion. Falling onto the bed when your pushed him onto it, watching intently as you stripped yourself, climbing on top of his chisled body.

Second nature his hands went to fly to your hips, to grip the soft skin he loved so much. But he was stopped. Your hands holding his wrists and pinning them onto the bed. Confusion graced his features as he stared up at you.

“What was it you said baby? I could use you?” Your voice ringing sickly sweet, but choso could tell there was malice behind those eyes. He knew you were pissed at him, so he was just going to have to fuck that out of you.

At least thats what he was thinking, and while he was thinking that he failed to notice the handcuffs being placed around his wrists and the bed posts. snapping his head up to look at his restraints in frustration, tugging against the chain, hoping they would break. To no avail.

“What’s wrong Cho, this is what you were begging me for earlier?” Your voice ringing smirk, hands brushing up and down his body, avoiding the area where he needed you most, his shockingly hard cock standing tall, but you refusing to acknowledge its presence, instead running your nails along his skin, watching as red marks awake.

‘T-this isn’t quite what I had in mind- wanna be able to touch you.” That familiar whine once again leaving him, but you werent going to fall for it this time. Touch luck for him

“Well maybe you should’ve thought about that before you were a horny bastard all evening”

True, he did bring this on himself. But he couldn’t help it when you were sat there so close to him, smelling and looking so good.

But now he was sorely regretting his actions. Watching you helplessly as you finally start paying some attention to his leaking cock, wrapping your hard around his base as you leave little kisses on his pretty pink tip. His precum coating your lips with every kiss you left.

That gentle touch had him bucking his hips, straining to meet your lips. His hands tugging on his restraints, begging to be able to touch you, to run his hands through your hair as he guides your mouth onto his cock.

But you werent feeling that nice, shuffling up his body, straddling him. Your bare body illuminated by your bedside lamp as you rubbed your cunt over his length. Not ever letting in slip in. Just a simple rock of your hips. Coating him in your wetness. Pulling pathetic moans from him as you went. Your warm cunt brushing over his tip, allowing it to bump your clit every thrust. You truly were just using him in this moment. Goosebumps prickling over your skin as faint waves of pleasure started to flow through you. The slick sounds of your pussy audible as he slid through your folds.

“F-fuck~ baby im so sorry. Please” you had hardly even started and sweat was already starting to glisten on his perfect skin, tufts of dark hair clinging to his forehead as he strained. Not giving up on his attempt to touch you. To do anything. This wasn’t enough. He needed to feel you.

Choso was wrecked.

His wrists pulled against the cuffs, his arms flexing as he tried—really tried—not to lose his mind. But the way you were straddling him, bare, your warm, soaked cunt dragging over his cock in slow, torturous rolls of your hips? It was killing him.

“Please,” he rasped, his voice thick, wrecked with need. His fingers twitched uselessly against the restraints. “Please, baby, I—fuck, I need you.

You hummed, deliberately shifting your hips just enough to let the head of his cock catch against your entrance before lifting yourself off him again. “You need me?” you mused, tilting your head, pretending to think. “That’s funny. Because you were the one begging me all night, acting like you’d do anything just to get inside me.”

Choso groaned, his head pressing back into the pillows, his jaw clenched as he sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth. “I would,” he swore, his eyes dark and pleading, half-lidded with frustration. “I will—just, please—fuck, just let me—”. It was almost laughable how desperate he was, how worked up he was getting. Part of you felt a little guilty as you watched his flushed face strain with ever movement you made. But he needed to know his place, and this was exactly where he belonged. Underneath you, pathetic. Eyes glossy and dark hair messy.

You rolled your hips again, letting his cock slide between your folds, slick and achingly close to where he wanted to be, where he needed to be. His whole body shuddered, his fingers curling into fists as he let out the most pitiful, desperate sound.

“Shit—” he gasped, his hips jerking up involuntarily, trying to chase the heat, trying to bury himself inside you—but the cuffs kept him in place, kept him helpless beneath you. “Baby, please—I can’t—fuck, I can’t—”

You leaned in, your lips grazing his ear as you whispered, sweet as sin, “You can’t what?”

Choso let out a broken noise, his breath stuttering. “I can’t—I need you. I can’t take it anymore,” he admitted, voice cracking, all pride lost to the unbearable need consuming him. “Please, baby—I’ll be good, I promise, just—fuck, just let me inside you.”

You pulled back just enough to meet his gaze, and the sheer desperation in his eyes sent a fresh wave of heat through your core.

“Well,” you mused, dragging your nails lightly down his chest, watching the way he shivered beneath you. “Since you asked so nicely…”

Then, finally—finally—you sank down onto him, inch by agonizing inch.

And the way Choso whined, his entire body trembling as he let out the most guttural, relieved, wrecked moan?

It was so worth making him wait

Choso was gone.

His wrists still pulled weakly against the cuffs, he couldn’t find it in himself to even thing about the red marks it was causing his skin to form, his body trembling beneath you, his face flushed and damp with sweat as he let out the most wrecked sounds—deep, needy, helpless.

“F-fuck—” he gasped, his voice cracking as you rode him mercilessly, taking what you wanted, using him like he was nothing more than a toy for your pleasure. His cock twitched inside you, overstimulated, aching, so close to falling apart, but he didn’t want it to end—he never wanted it to end.

“You’re taking it so well, baby,” you cooed, your nails dragging down his chest, leaving faint red trails in their wake. “Letting me use you like this—just lying there and taking it like a good boy.”

Choso whimpered, his arms flexing as he pulled against the cuffs again, pure instinct telling him to grab your waist, to pull you down, to beg you to keep going, never stop—

“Please,” he choked out, his voice strained, his hips jerking up in weak, desperate little thrusts. “Please, baby—I wanna come, please—” he didn’t care how he sounded, how desperate the begging was. He couldn’t hold back, not with the way your velvety walls were dragging over him. His bulbous tip presseing deep inside of you every time you lowered yourself, back arching at how deep he was, but you couldn’t let him see how good he was making you feel, as much as you wanted to collapse against him, you couldn’t.

You slowed, rolling your hips in deep, languid strokes, feeling the way he shuddered beneath you, his breath hitching, his thighs trembling. “Want me to let you come, baby?” you murmured, dragging your nails up his ribs, feeling the way his stomach tensed under your touch. Throbbing inside of you at your sensual words, his hips tying their best to meet your cruel bouncing.

“Yes—yes, please—” You leaned in, your lips brushing against the shell of his ear. “Then be a good boy and give it to me.”

That was it. Choso broke.

His whole body tensed, his breath catching in his throat before he let out the neediest, most pathetic moan as he came, spilling inside you, his arms straining against the cuffs, his hips jerking helplessly. “F-fuck—fuck, baby—oh my god—”

You didn’t stop—not right away. You rode him through it, milking every last shudder, every last gasp, making him feel it, making him take it.

By the time you finally slowed, Choso was a mess—his chest heaving, his skin flushed, his lips parted as he blinked up at you in complete awe.

“Holy shit,” he breathed, dazed, his voice wrecked. His wrists flexed against the cuffs again, weakly this time, as if he desperately wanted to touch you but didn’t have the strength to ask. “I—I love you so much,” he slurred, breathless, still trying to catch up with reality. “Thank you.”

You laughed softly, trailing your fingers over his jaw before leaning in to kiss him, slow and deep, swallowing the little whimper he let out as you did.

“You’re so good for me, baby,” you murmured against his lips, reminding yourself to make more plans with friends soon, you quite enjoyed this outcome.

[andypantsx3]

contents: general bakugou x princess reader; fem + afab virgin reader. nsft; oral (f receiving) & missionary. semi-sequel to this drabble. 3.2k.

Your wedding day arrives far earlier than you are prepared for.

It’s a tense affair, for you at least. The country depends on it, and you feel the scheming eyes of the nobility hot on your skin as you pronounce your vows to Bakugou. They will not take kindly to your having chosen him over their sons and brothers, over their own desire to rise to power. There will be a price they will want you to pay, soon enough.

The chapel is resplendent with sumptuous decor, the court in their finest. But the room is fringed with Bakugou’s men in their military leathers, a reminder that this is not a happy day, but rather a dangerous political stunt. It keeps the noble houses docile while they are in the room with you, but you know they will return to their estates and their plans. 

Your fate is in Bakugou’s hands, now, in more ways than one.

The ceremony is dizzying, and impossible to wrap your head around. The preceptor pronounces Bakugou your prince-consort, ostensibly to remain so while you assume the throne after your father’s passing. You will continue to rule him as his sovereign. But your vows to Bakugou also promise him your obedience as his wife. 

It is a contradiction, an impossible trap, the very reason why the general is the only man you could stomach the thought of marrying. If a husband is to rule you after all, Bakugou will do so justly. 

The thought does not stifle your nerves, however, as you make your way back down the aisle, sit down to the reception, and take your meal. A disquieting, anticipatory feeling settles over you, fizzing under your skin. You barely pick at your dinner, and drink too much of the wine.

You can tell Bakugou notices, scarlet gaze ever-perceptive, though he does not say anything until you are shepherded to the bridal suite to consummate.

Various aides try to follow you in to prepare you, but Bakugou slams the door closed on them, propping it shut with one broad shoulder. He barks at them to scram.

“Lord General—that is, Your Highness,” one of them stutters through the door. “We are required to witness the consummation—to verify that it is complete.”

A bolt of shame goes through you at this, and you catch hold of one of the intricately-carved wooden bed pillars. Bakugou grunts, holding the door closed with one palm while spinning to the nearby dressing table and chair. He grabs the chair, wedging it forcefully up under the door handle.

“You’ll be sure of consummation when I’m done here,” he growls through the door. “Don’t need you little fucking perverts making eyes the whole damn time. Now beat it.”

A weird sound escapes you, something between a gasp and a laugh—at his promise, at his gruffness.

“Your Highness,” comes a plaintive entreaty through the door. Bakugou slams a fist against it, and you hear a squeal and a sound like someone’s fallen over their feet.

An absurd laugh seizes you, and Bakugou eyes you pettishly.

“The fuck’re you laughing about,” he says, but there’s no heat in it.

Your fingers twist on the bedpost, nervously tracing the lines. “You’re taking to your new post well.”

Bakugou’s features twist into something dangerously satisfied, a smirk painting his mouth. Your breath comes short.

“My post,” he echoes, raising an eyebrow. “As your husband.”

Your stomach swoops. The disquiet flames back to life under your skin, settling heavy in your gut like a stone. 

“I supposed it is a post like any other,” you say, fixing your gaze on the ground. “There are responsibilities and… marital duties.”

You hear the soft tread of Bakugou’s boot as he steps away from the door, the rustle of his doublet as he draws closer. His many medals and ceremonial sword belt clink softly. It is a fashion you know he does not prefer, always living in his shirtsleeves—the better to fight in, to train in.

A calloused hand takes your chin, tipping your face up to his.

“You nervous, Princess?” he asks. His tone is obnoxious, as usual, but his crimson gaze traces your face.

You barely suppress a shiver under his touch. Your stomach churns with a thousand emotions and you find you don’t know how to feel. Relieved that you’ve made it this far. Annoyed with Bakugou’s composure and general manner. Apprehensive about what is to come. And warm, suddenly, all over. You do not want to examine why.

“Nonsense,” you sniff. 

A feral smile curls the corner of Bakugou’s mouth like he sees right through you. “You’ve never been with a man.”

Your face burns but you force yourself to return Bakugou’s assessing stare. “I’ve never been to Musutafu, either, but I know it well enough. I should think I am… prepared.”

Something hot alights in Bakugou’s gaze, burning like a coal. It’s not unlike how he looked at you that night in the dark outside his chambers, when you’d first come to him with this wild proposal.

“And what do you think you know,” he says, flatter than a question.

Your nose grows hot. “Enough.”

A thumb slides along your jaw, settling against the pulse in your neck. “Answer the question, angel.”

Your face just might be on fire. You steel yourself, reciting dispassionately. “You will undress me and then… enter me. I shall lie still—they say you can breathe through the pain and it will go away after some time. You will… work yourself to completion. And then we shall be done.”

A snort comes from Bakugou. “Is that how you royal tightasses do it?”

You feel your eyes narrow. “That is how everyone does it.”

Your ladies in waiting had been very emphatic. All of them had spoken of the same mechanics. The initial discomfort, the pain, the way a husband moved upon his wife until he was satisfied.

“You don’t know shit, Princess,” Bakugou says.

You reach up to pull his hand from your face, but he tenses, arm growing solid and immovable. 

“Explains why all you nobles are such fucking tight-buttoned pricks if that’s how you’re doing it.”

Your reply is startled out of you when his hand finds your waist. You take a step back, and then another, startling again when your back finds the wall. Bakugou follows you, eyes hot.

“You are insufferable,” you inform him hotly. “I am sure of the matter.”

“You’re always sure of a lot of things, Princess,” he says. His hand is back at your waist, and suddenly all your skin feels too hot and tight, stifling like a velvet dress in summer.

“I am sure you are the most obnoxious man on earth,” you say. “Now be quiet and commence with it. Let’s have done with it.”

Bakugou’s face is suddenly closer than you’d remembered it being.

“I’ll have done with you alright,” he says. “But I’m not gonna do it like you little uppity prudes.”

You find you can’t think of what he means, all of your thoughts clouded with his proximity, the feeling of his hand moving to your skirts.

“I—but there is only the one way,” you manage. None of your ladies had mentioned anything else.

Bakugou’s mouth cuts into a smirk again, and you hate him for how pretty it is. 

“We’ll fuckin’ see about that,” he says.

And then his mouth is pressed to yours. 

It’s nothing like the stilted peck you’d been obliged to give him at the ceremony—one that still left your face burning, for some unknowable reason. This feels entirely different in its intensity. Bakugou’s mouth is hot and soft and tempting and eager, and your body thrills with it.

Every inch of your skin feels like it zings with lightning when he licks into your mouth, and he presses you harder into the wall. You feel his groan all the way down to your toes.

“B–akugou,” you pant when his mouth leaves yours, only to stifle a yip when he moves down to your throat. He sucks a mark there, laving over it with his tongue, and you feel like you're melting in his hands. “That’s—not my—ah!—mouth,” you manage.

The tiniest scrape of teeth has you yelping again, and you find yourself clutching his bicep for purchase.

“No shit,” he says, leaving another mark lower, mapping his way towards your chest. Calloused fingers come up to cup one of your breasts, thumb swiping over your nipple through your stays. You catch hold of his hair, yanking a fistful of that flaxen blonde, clenching your thighs together.

“What are you doing?” you hiss. 

Bakugou looks up at you, expression annoyed. “Consummating.”

“But you’re not undressing me,” you say. “And shouldn’t we—on the bed?

Bakugou raises a blonde eyebrow. “They tell you it needs to be on a bed, too?”

You blink, momentarily disarmed. It was quite literally called sharing the marriage bed—where else were you supposed to do it?

“Are you sure we’re talking about the same thing?” you eventually ask him.

Both of Bakugou’s eyebrows shoot for the moon, and he looks very suddenly like he wants to laugh. A grin yanks at his mouth, sharp and beautiful.

“I knew you’d be a fucking handful,” he says, his tone somehow both annoyed and delighted. “Don’t even know what the fuck you’re talking about and you’re still trying to give me orders.”

You yank at the fistful of his hair you’re still clutching and he hisses, hand shooting out to grab yours. He works your grip off of him, pinning your wrist to the wall. The air in the room suddenly feels a hundred times thicker, like trying to breathe through honey.

“Listen closely, Princess,” he tells you, leaning in. “We're going to consummate, alright. But I’m not just gonna squeeze my eyes shut and stick it in. I’m going to do what I want first, and you’re going to be good and let me.”

Your face ignites in flame. You want to disagree reflexively. “If it’s going to be painful I’d rather just have it over with, if you don’t mind,” you say.

Bakugou stares back, scarlet gaze roving over you. “It’s not gonna be if you shut up and let me do what I want.”

You blink. You hadn’t heard that there was a way around the pain—why hadn’t anyone told you?

“I—really?” you ask.

Bakugou nods. “Really.”

“Oh,” you say. “Well then… you may proceed, I suppose.”

“You suppose,” he echoes, staring you down. The look on his face makes you want to lean forward and bite it off.

“Well get on with it,” you say, arching your eyebrows.

Bakugou looks for a moment like he wants to shake you. But he ducks his head instead, lowering his mouth to yours again.

“Gonna fuck that bossiness right out of you,” he mutters, low like he’s promising himself and not you. But then he kisses you again, muffling your gasp in his mouth.

You’ve never kissed another man, and do not have a frame of reference for what he’s doing. But Bakugou is a good kisser, you think. Every flick of his tongue feels like someone has uncorked champagne and poured it beneath your skin, and every brush of his mouth against yours sends a liquid heat racing through your veins.

You moan into his mouth when calloused fingers delve beneath the collar of your gown, dipping into your stays and pinching a nipple. He rolls it carefully, and you arch against him without any say-so from your brain. 

“Been thinking about this, Princess,” he says. “Ever since I saw you in that little nightdress. Gonna show you what it really means to be with a man.”

You’re excused from answering by his mouth back on yours. Not that you think you could, with the way his fingers feel in the cups of your stays, or the press of a strong thigh between your own.

“Bakugou,” you gasp when he peels off of you, only to sink to his knees before you.

“It’s Katsuki,” he says, busying himself with the hem of your skirts. 

“B–Katsuki,” you say. “What are you doing?”

Long fingers roll up the hemline of your dress, then yank at your underthings, exposing you to him. You gasp again, moving to cover yourself, but Bakugou pins you to the wall with an arm across your stomach, catching your thigh and pulling it over his shoulder.

“Husbandly duties,” he replies, another smirk on his mouth.

And then your head thunks against the wall as that mouth moves, pressing to you.

“Katsuki!” you shout, biting off into an embarrassing moan when he laves over you. No one had told you about this part—about how a man’s mouth there would make you feel like fireworks had just been lit off in your veins. About how a man’s mouth could even go there at all.

Bakugou doesn’t reply, kissing you there as he had your lips. A delicate suck from him over the cleft of you has you arching in his hands again, and you can quite literally feel him smirking against you.

He works you thoroughly, licking and sucking for what feels like torturous hours, but must only be minutes, until you’re a writhing, panting mess, only held upright by the arm he has banded across your lower stomach. There’s a pressure rising within you, pooling in all your limbs, making you shake and shiver with it, and what feels like no way to release it.

“Katsuki—I feel strange,” you say, bucking against his mouth. “Oh—oh!”

“Just hold on, sweetheart, and let yourself feel it,” Katsuki tells you, before licking back over you. A finger presses up inside of you, foreign but strangely good in conjunction with his mouth. Then another one presses in and they curl as if seeking something, making you twist in his grip.

And then something makes you jerk—the press of Katsuki’s fingers inside you in just the right spot, while he sucks on you, feeling like he’s touching the same place inside of you from both sides.

Something inside you snaps, uncoiling, pleasure flooding down you like a mudslide. You cry out Bakugou’s name, tears in your vision, riding out your pleasure against his mouth. Bakugou licks you through it, groaning low in his throat with appreciation.

“That’s it, Princess,” he says, tone rough. “Now you’re ready for consummation.”

You hear his words as if through a haze, and it’s only once you’re moving—being picked up and carried over to the bed—that you register what he’s saying.

He frees himself from his breeches, and stretches out over you, kissing your mouth. You’re embarrassed to taste yourself on him, but the press of him to you overrides that concern. In one smooth stroke he presses in, and you are shocked to find that he slides home easily, your core slick and ready.

It feels strange, but not at all unpleasant—absolutely nothing like what they’d told you.

“You alright, Princess?” Bakugou asks.

“I—yes,” you say, voice fluttering off when he flexes his hips, moving inside of you. The slide of him inside of you is unexpectedly good, especially when he lowers a hand to your core, pressing a thumb to that bundle of nerves at the hood of you.

“Feel good?” he asks, his eyes hot on your face. You cling to him, hips lifting into him unthinkingly as his thumb pets over you again, as he presses in and out of you a few more times.

You nod, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of saying it aloud.

He grins anyway, feral and fever-bright. His pace picks up into something faster, and you’re embarrassed to hear the slap of him against you, the eager way your body welcomes him in.

The band of pressure builds up inside you again, slowly, with every sure stroke of Bakugou inside you. He’s hot and hard and heavy over you, pressing you into the mattress, and the tops of his cheeks are flush with effort—the way he looks sometimes when he’s just come in from the training pitch.

He’s beautiful—handsome and strong and hot-headed and determined. And it dawns on you that he’s yours now—not just your subject but your husband, your prince consort, and now your lover.

It makes all your skin turn molten hot again, especially when you look down and see your knees have rucked his shirt up. You can see the flex of his abs as he thrusts between your thighs, all that golden skin and dense muscle.

The slide of him inside you and the sight of him over you is suddenly too much, and you feel yourself tip right over the edge again. Bakugou catches your hand as you lift it to muffle your cry, kissing over your knuckles.

“That’s it, Princess, that’s it,” he says again, ducking his head to kiss you.

You moan into his mouth as he fucks you through it, and he groans with the clench of you.

“Feel so fuckin’ good,” he says against your lips, pace picking up faster. “Knew you would, sweetheart, yeah.”

Embarrassingly you feel almost like you could come apart again with the praise. Bakugou groans once more, and you can hear his grip tighten in the blanket next to your head. His hips buck and flex, wildly uncontrolled now, until he gives one final hard thrust.

His weight pins you down when he relaxes over you, his breath tickling over your shoulder. You find you like the weight of him on you, covering you, like a shield against the rest of the world.

Apt, for a general.

“Better than how you wanted to do it, wasn’t it, Princess?” he asks, smug.

You scoff, but you catch the flash of a white grin in the corner of your vision. There is really no question that he’d had the better of it, this time.

“Knew you’d see it my way,” he says.

Over him, you can hear the flutter of feet outside the door, some muffled discussion. Heat rises to your face when you realize the castle aids most definitely heard you cry out under Bakugou’s ministrations. There will be no doubt of your consummation now, regardless of whether you were observed.

“Nosy fuckin’ perverts,” Bakugou says, rolling off of you. You catch another flicker of his chest with the way his shirt gapes, and he looks doubly smug when he notices.

“Not done yet, angel?” he says.

“I am, thank you.” You flush, embarrassed at having been caught. But Bakugou stretches an arm out to yank you over him, pressing you down over his hips.

Your stomach flutters.

“Give me a couple more minutes, Princess,” Bakugou says, scarlet eyes flashing with heat once more. His hand raises to trail through your hair, catching in the wedding hairstyle they’d pinned you into. 

“Five more minutes,” your new husband promises you, with a grin like the devil. “And then we'll give them something to really listen to.”

[jeonette]

eternal obsession - jjk 18+

genre : obsessive, angst, dark romance [ one shot ]

warnings : description of slight gore scenes but nothing bad at all, obsessive stalker plot ( koo is not the stalker, he's her boyfriend ) , passionate sex.

sypnosis : Jungkook is everything Y/N ever wanted — tender, protective, utterly devoted. But behind his love lies a trail of secrets, blood, and bodies no one was ever meant to find. As the truth begins to unravel, Y/N is forced to confront a terrifying question... What if the man who would kill for her… already has?

The city outside blurred into streaks of neon and shadow, every passing car smearing red and gold across the glass. Inside the little bookstore café, it was warm—almost too warm. The scent of old pages and cinnamon steeped the air, and Y/N’s cup of lavender tea steamed gently beneath her fingers.

“God, it’s pouring,” Mina said, brushing rain from her coat as she slid into the seat across from her. “I swear the sky’s been crying all week.”

Y/N smiled faintly, swirling her tea. “Maybe the city needed a cleanse.”

Mina scoffed. “Or maybe it’s just cursed.” She leaned in. “So… are you seeing him tonight?”

Y/N didn’t answer right away. Her gaze flickered toward the window, where shadows moved past in soft blurs. “Probably. He said he might come by to walk me home.”

“‘Might’? Girl, that man would burn the world to walk you across the street.”

She gave a quiet laugh. “He’s just… attentive.”

“Attentive?” Mina raised an eyebrow. “You told me he showed up outside your work at midnight. You weren’t even on shift.”

Y/N shrugged, feeling a sudden warmth rise to her cheeks. “He said he just wanted to make sure I got home safe. He’s sweet, Mina. Intense, yeah—but sweet.”

“Sweet is flowers. A little clingy. Not ‘I tracked your phone just to see your smile’ sweet.”

Y/N opened her mouth to protest, but something shifted behind the glass.

Mina stopped talking.

He was already inside.

Dressed in black from collar to cuff, damp hair curling softly where it brushed his cheekbones. Jungkook walked with quiet purpose, like the world moved for him. His eyes, impossibly dark, locked on Y/N like she was the only thing keeping him breathing.

He didn’t even glance at Mina.

“You’re late,” Y/N teased gently as he reached their table.

“I’m never late to you,” Jungkook said, voice low and warm, wrapping around her like silk. He leaned down, brushing his lips over her temple. “You looked so pretty sitting here, I almost didn’t want to interrupt.”

Y/N smiled. “It’s okay. We were just talking—”

He finally looked at Mina. The smile in his eyes vanished.

Mina shifted under his stare. “Hey.”

Jungkook nodded once. Nothing more.

“I should go,” Mina muttered, grabbing her umbrella. “Call me later, okay?”

Y/N blinked. “You just got here—”

“I forgot I had something. Sorry.” She was already walking away.

Jungkook watched her go until the door swung closed behind her. Then, like a switch flipped, he turned back to Y/N with a softness that made her chest ache.

“Everything okay?” she asked.

He took her hand across the table, fingers cold from the rain. “Now that I’m here, yeah. Everything’s perfect.”

Y/N took another sip of tea, trying not to let the awkwardness with Mina settle in her chest. “Today was kind of slow,” she said, gently twirling the spoon between her fingers. “We had this customer come in and ask if we sold perfume. At a bookstore. Can you believe that?”

Jungkook gave a soft laugh, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Did you talk to him for long?”

She blinked. “The customer?”

“Yeah.” His thumb rubbed small circles into the back of her hand, perfectly casual if not for the slight pressure behind it.

“Not really,” she said with a little frown. “I just pointed him to the shop down the street. Why?”

“No reason.” He smiled, that dimpled grin that always made her stomach flip. “I just like hearing about your day.”

“Well, I also alphabetized the horror section again,” she continued, trying to lighten the mood. “Someone keeps putting Stephen King under ‘S.’ I think it’s an act of rebellion at this point.”

Jungkook tilted his head. “Maybe they’re just trying to get your attention.”

“Good luck to them, then,” she said, grinning. “My attention span ends at the letter ‘H’.”

His smile lingered, but his grip on her hand didn’t loosen.

“Did anyone else try to get your attention today?”

She gave him a puzzled look. “You mean like… flirt with me?”

“Maybe.”

She snorted. “Jungkook, I’m wearing a cardigan with moths on it. I think I’m safe.”

“You’re not,” he said so softly it was almost lost under the hum of the café.

“What?”

“You’re never safe,” he repeated, eyes darkening slightly as he leaned in. “Not out there. Not without me.”

The words should have chilled her. But the way he said them—with such devotion, such certainty—it sent a strange heat curling down her spine.

“I’m fine, though,” she said gently. “I made it here on my own, didn’t I?”

“You didn’t see the man who followed you three blocks.”

She froze.

“…What?”

Jungkook’s smile returned, slow and calm. “He stopped when I got close. I don't think he’ll be a problem anymore.”

She stared at him. “Are you serious?”

“Would I let anyone hurt you?”

His voice was low. Intimate. Possessive.

Something about the way he said it made her breath catch—somewhere between fear and fascination.

“…Jungkook, how do you even know he was following me?”

He lifted her hand and pressed his lips to her knuckles.

“I always know where you are."

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

Jungkook had always had eyes on his girl. He refused to let her out of his sight even when she wasn't physically with him.

Camera. Bugs. Wires. Location trackers. Anything so he knew she was safe.

He was watching. Her chest rose and fell softly beneath his sheets, one hand curled by her face like she was protecting a secret even in her dreams. She didn’t know, of course. She never stirred when he slipped out of bed and stood there, bare-chested in the dark, just… watching.

Whenever a man dared to look at her in the wrong way, he'd take action.

He moved to the window and opened it an inch. Cold air slipped in, but he liked it that way. It helped him think. Helped him stay in control.

He lit a cigarette and took a long drag, eyes flicking to the building across the street. Fourth floor. Left window. Lights off now.

Good.

That bastard had finally learned.

Jungkook’s jaw clenched as he exhaled. Just two nights ago, he’d seen the man watching her—watching her from that window like he had the right.

Jungkook had knocked on his door half an hour later. Calm. Smiling. Friendly.

The man hadn’t answered at first.

So Jungkook waited. And waited.

When the door creaked open, he hadn’t said a word.

Just smiled.

And then he’d stepped inside.

He’d returned to Y/N’s apartment an hour later, hands clean, smile easy. She was asleep by then, soft music playing from her phone. She’d left a blanket out for him.

She always did. Even when she didn’t know where he went.

That was love. Trust.

And he would do anything to protect it.

Earlier that day, she had smiled at a cashier. Nothing unusual. Just a polite, passing smile.

But Jungkook had memorized the way the boy’s eyes followed her as she left. He always memorized the faces. The gestures. The threats, even if they never knew they were one.

He didn’t want to hurt anyone. Not really. But they didn’t stop. They never stopped.

Once, she had brushed past a man in the subway. Her bare shoulder had touched his jacket. The man had turned, seen her face, and smiled.

It had taken Jungkook six hours to find out who he was. His address. His routine.

He hadn’t hurt him. Not then.

He’d just… waited outside his building the next morning.

One glimpse of Jungkook’s face, and the man never looked at Y/N again.

He didn’t always need violence. Just presence. Just pressure. Like a hand around a throat that hadn’t started squeezing yet.

But some people needed to be reminded what pain felt like.

Jungkook looked down at his knuckles, the skin still pink from the last time.

A man at the bar last week had grabbed her arm. Just playfully. Just drunk.

Y/N had laughed it off, pulled away.

Jungkook hadn’t.

He’d smiled the rest of the night. Held her like she was glass. Kissed her like nothing was wrong.

The man’s teeth were still scattered in the alley behind the bar.

He crushed the cigarette in the ashtray and turned back to her.

She murmured something in her sleep, soft and delicate. His chest ached.

He loved her so much it made his hands shake sometimes. She didn’t understand what it cost to keep her safe. What kind of world she really lived in.

But that was fine.

He would carry the weight. He would do the ugly things. The things that made her world beautiful.

Even if she never thanked him.

Even if she never knew.

As long as she was his.

Forever.

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

The rain had returned, misting the windows in soft gray streaks, but inside the apartment, it was all warmth and comfort. The overhead lights were off—only the low flicker of candles lit the room, casting a golden glow over blankets, pillows, and tangled limbs on the couch.

Y/N was curled into Jungkook’s lap like she belonged there.

Which she did.

Her head rested against his chest, ear pressed right over his heartbeat. The rhythm was steady, comforting, and so very his. She wore one of his old hoodies—oversized and worn soft, smelling like detergent and something darker, something undeniably him. Her bare legs tangled with his as she reached blindly for a piece of popcorn from the bowl resting near his thigh.

“You keep eating all the caramel ones,” Jungkook murmured against her hair.

She smiled without looking up. “Maybe you’re too slow.”

“I’m just letting you win.”

“No, you’re not.”

“No,” he agreed, amused. “I’m not.”

She looked up at him, eyes sparkling from the TV’s glow, and tilted her face toward his. “You love me anyway, though.”

His hand slid up her thigh in a lazy, lingering caress. “I do,” he said, voice low and rough. “More than anything. You know that.”

Y/N shifted, climbing into his lap more fully now, straddling him. She pressed her forehead against his, her smile softening. “Sometimes I think you love me too much.”

His fingers dug gently into her hips. “Impossible.”

She kissed him then—slow and unhurried. Familiar. Addictive.

He responded in kind, arms winding around her waist, pulling her tighter. Her hands found his jaw, then slid into his hair, curling into the soft strands at the nape of his neck.

His lips parted for hers, deepening the kiss, tongue meeting hers with a hunger that always lingered just below the surface of him. He tasted like cinnamon and need. She felt his fingers flex on her thighs, holding her still even as she shifted closer, needing more, needing all of him.

The movie kept playing in the background, forgotten.

Her breath hitched when he tilted her back slightly, his mouth trailing from her lips to her jaw, then down her neck, grazing just above her collarbone. His voice, breathless now, came in a murmur against her skin: “Tell me what you want, angel.”

She opened her mouth—but then—

Ding. Ding. Ding.

Y/N stilled.

The phone on the coffee table lit up again.

Ding.

Jungkook sighed, pulling back slightly, visibly irritated by the interruption. Y/N blinked herself out of the haze and reached for her phone.

Her brow furrowed. “…That’s weird.”

He watched her carefully. “What is it?”

She opened her messages.

Unknown number:

You looked so pretty tonight. That hoodie doesn’t hide much. I saw you laughing. He doesn’t deserve you. Why don’t you smile like that when you’re alone?

Her stomach dropped.

She froze, reading each line again like it would change the meaning. Her breath caught in her throat.

“Y/N?” Jungkook’s voice was sharper now, on edge. He sat up straighter beneath her. “What is it?”

She slowly handed him the phone, fingers shaking. “I—I don’t know who that is. I’ve never—Jungkook, someone’s watching me.”

His eyes scanned the messages. Stillness overtook him, a terrifying, glacial kind. His hand tightened around the phone.

“How long has this been happening?” he asked, too calm.

“This is the first time. I swear. I don’t—how would they know I was wearing your hoodie? We didn’t even go out today, I just—” Her voice cracked. She looked around, suddenly paranoid. The windows. The blinds. “Is someone outside? Is someone watching right now?”

Jungkook gently lifted her off his lap, stood, and set the phone down.

“Jungkook—wait, where are you going?”

He didn’t answer.

He crossed the room in three long strides, closed the blinds, and checked the front door’s lock—twice. Then he moved to the bedroom, returned with something she couldn’t see in his hand, and walked quietly to the kitchen window.

Y/N stood there, frozen, arms hugging herself tightly.

When he finally came back, he didn’t speak right away. He walked straight to her and wrapped her in his arms.

His heart was racing. Really racing now.

She pressed her face into his chest. “Who would—why would someone—?”

“Shh,” he whispered into her hair. “Don’t cry, angel. I’ve got you. No one’s going to hurt you.”

“But they saw me,” she whispered. “They said you don’t deserve me. They’ve been watching.”

“They’re wrong.” His voice was steel now. “I’m the only one who gets to see you like this. Touch you like this. They know it. That’s why they’re hiding.”

“What if they come here?”

“They won’t.” A pause. Then he murmured so quietly, she almost didn’t hear it: “They wouldn’t dare.”

She looked up at him, eyes wet. “How can you be so sure?”

Jungkook held her face in his hands, his thumbs brushing away her tears. He kissed her forehead, her cheek, the corner of her mouth. Gentle. Reassuring.

“I know how to make people disappear,” he said, smiling softly.

She blinked.

He kissed her again, deeper this time, and she didn’t ask what he meant.

She didn’t want to.

She just held onto him tighter.

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

The morning after didn’t feel like morning.

It was gray and muted, the kind of day that dragged like wet clothes—heavy, slow, and cold beneath the skin. The candles had long since burned out. The half-watched movie still sat paused on the screen.

Y/N hadn’t touched her phone again.

She sat curled on the edge of the couch, sleeves pulled over her hands, eyes staring blankly at nothing. Jungkook stood across the room, his broad back to her as he adjusted something beneath the kitchen sink. The apartment felt too quiet. Like it was holding its breath.

She hated it.

“I couldn’t sleep,” she said softly.

Jungkook turned immediately. “Why didn’t you wake me?”

“You needed rest too.”

He crossed the space and knelt in front of her. His hands found hers, gently tugging the sleeves down. “Angel,” he murmured, eyes searching her face. “You don’t need to be brave right now.”

Y/N looked down. “I keep thinking someone’s out there. Watching. I keep checking the windows and listening for things. I—I know it sounds crazy.”

“It doesn’t.”

“You believe me?”

“I always believe you.”

He kissed her knuckles, holding them to his lips for a long moment.

She closed her eyes. Breathed him in.

But something in his posture had shifted. His shoulders were tighter today. His eyes sharper, more alert. He was still her Jungkook—warm, loving—but a colder energy hummed beneath the surface.

“I have to go out for a few hours,” he said, too casually.

Y/N’s eyes shot open. “What? No.”

“I just need to take care of a few things, baby. I’ll be back before you even notice I’m gone.”

Her fingers curled around his tighter. “No. Please, don’t. Not now.”

He hesitated.

She reached up and grabbed the front of his shirt, holding on like he might disappear if she let go. “Jungkook, please don’t leave me alone. I can’t—what if they come back? What if they’re watching again?”

He cupped her cheek. “They won’t get to you. I promise.”

“That’s not enough,” she whispered. “You’re the only reason I feel safe.”

His throat worked, jaw tight.

Then he exhaled. “Alright. I’ll stay.”

Relief bloomed in her chest, and she practically melted into his arms. He caught her easily, pulling her into his lap as she pressed her face into his neck. His hands roamed her back in slow, calming circles.

“You don’t have to be scared anymore,” he murmured. “I’m here.”

She nodded against him, body sinking deeper into the comfort only he could offer.

The hours passed in a haze. She tried to eat, tried to watch something with him—but her mind wandered constantly. The blinds stayed shut. The door remained bolted. Every little sound outside made her jump.

Eventually, Jungkook coaxed her into the bedroom.

“You need rest,” he said softly, brushing her hair from her face as she lay beneath the sheets. “Just a little. I’ll be right here, okay?”

“You promise?”

“Of course,” he whispered, kissing her forehead. “Sleep, angel.”

She fell asleep with her hand wrapped around his wrist.

He waited until her breathing evened out—then stayed still a little longer, just watching her. Listening. Letting himself feel everything.

Then, slowly, carefully, he slid his hand free.

In the dark, he moved like a ghost.

First: the front door. He knelt, installing a reinforced deadbolt he’d brought from his apartment. Not the basic kind. This one required biometric input. No one would open it from the outside.

Second: the windows. He reinforced the latches. Taped the blinds shut with black electrical tape. Not a sliver of light—or vision—would leak in or out.

He checked the fire escape. Quietly unscrewed a vital rung from the ladder.

Just in case.

He moved like this for nearly an hour, careful not to make a sound. Methodical. Obsessive. Every lock was tested. Every blind double-checked.

When he was satisfied, he returned to the bedroom.

Y/N hadn’t moved.

She looked so small in his bed. So trusting.

He crouched beside her, watching her sleep the way he always did—like she was his favorite sin. His most fragile treasure. A candle flame he’d kill to keep burning.

He pressed one last kiss to her temple.

Then slipped out the door without a sound.

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

The warehouse smelled like rust and oil and old violence.

Rain hammered the tin roof above, and fluorescent lights flickered across a long table cluttered with screens. Grainy surveillance footage looped across the monitors—angles from traffic cams, store security, and footage pulled from obscure forums. Some showed city sidewalks. Others, darker and closer, showed her.

The same ones Jungkook had already seen. The ones that had made his jaw lock and his vision go red.

Jimin leaned against the table, arms crossed, mouth set in a hard line. Taehyung was seated nearby, tapping a switchblade against his thigh in a slow, rhythmic pattern.

They looked up the moment Jungkook entered.

He said nothing at first. Just stepped into the room like a storm given shape, black hoodie soaked through, eyes darker than night.

Jimin handed him a tablet. “That’s him. Name’s Ryu. Mid-thirties. Tech background. Obsessive online presence. Started tracking her a few months ago through her social profiles.”

“Worked at a security firm,” Taehyung added, gaze sharp and lazy at once. “Had access to CCTV networks. Wired her apartment building, probably planted something physical too.”

Jungkook stared at the image on the screen—an unremarkable man with pale skin, dark circles, and a faint smirk. One of those forgettable types who passed through crowds unnoticed.

“Where is he now?” Jungkook asked, voice dead calm.

“Southside,” Jimin said. “Abandoned unit near the freight line. We traced his last login through a burner.”

Jungkook handed back the tablet and rolled up his sleeves. His hands were steady.

Taehyung watched him with a knowing grin. “You want him alive, or...?”

“Alive for now.”

“Copy that.”

Twenty minutes later.

The door crashed open with the force of a thunderclap.

Ryu didn’t even have time to scream before he was hauled from his chair, the desk and monitors toppling beside him. Jungkook didn’t say a word. Just dragged him by the collar into the concrete room beyond, flanked by Jimin and Taehyung like wolves on either side.

They tied him to a chair. Fastened the rope tight.

Blood from a split lip already trickled down Ryu’s chin. His breath stuttered when Jungkook knelt in front of him.

“Do you know who she is to me?”

Ryu didn’t answer.

Jungkook backhanded him hard enough to send spit flying.

“Answer.”

“I—I didn’t touch her, I swear—”

“That’s not what I asked.”

“I just watched. I was just watching. I didn’t mean anything by it, I was just—just curious—”

Jungkook smiled.

It was worse than a snarl.

“Let me tell you what I see,” he whispered, leaning closer. “You watched her like she was prey. You messaged her, tried to scare her. You thought she was alone. You thought she was yours to study. Like she wasn’t mine.”

“Please—”

“But she’s not alone,” Jungkook continued, tone so gentle it sent chills down Jimin’s spine. “She has me. And I will tear the world apart before I let someone like you breathe in her direction again.”

Ryu began to cry.

It didn’t matter.

Jungkook stood. “Break his fingers.”

Taehyung obeyed.

The scream echoed loud and long across the empty corridors of the building.

Two hours later.

Ryu was no longer crying. He wasn’t speaking at all. Just slumped in the chair, breathing shallowly, broken in a dozen places.

Jungkook stood in the center of the room, hands bloodstained, eyes unreadable.

“He’s not going to walk out of here, is he?” Jimin asked quietly, watching his friend with measured calm.

Jungkook shook his head once. “No.”

“Want us to finish it?”

“No,” Jungkook said. He walked to the far wall, picked up a small flash drive from the desk, and pocketed it. “Make it look like an overdose. Clean. Quiet. No noise.”

Taehyung cracked his neck. “I’ll handle it.”

Jungkook turned to the door but paused. “I don’t want this traced. Not a whisper. Not a rumor. If anyone else so much as thinks about her—”

“They won’t,” Jimin said firmly. “We’ll make sure of it.”

There was no satisfaction on Jungkook’s face. Just cold, lethal calm.

“She can’t know,” he said finally.

“She won’t,” Jimin promised.

Jungkook left without another word.

The rain was still falling when he stepped out into the night—but the storm behind him was already over.

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

The first thing she noticed was the cold.

Not just the sheets — but the air. The emptiness.

Y/N sat bolt upright in bed, her heart racing.

The other side of the bed was empty. Flattened, but cooling fast. No warmth. No sign he’d only just stepped out. She scanned the room, eyes wide, breath catching in her throat.

“Jungkook?”

Nothing.

She threw the blankets back and stumbled out of bed, toes hitting the cold floor. Her fingers trembled as she pulled open the bedroom door and stepped into the living room.

It was silent. Still. Wrong.

The curtains — taped shut.

A new lock glinting on the door.

Her stomach flipped.

“Jungkook,” she called again, louder this time. Her voice cracked.

Still no answer.

She checked the kitchen. The bathroom. The hallway.

Nothing.

Panic gripped her chest like a fist. She picked up her phone — hands shaking — and dialed his number.

Voicemail.

Again. Straight to voicemail.

Her knees hit the couch and she clutched the throw pillow like a life raft. Her thoughts spiraled fast and brutal.

What if he left? What if he lied? What if he’s not who you think he is?

Tears pricked her eyes. Her body was tight with anxiety, breath shallow, heart galloping.

He’d promised.

You’re not alone. I’ll be right here. Sleep, angel.

She curled into herself, breath hitching, waiting, hoping—

Until—

The lock turned.

Her head shot up.

The door opened with a slow, soft creak.

And there he was.

Jungkook stepped inside, hoodie damp with morning drizzle, dark hair curled at the edges, his expression calm — like nothing had happened.

Like she hadn’t just been breaking in his absence.

“Y/N?” he blinked, clearly surprised. “You’re up.”

She was already off the couch and running into his arms.

“Where the hell were you?!” she cried, voice shaking as she collided with him. “You said you wouldn’t leave—I woke up and you were just—gone!”

Jungkook staggered slightly at the force of her, but his arms wrapped around her immediately, protectively, pulling her tight against his chest.

“Hey, hey, angel, shhh—” he murmured, one hand stroking her hair, the other clutching her back. “I’m here. I’m right here. I’m sorry.”

She gripped his hoodie like it was all that tethered her to the ground.

“I thought—I thought something happened. Or—or that you—” she couldn’t even say it. Her voice cracked and crumpled against him.

Jungkook held her tighter, rocking her slightly. “I just stepped out to grab breakfast. You were sleeping so peacefully, I didn’t want to wake you. I didn’t think you’d panic like that—I’m sorry, baby.”

She buried her face in his chest. The scent of rain clung to him, earthy and clean. Familiar. Reassuring.

And yet…

Her tears slowed. Her breathing evened. But her mind didn’t quiet.

She pulled back slightly and looked up at him — eyes still glassy but sharp now. Searching.

“You taped the blinds.”

His hand stilled on her back.

“I noticed them gapping last night,” he said smoothly. “Didn’t want you waking up anxious again. Figured this would help.”

“And the lock?”

“Extra precaution. Just something to help you sleep better.” He smiled softly. “I want you to feel safe, that’s all.”

Her brow furrowed. “But… you didn’t mention it before.”

“I didn’t want to worry you,” he said gently, brushing a tear from her cheek. “I had the tools with me. It took five minutes.”

It all made sense. His voice was soft. Steady. He looked at her like she was the only thing that mattered.

So why did her skin still prickle?

Why did her gut whisper, He’s hiding something?

She didn’t pull away from him.

She clung tighter.

Because love and fear were tangled things. Because despite the doubt, she needed him.

Needed him so badly it made her bones ache.

“I was really scared,” she whispered.

“I know,” he replied, lips brushing her temple. “And I’ll never let you feel that way again. Ever.”

She nodded slowly. Let herself believe him.

But as he kissed her cheek and guided her gently to sit down, she couldn’t shake the feeling that the moment she’d woken up alone… the world had shifted slightly off-center.

And nothing had quite clicked back into place.

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

Day by day passed. And by each day, the atmosphere turned more intense. Y/n had already developed a suspicion, but the acts done by the day only made them grow more.

Day One She wakes with him beside her.

His arm is tight around her waist, his face buried in her neck. He smells like sleep and sugar. His grip doesn’t loosen — not even when she tries to roll over.

“You’re safe,” he murmurs into her skin. “I won’t let anyone near you.”

She smiles, but her chest tightens. The apartment is spotless again, unnaturally so. Like no one actually lives here.

The front door has three new locks.

Day Two She texts her best friend. Twice.

No reply.

She checks again. The messages show as sent, but… not delivered?

“Something’s wrong with my phone,” she says absently at breakfast.

Jungkook doesn’t look up from the stove. “I can check it later for you.”

That night, her phone sits charging on the kitchen counter.

She finds it off.

Day Three He insists she stays inside.

“Just until the police sort out the stalker thing,” he says, brushing her hair. “You know I’m just being careful.”

She nods.

But when she cracks open the window for air, she finds bars installed on the frame.

They weren’t there yesterday.

Day Four He draws her a bath. Candles. Her favorite bath salts. Music.

“I don’t deserve you,” she says softly, leaning back into his hands as he massages shampoo into her scalp.

“Yes, you do,” he whispers. “You deserve everything.”

She melts under his touch — but when she looks up at the ceiling, she spots a tiny black speck behind the smoke detector’s cover. A red light blinking once. Then gone.

Day Five She wakes in the middle of the night.

Thirsty.

The apartment is dark and silent, but as she walks to the kitchen, she notices the guest room door — usually closed — is cracked open.

She pushes it gently.

Inside: a computer setup she’s never seen before. Monitors. Files. Surveillance footage.

And photos of her.

Hundreds. Candid. Some from years ago. Some from last week.

She hears a sound — and freezes.

“Baby?” Jungkook’s voice calls from behind her. Sleepy. Innocent.

She turns, heart jackhammering in her chest.

“I thought I heard something,” she lies.

He tilts his head. Then smiles softly. “Come back to bed.”

She does.

But she doesn’t sleep.

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

The sun was setting, but she hadn’t noticed.

She’d been sitting in the living room for hours, curled into a blanket with her legs tucked to her chest, a cup of untouched tea in her hands. The silence felt different now—no longer safe. Just... loud.

Her eyes kept drifting toward the guest room door. Closed again. Locked.

She knew what she saw.

She wasn’t crazy.

All day, she’d been quietly piecing it together. The missed messages. The camera. The triple locks. The lies spun gently between soft kisses and sugar-sweet reassurances.

And those photos. Her face. Over and over again. His private shrine.

Her fingers tightened around the mug.

The door creaked open behind her.

“Hey, angel,” Jungkook’s voice was soft, like velvet behind her. “You’ve been quiet all day.”

She swallowed. Her pulse spiked.

He walked into the room and sat beside her on the couch. His warmth bled into her immediately.

“You okay?” he asked, brushing hair behind her ear. “Still shaken from the other night?”

Y/N turned to face him slowly. Her expression wasn’t cold—but it wasn’t blind either.

She set the mug down on the coffee table with trembling hands. “I want to ask you something.”

Jungkook’s eyes didn’t blink. “Okay.”

“I’m not… accusing you. I’m not upset. I just…” Her voice dropped. “I need you to tell me the truth. Please.”

He stared at her for a beat too long. Then smiled—gently. Like she’d told a joke. “The truth about what, baby?”

She hesitated. Her throat felt tight. “About… everything. The locks. The cameras. The guest room. My phone not working. Jungkook—why are you watching me?”

His smile faded, just slightly.

Her heart beat faster. She pressed on, soft and shaking. “If something’s wrong… If there’s something you’re protecting me from… I deserve to know. I’m not mad. I just—” she inhaled shakily. “I love you. And I’m scared. I want you to talk to me.”

He didn’t answer right away.

Instead, he reached for her hand, lifting it slowly and pressing a kiss to her knuckles.

“You’re scared?” he murmured, dark lashes lowering. “Of me?”

Her breath caught. “I’m scared because I don’t understand. And I want to.”

He turned her hand in his, studying the shape of her fingers like they were scripture.

“You said you love me,” he said.

She nodded slowly. “I do.”

“Then trust me.”

She tried to keep her voice steady. “I’m trying. That’s why I’m asking.”

Jungkook finally looked up. His eyes were deep and unreadable. “You don’t need to worry about what’s in the guest room. Or the cameras. Or anything else.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’ve taken care of it.”

She froze. “Taken care of what?”

“The man who was texting you. The one who thought he could follow you home. He won’t be a problem anymore.”

Her lips parted. “Jungkook…”

“I told you,” he said, quiet and firm, “I would never let anyone hurt you.”

She was trembling now. But not pulling away.

“And the cameras?” she asked. “The locks? The phone?”

His thumb stroked her palm. “I need to protect you.”

“But you didn’t tell me.”

“Because you’d be scared. Like you are now.”

There was no apology in his voice. Just calm certainty.

“You don’t need to know everything, Y/N,” he said gently. “You just need to be safe. And with me? You always will be.”

Silence.

She stared at him, heart breaking open in her chest.

Because somewhere deep down… she believed him.

And that terrified her more than anything else.

-------

Y/N sat curled on the bedroom floor, her back against the bedframe, knees hugged tight to her chest. The lights were off. Just the amber glow from the hallway leaking in beneath the door.

She wasn’t crying. Not really.

But her eyes burned.

Her thoughts looped endlessly: He did it for you. He lied to protect you. He’d kill for you. He already has.

She didn’t know how long she sat there. Maybe an hour. Maybe three.

The house was silent. But she felt him on the other side of the door.

Waiting.

When it finally opened, she didn’t flinch.

Jungkook stood there, barefoot, shirtless, drenched in moonlight. He looked like a sinner at confession. Or a boy trying not to lose the only thing that’s ever mattered.

“Y/N…” His voice cracked.

She looked up at him, eyes rimmed red but dry.

“I can’t do this anymore,” he said, stepping inside and closing the door behind him. “The silence. The waiting. I need to tell you everything. No more half-truths. No more keeping you in the dark.”

She didn’t speak.

So he sank to his knees in front of her.

His hands found hers, gently, like she might vanish if he moved too fast.

“I love you.” His voice trembled. “I know that sounds twisted coming from me right now, but I swear—I have never loved anyone like I love you.”

She kept staring. Listening.

“When we met, I thought I was just lucky. That somehow, I’d stumbled into something pure. But the more I got to know you, the more I realized—I couldn’t lose you. I couldn’t let the world touch you. Not the way it touched me.”

A breath.

“I watched you. I memorized you. And yeah—maybe that was wrong. I know it was wrong. But it didn’t feel that way. It felt like devotion.”

She blinked slowly.

“You didn’t see the messages he sent you. You didn’t see the photos he took of you from across the street. I did. I saw it all. And I handled it. Because no one—no one—gets to make you feel unsafe. Not while I’m breathing.”

Her lip quivered slightly.

“I never meant to scare you,” he whispered. “But I’d burn the world to the ground if it meant you’d never have to be afraid again.”

Silence bloomed between them.

He looked at her like he was preparing to be shattered.

And then—

She leaned forward.

Pressed her mouth to his.

It wasn’t rushed. Or messy. It was quiet and soft and aching.

When she finally pulled away, her voice was barely a whisper. “I understand.”

His eyes widened.

“I don’t agree with everything,” she continued, brushing his hair back from his forehead. “And I need time to figure out what this means for us. But right now... all I feel is how much I love you.”

Jungkook let out a breath like he’d been drowning.

“You’re mine,” he whispered.

“I’ve always been yours.”

That broke something in him.

And then he kissed her like he’d been starved for centuries.

Their bodies tangled fast—his hands roaming her waist, lifting her into his lap as he pressed her back against the edge of the bed. Her breath hitched, soft moans escaping between kisses. Fingers tugging hair, skin burning where their mouths touched, their clothes pulled away slowly like reverent offerings.

“You’re so perfect,” he whispered against her throat. “So fucking perfect.”

“Then show me,” she whispered back.

And he did.

All night.

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

It was supposed to be a simple outing.

Their first time outside together in days. Y/N had insisted—something small, something normal. Just the two of them. No secrets, no cameras. Just breathing the same air as the rest of the world for a few hours.

So they went to a corner bookstore tucked off a sleepy street. It smelled like old paper and vanilla beans, and the shelves were taller than her head. Jungkook had barely let go of her hand since they left the apartment. His thumb rubbed circles against her palm like he needed to feel her pulse—needed to know she was real.

And Y/N… she was watching him just as closely.

He wasn’t smiling. Not really. His eyes scanned everything. Everyone. Every movement in the corner of the shop. Every man who even glanced her way. His jaw flexed each time someone walked too close.

But for a while, things felt peaceful.

Until they weren’t.

It happened in seconds.

They were leaving the store, her clutching a poetry book to her chest, his hand warm on her lower back. The sidewalk was tight with people. A man in a grey jacket brushed past—too fast, too close.

His arm smacked against her shoulder hard enough to make her stumble.

“Ah—!” Y/N gasped.

Jungkook caught her instantly.

And then he was gone from her side.

She turned in confusion—just in time to see him slam the man back against the brick wall of the alley beside the bookstore.

“You think you can touch her?” Jungkook’s voice was low. Dangerous. “You even know who she is?”

The man struggled, cursing. “Back off, psycho—!”

Jungkook’s fist connected with his jaw before he finished the sentence. Bone crunched. The man’s head hit the wall again, dazed.

Y/N stood frozen, heart thundering. Her book slipped from her hand.

Blood.

Not much, but enough to stain the man’s collar.

“Jungkook—” she whispered, stepping forward.

He didn’t turn.

He pressed his forearm to the man’s throat. “If you ever touch her again—if you breathe near her—I will gut you like a pig.”

Y/N swallowed hard. She should’ve pulled him off. She should’ve screamed. She should’ve done something.

But instead...

She stepped closer.

Her hand slid onto his arm. Gentle.

“Baby,” she said softly. “It’s enough.”

His breathing was ragged. His pulse throbbed beneath her fingers.

For a moment, he didn’t move.

Then slowly—slowly—he stepped back.

The man collapsed, coughing, blood dripping from his lip.

Jungkook turned to her, eyes wild.

“You okay?” he asked, voice hoarse.

She nodded, numb. “Yes.”

A pause.

Police sirens whined faintly in the distance—someone must’ve called it in.

Jungkook cursed under his breath, grabbed her hand. “We need to go.”

They ducked into a back alley. She clutched his jacket like a lifeline. Her mind was spinning—but not in fear. In something hotter. Darker.

She’d never seen anyone look at her like that before.

Like she was his entire reason for breathing.

Like he’d destroy the universe just to keep her from flinching.

And when the police finally found them five minutes later, she stepped in before Jungkook could even speak.

“He saved me,” she said, voice steady. “That man grabbed me. Jungkook only defended me. It was self-defense.”

The officer raised a brow. “Did you see him attack you?”

“Yes,” she said. “I was scared. I still am.”

Jungkook stared at her like she’d hung the moon.

—

Back home, the apartment was quiet again.

Y/N sat on the kitchen counter, still in the clothes from earlier, hair falling in soft waves over her shoulders. Jungkook stood across from her, leaning against the wall like he didn’t trust himself to get too close.

“You didn’t have to lie for me,” he murmured.

She tilted her head. “I didn’t lie.”

He laughed under his breath. “He barely touched you.”

“He made you angry,” she replied, gaze unwavering. “That’s enough for me.”

His eyes darkened.

She slipped down from the counter and crossed the room slowly.

“I’m not afraid of you,” she whispered, pressing a hand to his chest. “You think I don’t see you? I do. I see the way you look at me. The way you shake when someone else even tries to be near me.”

Jungkook swallowed hard. “Y/N…”

“I should be scared,” she said, leaning in until her lips ghosted over his jaw. “But I’m not. Because I feel the same way.”

He froze.

Her voice dropped. “I want you obsessed. I want you burning for me. Because I’m burning for you too.”

That was all it took.

"Fuck."

His hands gripped her waist hard, lips crashing into hers with the kind of desperation that had nothing to do with control—just need. She moaned into his mouth, legs wrapping around his waist as he lifted her back onto the counter, teeth scraping, fingers tugging her shirt up and over.

“Mine,” he breathed against her throat. “Say it.”

“Yours,” she gasped. “Always.”

"Yeah? Let me prove it to you, my love."

And when they came together again—skin to skin, breath tangled—it wasn’t just sex. It was surrender.

It was destruction disguised as love.

And neither of them wanted to be saved.

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

Jungkook lay half-sprawled on the couch, his arm lazily curled around Y/N’s shoulders. She was curled against his chest, her fingertips tracing faint patterns across the black ink running up his forearm. The apartment smelled like sandalwood and mint. Soft movie light flickered against the walls, casting slow-moving shadows.

Her body was draped over his like she belonged there.

Because she did.

“You’re warm,” she murmured, cheek pressed to his shirt. “And distracting. I can’t even follow the movie.”

He chuckled softly, brushing his lips against the crown of her head. “Wasn’t watching it anyway.”

His phone buzzed.

Once.

Then again.

And again.

A pause.

Jungkook shifted slightly and reached for it with a grunt, but didn’t move Y/N. He kept her on top of him, screen tilted toward the arm of the couch as he checked the notifications.

Y/N didn’t even look up—at first.

Until she felt the subtle shift in his breathing.

“Who is it?” she asked casually.

“Mm,” he replied, distracted. “Some girl. Liked a bunch of my old posts. Commented too.”

Y/N’s fingers stopped their lazy trail. She lifted her head slightly, gaze dipping to the edge of the screen.

The girl’s profile picture was visible. Pretty. Flawless makeup. A bit too smiley.

Her comment sat under a photo from nearly a year ago—Jungkook on a rooftop, messy hair, lip ring, eyes like sin.

"God you’re unreal 😍"

Y/N’s body tensed ever so slightly.

Jungkook didn’t react. He barely blinked.

But Y/N tilted her head, eyes still on the phone.

“Is she someone you know?” she asked lightly.

Jungkook’s arm squeezed her just a little tighter. “No. Just some random girl. Probably saw the post from Explore or something.”

“She liked a lot of your photos.”

His thumb moved over the screen — slow, casual. Then, without hesitation, he tapped Block.

Y/N blinked. “You didn’t have to—”

“I wanted to,” he said simply. “I don’t want her looking at me like that. Especially not when I’ve already found everything I need.”

She turned slightly, just enough to look at him over her shoulder.

His eyes were warm but dark. Focused completely on her.

“I don’t care about anyone else,” he said. “Not when I have you like this.”

Y/N felt something strange stir in her chest.

Relief. Satisfaction. Something sharp, but beautiful.

It wasn’t rage. It wasn’t madness.

But it was a new kind of knowing.

That she wanted him like this forever.

Wanted his attention like oxygen. His devotion like a promise tattooed into bone.

“I didn’t like her comment,” Y/N admitted softly, lips brushing the edge of his jaw. “Didn’t like her calling you hot. Not when you’re mine.”

Jungkook’s eyes darkened just slightly.

“You’re cute when you’re jealous,” he murmured.

“I’m not jealous,” she said, but her fingers were curling around his shirt now, tugging him closer. “I just don’t want to share.”

His hand slid along her waist, gripping her tighter, pulling her back into his chest.

“Good,” he breathed. “Don’t.”

She turned fully now, straddling his lap in one smooth motion, hands cupping his jaw. Their noses brushed. His hands slid instinctively down to her hips.

“I don’t need to be reminded who you belong to,” she whispered. “But sometimes… I think I like doing it anyway.”

He groaned softly as she leaned in, lips brushing his, not quite kissing yet.

“You know I’d do anything for you, right?” he murmured.

Y/N smiled. “I know.”

Her lips finally met his. Slow. Hot. The kind of kiss that built in heat, not fire — smoldering in soft whimpers and tongue, fingers threading into hair, clothing shifting as their bodies pressed tighter. Jungkook tilted his head and deepened it, one hand splayed on her lower back, the other curling possessively around her thigh.

The movie flickered.

Rain tapped.

The rest of the world blurred into silence.

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

The world outside their apartment was a slow blur of gold and grey.

Rain still clung to the windows, but the storm had softened overnight, retreating into a lazy drizzle that made the light spill gentle and slow into the room.

Y/N stirred first.

She blinked up at the ceiling, breath still slow, body warm under the weight of the duvet — and him.

Jungkook’s arm was wrapped around her waist, his hand resting protectively against her stomach. His legs were tangled with hers, face pressed to the crook of her neck. His breath was warm and even. Still asleep.

Y/N didn’t move.

She didn’t want to.

Instead, she turned just enough to look at him.

He looked... different in the morning.

Younger. Softer. As if sleep peeled back the armor he wore in the daylight and left her with the raw, boyish version of him. Tousled hair. Lips parted just slightly. Thick lashes resting on skin still flushed from last night.

And God — he was beautiful.

Her fingers moved before she could stop them, reaching to trace the edge of his jaw. She felt the faint scrape of stubble. The delicate slope of his cheekbone. The tattooed vines that wrapped around his arm, stark against her bare skin.

She remembered the way he had looked at her.

The way he had blocked that girl without blinking.

The way he had said, “I don’t want her looking at me like that. Not when I’ve already found everything I need.”

Y/N bit her lip.

Her heart ached — not from pain.

From possession.

It wasn’t loud. Wasn’t dramatic.

It was quiet.

A pulse under her skin. A whisper at the back of her mind.

Mine.

She kissed his forehead gently, nose brushing his temple.

“You’re not going anywhere,” she whispered. “I won’t let you.”

And then—

A smile.

Jungkook’s.

His voice, still rough from sleep: “Didn’t plan to.”

Y/N jumped a little. “You’re awake?”

“Wasn’t,” he said, blinking open one eye. “But your voice... kinda made it hard to stay asleep.”

She flushed. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

He stretched, groaning softly, before dragging her closer.

“Best way to wake up,” he murmured. “With you right here. Watching me like I’m your favorite thing in the world.”

Y/N swallowed.

“Maybe you are.”

He paused at that — just for a second. Something flickered behind his eyes. Not shock. Not fear.

Something darker.

Something hungry.

“You’re dangerous when you say things like that,” he murmured, lips brushing the shell of her ear.

She smiled. “You like it.”

“I do.”

Their foreheads pressed together.

“Stay with me today?” she asked quietly.

“Yeah,” he said instantly. “You don’t even have to ask.”

He leaned in and kissed her. Softly. Deeply. Like a man completely smitten, completely ruined.

And as the rain whispered against the glass and the sun bled in between the blinds, Jungkook realized something he hadn’t before:

She wasn’t just falling for him.

She was beginning to mirror him.

Not in cruelty. Not yet.

But in devotion.

And that?

That was more dangerous than anything.

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

The kitchen was filled with soft sounds — the clink of mugs, the low hum of the coffee machine, the rustle of Y/N’s oversized sweater as she padded barefoot across the tiles.

She liked mornings like this.

The kind that felt domestic. Soft. Intimate.

Jungkook had gone into the bedroom a few minutes ago, muttering something about changing into a clean shirt. She hadn’t followed — mostly because she loved watching the rain from the window, fingers curled around warm ceramic, his scent still lingering on her skin.

But when she walked past the half-open bedroom door a moment later, she paused.

A drawer was pulled out from the dresser — not wide, but just enough.

She shouldn’t have looked.

She knew she shouldn’t have looked.

But her eyes flicked down anyway.

Black gloves. A sleek folding knife. A phone — not his regular one — face down, scratched at the edges. And something else. A photo. Just the corner of it peeking out from beneath a black hoodie.

It was her face.

Y/N froze.

Only for a breath.

Only for a second.

Then she took a slow step back. Reached for the edge of the drawer. And gently — without a sound — pushed it shut.

When Jungkook came back, towel slung around his neck, she was leaning against the kitchen counter with two mugs waiting.

He paused, taking her in. “You okay?”

Y/N smiled softly. “Yeah. Just missed you.”

She handed him the coffee. Their fingers brushed. He watched her for a moment — too long.

Something in his gaze darkened, flickered.

“You sure?” he asked again.

“Mhm.” She sipped her drink. “Why?”

He shook his head. Smiled.

“No reason.”

But his eyes lingered on her lips. Her throat. Her pulse.

Because he knew.

She had seen. She had definitely seen.

And she hadn’t said a word.

Later, when they curled back into the couch, Jungkook couldn’t stop touching her.

Not out of lust — not just.

Out of awe.

Because she didn’t scream. Didn’t demand answers. Didn’t even ask who the phone belonged to, or why he had a drawer full of things that didn’t belong in the life they pretended to lead.

Instead, she reached for him.

And he realized:

She had chosen him.

Not in spite of the shadows — but because of them.

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

Jungkook sat on the edge of the bed, hunched forward, palms resting on his knees. He hadn’t looked at her in ten minutes.

Y/N stood across the room, barefoot in one of his shirts, watching him silently. The storm outside flickered lightning through the blinds, flashing across the lines of his body, the tattoos that wrapped around his arms like smoke.

“I need to tell you something,” he said finally, voice rough.

She didn’t speak. Just nodded once.

His eyes didn’t meet hers.

“I didn’t fall in love with you when we met.” A breath. “I already loved you. Before that. Long before.”

Her breath caught — not from surprise. From the weight of it.

“I saw you on the train,” he said. “You were smiling at someone. Just a stranger. And it ruined me.”

He looked up, slowly. There was a storm in his eyes — deeper than the one outside.

“I followed you. Watched you. Found where you worked, where you lived. I memorized the way you walked, the way you laughed, the way you tucked your hair behind your ear when you were focused.”

Y/N’s heart thundered in her chest. Still, she didn’t move.

“I thought it would fade,” he whispered. “But it didn’t. It only got worse. I started getting rid of anything that could hurt you. Anyone.”

She swallowed. “Who?”

Jungkook hesitated — then exhaled like it hurt.

“Mark.”

Y/N’s eyes widened. “From my job?”

He nodded once. “I saw the way he looked at you. Touched your arm when you passed. You didn’t see it — but I did. Every time.”

A long pause.

“I waited outside his building. He never made it home.”

Y/N’s lips parted. Her hands curled into the hem of his shirt. Her voice barely rose above a whisper.

“You killed him… for me?”

Jungkook stood then. Slowly. Like a man coming undone.

“I would do it again,” he said. “I would burn down cities for you. Cut through the world just to make sure you never had to flinch. I know it’s sick. I know it’s twisted. But I can’t help it. I love you in a way that doesn’t have brakes.”

He stepped closer.

“I love you in a way that ruins things.”

She let the silence hang for a beat.

Then two.

Then, with eyes glassy, voice trembling, she said:

“Then ruin me.”

Jungkook froze.

Her eyes burned into his.

“I don’t care what you’ve done,” she whispered. “I don’t care how it started. I just care that you’re mine.”

She walked to him — slowly, deliberately — until their chests touched. Her hands slid to his jaw. Her voice was breathless, desperate.

“I want you. All of you. I want to be tangled in your mess. Your violence. Your obsession. I want you to lose your mind over me. Because I’m already losing mine over you.”

He groaned softly — then kissed her.

Not gently.

Not slowly.

He kissed her like a man at the edge of a cliff, like he’d die if he didn’t take her with him.

"Youre driving me crazy." He groaned into her mouth.

Y/N clung to him, moaning into his mouth, fingers tugging his shirt over his head. His hands were already at her thighs, lifting her, gripping like he needed bruises as proof she was real.

She wrapped her legs around him, and he carried her to the bed like she weighed nothing.

His body against hers, his mouth trailing over her neck, her chest, her stomach — worshipping like she was holy. Her fingers tangled in his hair, back arching as he slid down and took his time, tasting, devouring her like she was the only salvation he knew.

She cried out his name — desperate, broken — and he murmured, “That’s it, baby. Let me have all of it.”

When he finally moved over her again, kissing her like he’d never tasted air before, he whispered,

“You’re mine. Every part. Say it.”

“I’m yours,” she gasped. “No one else. Only you.”

When he pushed inside, she felt everything — the way his hands trembled, the way his breath stuttered against her skin, the way his eyes locked onto hers like she was the last light in the world.

They moved together, slow at first — then faster, harder, more desperate.

"No one else gets to have you like this, no one gets to look, touch, breathe or fuck you like I do"

"F-uck, koo please."

It wasn’t just sex.

It was claiming.

It was obsession turned sacred.

“You ruin me,” he groaned into her mouth.

“Then let me,” she moaned back, kissing him until their lungs burned.

"Let go, cum for me." He groans.

They came together in a tangle of limbs and cries, hearts pounding against each other’s ribs, lips still clinging, hands still gripping — like even in release, they couldn’t let go.

When it was over, he held her tight, face buried in her neck, chest rising and falling like he’d survived war.

“I’m scared of how much I love you,” he whispered.

Y/N pulled his face up, kissed his lips softly.

“Then don’t fight it,” she whispered. “Let it consume us.”

He smiled — dazed, wrecked.

And she smiled back.

Because there was no going back now.

They were each other’s poison.

And neither wanted the cure.

-----------

A few months later.

An abandoned church just outside the city. Overgrown. Forgotten. There are no guests. No music. Just crumbling stone, shattered stained glass, and a full moon pouring through broken beams.

Y/N stood in front of the cracked mirror in the chapel’s apse, brushing a finger down the curve of her lip.

The reflection looking back at her didn’t belong to the girl who once flinched at shadows.

She wore white — not pure white, but off-cream silk, frayed slightly at the hem. Her hair was pinned back with gold pins. Her skin still bore faint bruises from Jungkook’s hands — not marks of pain, but proof. That she was wanted. Loved. Claimed.

Behind her, footsteps echoed softly against the stone.

Jungkook appeared in the mirror, dressed in black from collar to boots. A knife was strapped to his thigh. His hand carried a simple ring — thin, silver, elegant. She didn’t know where he got it. She didn’t ask.

He stopped behind her.

Neither of them spoke.

Instead, he reached around her waist and pulled her back against him. His chin rested on her shoulder, lips brushing the shell of her ear.

“You look like mine,” he whispered.

Y/N smiled faintly at their reflection.

“I’ve always been yours.”

His eyes — dark, endless — stared into hers in the glass. His hands, steady and reverent, slipped the ring onto her finger. She didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink.

“No priest. No vows. Just this,” he murmured. “You. Me. Until the end.

Y/N turned in his arms. Her palms found his chest. His heart beat hard beneath her touch.

“Until the end,” she echoed.

And then she kissed him.

Not soft.

Not restrained.

But hungry.

Jungkook groaned into her mouth, backing her into the altar like it was sacred — like she was sacred. Her hands clawed at his jacket, his fingers tugged the silk off her shoulders, and the air thickened between them like heat.

There, in a ruined chapel lit only by moonlight, they made love like sinners pretending to be saints.

She moaned his name like a prayer. He whispered hers like a curse. Their bodies moved in rhythm with something older than forgiveness, something more powerful than absolution.

When it was over, they lay together in silence.

Her cheek rested against his chest. His fingers played with the ring now circling her finger — the only thing left between them and the world.

Jungkook spoke first.

“Do you regret it?” he asked, barely audible.

Y/N smiled. She didn’t even open her eyes.

“No,” she breathed. “I’ve never felt more like myself.”

A long silence.

Then she added, softer

“I used to be afraid of turning into someone unrecognizable.”

He looked down at her.

“And now?”

Y/N turned her face toward the broken mirror beside them.

The girl she used to be was gone.

But in her place was a woman forged from obsession and devotion. And in his arms, she had never felt more alive.

She stared at her reflection.

“I recognize her now,” she whispered. “And she loves you more than her own soul.”

Jungkook kissed her again. This time, not with urgency. But with certainty.

"Koo?"

"Yes, princess."

“Promise me this never ends.” She whispers.

“It can’t. You’re carved into me.”

She smiled, part of her knows nothing will go back to the way it was. But she was okay with it, as long as she had him.

“There’s no heaven waiting for people like us, you know?” she said.

“I don’t need heaven,” he replied. “I have you.”

“Even if we go to hell?” “Then we’ll rule it—hand in hand.”

[sourcherryandsprinkles]

i’m visualizing a fic where reader goes off to fight with their dragon and comes back to jace being furious that she would endanger herself and feelings are revealed…. can you make that happen? xx🙈

Request: Being dragonseed and getting close to jace during the trainings. Maybe she claimed silverwing or vermithor? She goes to battle while he is not there and jace is STRESSED

Request: Jace sneaking out to check on the girl he secretly loves

my taglists are here + you can send requests here at any time

—

When Jacaerys took it upon himself to teach and train the dragonseeds, he didn’t think his loyalty to his betrothed would be challenged. Since the beginning of war, his bond with Baela became stronger and they got closer, but as he watched you atop Silverwing, hair in the wind and soaring over the water, he felt things he never felt before. 

Was it the blood of the dragon, although thin, that was calling to him? Or was it the sight of a woman on a large dragon? Jacaerys couldn’t tell. What he knew was that he never felt that way when Baela was riding Moondancer. 

‘’What do you mean, she went to the Riverlands?’’ he shouted at his mother, all manners forgotten.

Rhaenyra met his glare with a calm gaze. ‘’The Greens are marching up to Harrenhal. I sent her to meet their army before they reach the Riverlands.’’

‘’And what of Vhagar?’’ Jacaerys continued, his voice rising as he thought of the beast that had devoured his little brother and his dragon in a single bite. ‘’They know Daemon has taken Harrenhal. Undoubtedly, they brought their biggest dragon to fight him.’’

Rhaenyra hummed thoughtfully. ‘’It is a high possibility, but Silverwing is a large dragon, as you said yourself. Y/N will handle Vhagar if Aemond dares showing up.’’

‘’She is not ready to go to battle.’’ Jacaerys’s fists clenched at his sides, making up the worst scenarios in his mind. ‘’You sent her to her death!’’

‘’I needed to send a dragon. It was Silverwing or Vermithor.’’

‘’Why did you not send Vermithor?’’ 

‘’Because I didn’t want to reveal our biggest asset to the enemy,’’ Rhaenyra said, her brow furrowing as she noticed her son’s agitation. ‘’Why are you so agitated? The dragonseeds were your idea, Jace. We have to send them on the battlefield at some point.’’

The reasons the search for dragonseeds began was to get more dragons on their team, but also to not risk their own in battle by using those with blood 'thinner' than their own as fodder. It was selfish and evil, but losses are inevitable during a war. Better be a stranger than someone you love. 

But now, his plan had backfired.

‘’She’s not just a dragonseed!’’ Jacaerys snapped, his eyes blazing with anger and worry. ‘’She’s—’’ He stopped himself, realizing how much he had revealed in his fury and the implication of what he was about to say. 

Rhaenyra spoke his name softly, finally figuring the nature of her son’s worries, but he turned away, unable to look his mother in the eye. 

⁂

When night came, Jacaerys was unable to sleep, tossing and turning in his bed. All he could think about was you fighting against Vhagar…and losing. 

If you didn’t return from the Riverlands, he would never forgive himself for encouraging you to claim Silverwing. 

Finally, Jacaerys could not take it anymore. He sprung out of his bed, changed into his riding clothes and slipped on a cloak. Quietly, he sneaked out of his quarters and started heading towards the hills where he knew Vermax liked to sleep. Rhaenyra would be furious in the morning when finding out he went to the Riverlands without her approval, but he needed to go to you. 

‘’Lyka (quiet), Vermax,’’ Jacaerys said as he mounted the dragon, not wishing to alert anyone of his nightly adventure. The poor thing was whining and confused why his rider was waking him, but obeyed his command. 

They set out into the night, flying towards the northwest. The wind was cold, biting through Jacaerys' cloak, and the darkness was absolute with no moon to guide their way. The only sound was the rhythmic beating of Vermax's wings, cutting through the icy air.

After what felt like hours of flying blindly in the night, Vermax began to screech, a high-pitched, urgent sound that pierced the silence.

‘’Sagon gīda (be calm), Vermax,’’ Jacaerys commanded, trying to calm his dragon. But Vermax continued screeching, his eyes darting around as if he had seen something human eyes couldn’t. ‘’What is it, Vermax?’’ 

Vermax's screeches grew louder, more insistent, and Jacaerys felt a surge of unease. He strained his eyes, peering into the inky blackness, but saw nothing. He knew that dragons had senses far keener than humans, capable of detecting things long before they were visible.

‘’What do you see?” he muttered, more to himself than to Vermax, as he tried to understand his dragon’s distress.

Vermax couldn't understand the common tongue, but his behavior made it clear that something was wrong. He twisted his head, sniffing the air, and let out another screech, this one more urgent and filled with warning.

Jacaerys suddenly realized what it could mean: Vermax had detected the scent of another dragon. 

His heart pounded in his chest as he tightened his grip on the reins, scanning the dark skies for any sign of movement. The thought of encountering Vhagar in the pitch-black night sent a shiver down his spine. He tightened his grip on the handles, trying to steady both his dragon and himself.

Then, through the darkness, he saw a faint, silvery glimmer. Realization struck him hard. 

‘’Silverwing,’’ he breathed, understanding now what Vermax had sensed. 

Immediately, Jacaerys commanded Vermax to descend. He didn’t know where he was, but he knew that he had not reached the Riverlands yet. If Silverwing was down here, it could mean you were injured. Dragons were known to stay by their rider's side and guard them when they were vulnerable — or dying.

The prince's heart raced as they descended, his mind filled with worry. As soon as Vermax touched ground, he dismounted and scanned the area frantically, searching for you. 

Silverwing screeched loudly when Jacaerys got close, the sound stirring you from your sleep and snapping into alert. You reached for your dagger sheated at your hip, ready to stab whoever would try to get close.

‘’It’s me,’’ Jacaerys quickly said before you could touch him. 

‘’Prince Jacaerys?’’ you said with a frown. ‘’Has Her Grace sent you looking for me?’’

Jacaerys stayed silent. His mother did not care much for you — or any of the dragonseeds. 

The sight of blood on your hands sent his heart into a frenzy. ‘’Are you hurt? What has happened?’’ 

He kneeled beside you, and you let out a small hiss. ‘’I'm not on my deathbed, my Prince,’’ you reassured. ‘’I saw the Green's army marching to the Riverlands. They were definitely surprised to see a new dragon had been claimed by the Blacks. I engaged in battle, burning several of them, but their archers started shooting arrows at us. Silverwing dodged them the best she could, but I received one in my leg…’’ You glanced down where the arrow used to be, blood seeping through your clothes and down your leg. ‘’I know I should not have taken it out, but the pain was too much.’’ 

‘’It’s okay.’’ Jacaerys drew his sword to cut a piece of his cloak to make a bandage for your leg. ‘’All that matters is that you’re alive.’’ He began wrapping the piece of his cloak tightly around your wounded leg, but not so tight it would cause you more pain. ‘’I…I was worried about you.’’ 

You raised an eyebrow at the prince. ‘’Me?’’

He looked at you for a moment, his gaze flickering between your face and your wounded leg. ‘’Don't do that again. Going alone in a battle. What is Vhagar had been there?’’

‘’Why? Because I’m a woman?’’ 

‘’No.’’ Jacaerys shook his head. ‘’No, that’s not— When I didn’t see you at training this morning, I thought you were in the village helping your parents with the sheeps. But Baela informed me that you had been sent to the Riverlands at first light to meet the Greens and all I could think about was Rook’s Rest. What Vhagar did to Luke, and Rhaenys… Gods, if you were the next to fall, I would not handle it.’’

You huffed, not believing him. ‘’Aren’t I just a paw in your mother’s war? I’m not stupid, my Prince. Dragonseeds don’t matter to Her Grace. She just want the power of our dragons.’’ 

‘’I care. I care about you. I care so much about you that I could not sleep without knowing if you were okay. I would not have taken flight in the middle of the night if I didn’t care about you.’’

His words hung in the dark night, the air filled with his confession. Your heart stuttered in your chest as you processed his sudden confession. This conversation felt like forbidden territory. You were a shepherd’s daughter and he was a highborn prince, betrothed to a princess.

‘’You…you shouldn’t say things like that,’’ you finally murmured, averting your eyes from the intensity of his gaze. You tried to hide the fact that his words made you feel things you shouldn’t.

Jacaerys took a deep breath, then slowly reached out to tilt your chin, his fingertips gently tracing over your skin. ‘’I should, because it’s how I feel.’’ He leaned closer. His fingers grazed your cheek, his touch sending shivers down your spine.

‘’What of Baela?’’ you managed to ask, your heart beating wildly in your chest, torn between desire and loyalty.

He shook his head, his gaze locked with yours. ‘’I don’t feel strongly for Baela the way I do for you,’’ he confessed.

—

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[importantstudentbusinessspy-blog]

Workplace

Next Chapter

Pairing: Dick Grayson/Nightwing x (f)reader

Tags: NSFW, secret identity, vigilante reader, office romance, fingering, kissing, biting, wounds, penetration, slightly toxic Dick Grayson,

"Holy shit, y/n?" A gruff voice called your name from across the police station. You turned away from your papers and in the direction the address was coming from, meeting a bloodshot wild gaze of a man who looked around your age. You didn't recognize the man, who was currently being escorted into a cell.

You didn't respond, assuming he confused you with someone else. He called you again, though. "Y/n! It's Spencer Van! We were in the fifth grade together-"

You met his crazy gaze again, raising your brow in question.

"Ms. Strums class!" He added.

You blinked, recalling the name of your fifth grade teacher. You began to recognize him. And your mouth twisted in disgust. You didn't remember much, other than him being a piece of shit; bullying the smarter kids, and constantly interrupting your teacher during class. Not someone worth remembering.

Your grimace didn't deter him, though, as his gaze slowly studied you up and down. You began to regret your earlier decision to discard your blazer when his gaze landed on the undone top buttons of your blouse.

You hated going to the police station for this exact reason. The staff were nice, but the people they brought in... different story.

"Damn," Spencer groaned, his tongue sliding across his teeth. "You grew up gorgeous."

The blood drained from your face, and you felt nauseous. Now definitely swallowing bile. Detectives and staff were looking between you two as you took in a steadying breath and tried to avoid glaring at him.

"You like me like this?" Spencer continued, grinning a dirty, crooked smile and wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. "You like seeing me in handcuffs?-"

Before he finished his sentence, he was brutally shoved into the cell. The sound of the slam echoing throughout the station.

The detective who shut him up, Dick Grayson, stood towering, muscular, and gorgeous in his uniform, and your secret crush on him only grew. Grayson barely broke a sweat while Spencer bounced off the wall and was now wheezing, struggling to get back up.

"You son of a bitch-" Spencer choked. "You fucking broke my rib!"

"Yeah?" Dick challenged. "Press charges after you're done serving ten years for drug trafficking. Prick." Then he slammed the cell door shut.

The rest of the room fell back into routine, the sounds of phone calls, walkies, filing papers, and conversations filling the air once more.

Grateful for the change in pase, you returned to your documents.

"Ms. L/n, are you alright?" A low masculine voice you instantly recognized spoke behind you. You turned to see the detective. Sharp features and ocean-colored eyes pierced through your thoughts, catching you off guard. Your breath hitch at his size towering over you, while the smell of beachy cologne invaded your senses. His uniform hugged his body so well that you could almost see the defined muscle under the material.

"Yeah, thanks for shutting him up." You stammered, your shoulders rising slightly.

"Im sorry I didn't do it sooner." He frowned, his gaze flicking to Spencer, who still groaned in his cell.

You gathered your files. "Should we sit down to look over the Falcone case?"

"Yes, right." Dick gestured for you to take a seat at his desk. It was the only one in the room that wasn't covered in a million papers. Just his computer, a notepad, pen, and calculator lined up against each other in a tidy order, with a half finished cup of coffee sat on the corner. "Can I get you anything? Coffee? Water?"

You shook your head. "Is there somewhere private we can talk?" Then, at his raised brow, you rushed to add. "I'll need to share some sensifitive information."

He nodded in understanding and got up, leading you down the hall. Your heels clicked behind him as he opened the door to a meeting room lined with shelves. A single table and two chairs sat in the middle of it, illuminated by warm toned lights. The noise died down as he shut the door before pulling out your chair for you to sit.

He spoke up as you sat down. "Late nights at the DA's office, huh?"

You blinked, trying your best to look confused, also trying to cover the blush on your cheeks. "N-no. Why do you ask?"

He shrugged, offering you his signature joking smile. "According to our email exchanges, you were originally supposed to come here yesterday. I was just curious why the last-minute change. I've got a very busy schedule today."

"Im sorry," you shook your head, rushing. "I just... I wasn't feeling well."

"Oh no." Dick said, his brow creasing.

His tone of worry hid a chuckle that was desperately trying to escape. You were such a bad liar. "I'm glad you're feeling better then."

"Yes, well," you took your seat, pulling out a series of photographs from your folder and placing them on the table for him to see. "Falcone met with the owner of MacKenzie Buildings in his club two nights ago."

Dick made a big show of studying the photographs, which he took himself two nights ago. "Hmmm."

You continued. "Yesterday, as you know, MacKenzie was found dead in his apartment."

Dick nodded along to your words, picking up a photograph to study it closer before frowning. His brows furrowed as he looked at the picture. "How'd you get these? Did you hire a P.I.?"

"Not exactly." You lowered your voice, eyeing the locked door behind you.

When you turned around, his blue gaze was narrowed at you. Questioning.

"I'd like to keep the source confidential."

Two nights ago.

"I need to go use the ladies' room." You spoke over the music before getting off your date's lap. He grinned and nodded, barely acknowledging you as he was distracted with a pair of women dancing on a tabletop.

You matched with the man on a hookup app an hour ago, suggesting this club to meet up, and he was more than happy to go - probably thinking he was going to get lucky.

In reality, it was just a cover.

As soon as you walked off the main floor, you headed for the back of the club and out to an alleyway behind the building. Unwrapping a bandana from your wrist, you tied it around your face, hiding all of it, save for your eyes.

Taking quiet steps in your combat boots on the gravel, you grasped at the bag slung across your shoulder as you spotted your opening. With a running start, you jumped up, grabbed onto the ladder, and began to climb.

Nightwing followed you for the fourth week in a row. This time, your escapades brought you to Falcone's nightclub, with some creep who wouldn't stop running his hands over the open back of your corset top. Dick had half a mind to knock him out there and then each time you stiffened from his hand, brushing your skin.

Wearing an all-black outfit which helped you blend in, you hiked your makeshift mask covering your face. You used the railings to scale your way up the roof with practiced ease. Either gymnastics or calisthenics - if Dick had to guess. Either that, or the mandatory self-defense classes at Gotham Law had incorporated parkour into the syllabus. Brushing his chin with his fingers, he perched casually on a nearby rooftop.

Silently lifting yourself up and positioning yourself on a rooftop that overlooked a large window, behind which Falcone and his men were gathered around a table. Dick watched you pull out a camera from your bag and begin to snap pictures. Like you were some kind of private investigator.

Dick watched patiently. He's seen you do this several times now. He was curious where this was heading this night.

Silence and the howl of wind replaced the club’s thumping bass, and for a moment, you felt utterly alone - until you heard the faintest shuffle above.

Instantly, you rolled out of the way just as a fist came down to the spot where you just were. You got up, hid your camera in your bag, and assessed the assailant. Only one. Good. That you can handle.

You dodged the following blow as well, dropping to your hands and swiping your leg under both of his, knocking him off balance. He went down fast, and you took out the taser you always had in your pocket, bringing it to his neck and activating it until his body began to shake. You held it long enough for him to pass out. Then, you held your hand to his neck, making sure you found his pulse, ensuring he was still alive before you walked on, taking your camera back out.

As you continued snapping the pictures, what you didn't see were the two other bodyguards approaching you on the roof.

Good thing Nightwing did.

Out of nowhere, you were grabbed around your waist and flung onto a higher up rooftop, and away from the meeting. "Hey!-"

"Quiet." A deep voice orderer in your ear.

When you two landed on another rooftop, you stumbled and caught yourself on the rubble. You turned around, facing your new assailant.

Momentary shock took over as you were met with THE Nightwing. The protector of bludhaven, glowering down at you with a disappointed look under his mask.

"Nightwing!" You choke out.

"The one and only." He confirmed.

You've never seen him in person, never mind standing inches away from him. Your initial shock wore off to make room for anger of your own. "Look... thank you for saving me, but I don't need your help."

He smirked like you just made a joke, then gestured behind you, tilted his chin. "Turn around."

Tentatively, you turned and faced the street, away from him.

"Look down, down at the alleyway." He said. "See those guys patrolling outside the club with their M16's?"

You strained your eyes, trying to see what he was referring to. "No..."

"Exactly." He came to stand side to side with you, taking something out or his utility belt and holding it up to you. Upon initial inspection, you concluded it was a lens of some sort, and you brought it up to your eye. The lens did show a pair of bodies walking back and forth behind a brick wall. Heat sensors.

Embarrased, you handed him the lens. You took a breath, steadying yourself under his intense gaze. Heart pounding, you wondered why his presence felt just as dangerous as comforting.

"It sucks. Doing what I do. Not everyone can." He said.

"I'm not trying to do what you do." You defended yourself. "I'm no vigilante."

"Why do you need these pictures?"

You follow his gaze down to the camera clutched in your hands. "That's confidential,"

He then stood face to face with you. Or rather, face to chest with his frame dwarfing you. "Are you a P.I.?"

"No." You huffed, hoping your raised brow will stop any more questions. "Thank you for saving me. See you around." Then you hopped down the rails and to the ground.

You pushed open the door to your apartment, stepping in still in your club clothing. The corset top was dirty and pulled out of your leather tights, which tore at some point during your escapades, and your feet were in immeasurable pain from walking in those boots all night. You were tired as you tossed your keys into a bowl and locked the door.

A man cleared his throat behind you. "So this is where you live," Nightwing stepped into your living room.

Your voice hitched, and you jumped, rushing to switch on your lights. You stumble over your heals and nearly fall. He caught you around your waist and stabilized you.

"What were you doing at Falcone's club?" He asked, eyes searching your apartment.

"Did you follow me?" You asked, tone incredulous.

"Didn't have to," he pulled up a piece of paper and held it to you.

Your eyes widened. "Is that my car insurance?"

"Mhmm," he nodded, walking to your kitchen and flipping through the papers on your counter. "Pro tip: when you go on patrol, don't bring ID. Otherwise, the mask becomes obsolete." He grinned and picked up an envelope. "Ah cute, your children's hospital donation went through."

You snatched the envelope from his hand. "Give me that! And get out of my house!"

He tisked and shook his head. "Not before you tell me when you were doing following Falcone."

"I- I already told you-"

"You told me fuck all." He interrupted. "Now, I know exactly who you are, miss. L/N I know everyone you've ever met and how to find them. Easily."

He stalked closer, the shadows of your dimly lit room casting sharp angles on his face. “Now ill ask you one more tim. What were you doing at Falcone’s club?” His voice was low, the threat behind it unmistakable, and for a moment, you wondered if Nightwing was as dangerous as the people he fought.

You gulped, straightening your neck. "Look, nightasshole-"

He snorted.

"You're breaking and entering." You continued. "I could call the cops on you."

He grinned, wondering if he should let you, only for his phone ring when you dialed. Then, he set the idea aside. "That building you were on when you were snapping your pictures belongs to Falcone. You were on private property without permission. I'm sure a lawyer would know what the name for that is,"

Your shoulders sagged as you lowered your gaze. "Trespassing."

"Very good." He said. "So go ahead and place that call, y/n." He shrugged. "Tell them that Nightwing, identity unknown, address unknown, broke and entered into your house." You approached you, his tone sharpening. "Meanwhile, I'll place my own call. About Y/n L/n, from apartment 2a on 21 Nelson rd. For trespassing on Carmine Falcone’s private property. We'll see how long you get to keep your license."

Your eyes widened in shock. Would he really ruin your career over this? And all of a sudden, the mantle of "protector" became subjective in your mind. You swallowed nervously, regarding him with unease.

In a sudden move, you raised your knee, aiming straight for his groin, hoping to take him by surprise.

He was way ahead of you, and he dodged your knee along with the follow up attacking from your punches and kicks.

You were backed up against the wall, one of his hands easily held both your wrists above your head.

"Cute," he murmured, his voice mockingly soft, as though you're struggling amused him. "Should I be insulted that you think you can fight off Blüdhaven’s ‘protector’? Those defense classes they make you lawyers take get worse and worse each year -"

You collided your forehead with his nose.

"Shit!" He swore, then huffed a laugh, raising his free hand to wipe at the trickle of blood trickling from his nose, and looked down at his hand. The distraction you hoped for wasn't effective as you struggled against his hold, which was rock solid.

"I think you broke my nose." He said as a matter of factly. "How's your head?"

"Fine!" You snapped at him, fighting to keep your vision from blurring at the edges. That was the wrong angle to use, you thought, cursing yourself for forgetting the lessons you got from your self-defense training.

"Yeah?" He sounded doubtful. "Not throbbing anywhere? Like over here," he gave a gentle tap to your temple.

"Ow!" The point he pressed shot excruciating pain throughout your head, and your vision blurred even more.

"Yeah, valiant effort on your part." He commented, his voice growing more and more muffled as you struggled to... to...

He snapped his fingers in front of your eyes. "Hey, hey, no. No falling asleep. You gave yourself a concussion."

"Get... out of my home," you slurred.

"Can't do that either." He sighed. "I'd be leaving you for dead." He grinned. "That wouldn't be very heroic of me."

Well, this is certainly the most creative way he had to keep a woman up all night, Dick thought to himself, bringing the smelling salts up to your nose.

"Ah, christ!" You exclaimed, jerking away from the violent stench. "Why do you even have these with you?"

"You'd be surprised how often head injuries can occur in my line of work." He explained, putting them away. "I've had to keep myself awake after a lot of brawls."

You nodded, eyeing him wearily. It was so odd how casual he was acting about this entire situation. You felt like you were a prisoner in your own home, with him as a friendly warden.

"How's your nose?" You asked, your hands rubbing your temples to try and ease the pain.

"Eh," he shrugged, looking at his reflection on your phone. "I've had worse."

He demanded on staying until he confirmed you were better. When the throbbing stopped, he did a quick assessment of your vitals using some kind of gadget you've never seen before.

The following afternoon, you came back to a package resting on the pile of mail on your kitchen counter.

There was a note on top, scrawled in sharp, hurried letters: "Thank me later."

Suspecting who it might be from, you carefully turned the folder over, spilling its contents—a stack of photos showing Carmine Falcone in a close conversation with Owen MacKenzie, the owner of MacKenzie Buildings.

Present Day

"Let me guess," Dick said, arms crossed as he leaned against his desk. "You’re suggesting there’s a connection between MacKenzie’s death and his meeting with Falcone."

You nodded. "Just speculation for now, but it’s no secret Falcone’s been after those developments. I think he made MacKenzie an offer he didn’t like, and the next day…"

Dick’s gaze narrowed, his fingers tapping idly against the edge of his desk. "So, what do you need from me?”

"You have access to the autopsy report," you replied, leaning forward. "If we can prove it was murder we can keep those properties out of Falcone’s hands.”

He studied you, scratching his head. "That’s making a lot of assumptions."

“Which is why I came to you,” you pressed, holding his gaze.

He raised a brow, lips quirking in mild amusement.

"If we’re right, we could keep dozens of families from getting pushed out onto the streets," you said, more earnestly.

After a long beat, Dick sighed and nodded. "I’ll see what I can do."

Later That Night

Either that concussion affected your memory, or it dulled your self-preservation instincts, Dick mused as he watched you. He couldn't fathom why you kept diving headfirst into life-threatening situations.

You climbed the scaffolding at an abandoned construction site, slipping past rusted barriers until you reached the eighth floor. Perched on a narrow ledge, you crept toward a makeshift office in the corner. Little more than a desk and chair surrounded by half-finished walls. Kneeling, you pulled out a lock-picking set and made quick work of the drawer, glancing over your shoulder once before opening it.

A low chuckle sounded behind you. "Not a shred of self-preservation in that cute little body."

You jumped, heart pounding, and spun around to find Nightwing leaning casually against a support column, arms crossed over his chest.

"God," you muttered, trying to steady your breathing, "I thought you were a -"

"Bad guy?" He chuckled, tilting his head. "What exactly would you have done if i was?"

"Maybe tase you," you shot back, turning back to sift through the documents in the drawer.

In two strides, he was beside you, looking over your shoulder at the papers. "What are we looking at?"

You glanced up at him, momentarily struck by his proximity. It took a beat too long for you to refocus, the sheer size and quiet intensity of him throwing you off balance.

"I’m looking for a ledger or a blueprint - anything tying this site to MacKenzie."

Nightwing raised a brow. "The project’s been transferred to Falcone. Announced just this morning."

"Do you believe that?"

He sighed, arms crossed. "Alright, trouble. Enlighten me - what’s your theory?"

"You really need me to spell it out?" you asked, arching a brow.

He smirked. "You think Falcone’s behind MacKenzie’s death."

You nodded. "A friend in Blüdhaven is working on getting me his autopsy report, and - "

"Oh, a friend?" he interrupted with a teasing tone. "Must’ve gone through all the right channels to get that, yeah?"

You frowned. "Of course."

He leaned in, the playful spark still in his eyes. "You know, a real friend would’ve gotten it for you just cus. No questions asked."

You stifled a blush, hoping your mask hid the heat rising in your cheeks. His gaze softened as it lingered on you, just a shade too long, his lips curling in a way that made your pulse quicken.

You were overcome with a need to defend Dick after Nightwing’s comment. "He's more noble than you," you said.

And oh god, if the irony alone didn't make Dick want to burst out laughing. Pull yourself together, he said to himself.

"Did anyone ever tell you." His voice was lower now, softer. "You have really pretty eyes."

Thrown off, you glanced away, muttering, "Just… let me know if you see anything with MacKenzie’s name on it."

A low ding from the far end of the floor interrupted your sentence. You both froze, watching as the elevator doors slid open, and heavy footsteps echoed into the hollow silence. You quickly locked the drawer and put everything back in place.

Before you could even react, Nightwing’s arm was around your waist, pulling you back toward the edge of the building. He fired his grappling hook to the floor above, tugging you both up to safety. His hold on you was firm yet controlled.

Landing, you were acutely aware of every inch of him pressed against you, his gaze unreadable as he raised a gloved finger to his lips, signaling for silence. You swallowed, pulse racing, unable to tear your attention away from the solid, unyielding warmth of him beside you.

"Destroy every file on that table," a voice ordered. "Burn it all if you have to. I don’t want any trace left of his fingerprints here."

Your eyes widened. Proof that MacKenzie had been involved after all. You looked up at Nightwing, who nodded, clearly understanding the gravity of the moment.

The voice spoke again, sending a thrill of hope through you. "And make sure they do the same over at the south location. We don’t need loose ends."

Your eyes met Nightwing’s, urgency clear in your expression. There was still a chance to get evidence.

The smell of smoke drifted up from the floor below, mingling with the crisp night air as flames started licking up from the table and chair. You looked at Nightwing, panic flashing in your eyes. He didn’t move until the elevator dinged again, signaling the men’s departure.

"We need to get to that second site," you whispered, barely able to contain your urgency.

Nightwing’s gaze hardened, his earlier playfulness replaced by a steely resolve. "I need to get there. You’re going home."

"But-"

"No buts," he said, his voice leaving no room for argument. "You want to help these people? Stay out of sight and leave the dangerous work to me. Trust me. This is my city."

For a moment, you considered arguing back, but something in his gaze warned you not to push him further. Instead, you gave a reluctant nod, allowing him to guide you away.

There was a knock at your window.

You look up from your phone, already ready for bed in your pijama shorts and tube top. You see his outline through the glass as you aproach the window, already half-expecting bad news as you open it cautiously. You are met with Blüdhaven’s protector, leaning on the rail of your balcony, clutching his side, blood seeping through the cracks of his suit.

"Hey," he rasped, short breathes coming out of cut lips with a pained smirk as he raised a USB. "Got your evidence."

"You’re bleeding," you said, your voice a mix of shock and concern.

"Only a little," he grunted, but when he stumbled, you caught his arm, guiding him inside before he collapsed entirely. "You should see the other guy."

He helped you remove the top of his suit, leaving him bare to his hips. You tried not to linger too much on the ridges of hard-defined muscles lining up his chest, arms and stomach - it was a challenging endeavor.

Your hands moved carefully as you cleaned the gash on his side, trying not to let your worry show. "You should’ve gone to a hospital."

"They ask too many questions," he said with a wince but tried to smile. "And I’d rather have you play nurse."

Huffing, you rolled your eyes, but his words sent your pulse racing. You could feel his breath close to your cheek as you look down, the faint brush of his gloved fingers against your arm as you worked.

"Ive got a first aid kit. One moment." You said, getting up and bringing the white box that was kept on the top of your bookshelf. You've had some practice stiching up wounds back when your little siblings would get scrapes on the playground. You even wanted to be a doctor when you were a kid. Before you decided studying law was more interesting. Especially in a city like Bludhaven.

He drew in a gasp as you carefully threaded the needle, stitching up his wound. Finishing up, you placed a gauze bandage around the affected area, tisking. "You should still go get it checked out."

His fingers gently wrapped around your wrist, making you look up at him. Your eyes flickered to his, and for a second, wondering what color they were behind his mask.

“You dont need to worry about me,” he said softly, his fingers coming to play with the hem of your crop top. Your skin tingled where his touch brushed you. "But... I like that you do."

His words hung in the air, and your pulse raced as his gaze dropped to you lips, then back to your eyes.

“We shouldn’t-” you started, but before you could finish, his hand slid up under the back of your shirt, his warm fingers sending tingles along their path.

“I know,” he whispered, but then he pushed you towards him, lips pressing softly against yours.

Your hand moved to the back of his neck, pulling him closer as the kiss deepened. You took a moment to orocess the fact that you were kissing a stranger. It coukd be anyone under that mask. The need to know clawed at you.

"Nightwing?" You asked.

"Yes, trouble?" He wispered, lowering his lips to lay kissed down your neck.

You felt your cheeks warm as your shoulders rose. "D-do you do this often? Sleep with people you save?"

He grinned then, nipping your earlobe as his hand, covered in calluses and scars reached around you, pulling you onto his lap. Gasping, you could feel his hardness on your silk shorts.

"Only when they take such good care of me." He asnwered, grinding up against you, brushing your sensitive clit in the process. "You know, to return the favor."

You gasped and he repeated the movement a few more times, until you were riding him still separated by your layer of clothing.

"You're gonna open -" You wimpered when a particularly long brush of his Dick sent a powerful sensation down your core. "-Your stitches. This... this isn't a good idea."

"It's a good thing you're here to fix me up then, isn't it?" He challenged, an evil grin playing at his lips.

You moaned and shook your head, still trying to think logical. "It will hurt."

"It hurts more not being inside you now, trouble." He wispered- no, whined- as his lips brushed your ear. "Please, put me out of my misery."

His finger slipped under your shorts and between your folds. "Fuck-" He caught his lower lip between his teeth, the bit leaving a beautiful read mark on his gorgeous lips. "You're so wet, trouble."

Unable to look away from him, you whimpered as his fingers brushed your insides.

"I dont even know who you are," you wispered in disbelief, more so to yourself than to him. "I don't even know your name,"

A small, curious part of him wondered how you'd react if he pulled off his mask and presented you with the very same face that's been working with you this past week at the station. Your "good friend" detective Grayson.

"I'm no one," he said instead.

A minute later, his suit was discarded on your carpet, along with your pijamas, as the two of you gasped and writhe against each other on your couch. You were riding him, the feeling of him filling you up was extacy. And his view provided him with an image of you panting on top of him, red lips parted as your hair fell in messy stands around your face and shoulder. "Trouble," he moaned. "You're so fucking sexy. Oh my god."

"Thanks, you like... a seven." You joked, then squealed, arching your back as he rose and bit your collarbone, driving into you hard.

"For that," he growled, a wolfish grin playing on his lips as he eyed the new bite mark forming on your skin. "I'll keep you up all night."

"Y/n?"

You looked up from your computer to see your co-worker standing nearby, balancing a cup of coffee and a stack of files. She offered you a shy smile.

"Detective Grayson from the station is here for you."

"Oh, thank you!" you replied, quickly standing and smoothing your skirt and blazer. Nearly tripping in your heels, you mentally scolded yourself for coming to work instead of calling in sick; you could’ve used more sleep.

At the front entrance, Dick waited in uniform, coffee in hand, his usual bright smile already in place.

"Good morning," you greeted him with as much energy as you could manage.

"Morning," he replied, grinning. You couldn’t help but wonder what he put in his coffee to always look so chipper.

He held up a folder. "Here are the autopsy reports you asked for."

Your eyes lit up. "You got them? Amazing!" Taking the folder, you looked up at him gratefully. "Thanks, Dick."

"Happy to help," he said, dimples appearing as he smiled down at you. "I’ve got to get back, but let me know how the case goes, yeah?" He turned toward the elevator, giving you a casual wave.

"I will! Have a great day!"

As you watched him leave, someone cleared their throat behind you. Turning around, you found Lily standing there, a slightly nervous expression on her face.

"Hey," you said slowly. "Is everything okay?"

Saying nothing, she took your arm gently and lifted her phone, angling the camera so you could see yourself in selfie mode.

Your hand shot to your mouth in shock.

Clear as day, a bite mark peeked out from your collarbone. "Oh god."

You felt your face heat up as realization hit. How many people had already seen that? And oh god! Dick definitely saw it too!

Meanwhile, in the elevator, Dick allowed himself a small, satisfied grin.

[idkyetxoxo]

Eleven | Ignite Me | Little Star

Pairing - Azriel x reader

Word count - 2.7k

Warnings - Violence, misogyny, angst?

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"I need you to go on a mission for me."

Rhys leaned against the edge of his grand oak desk, the rich mahogany darkened by the shadows cast through the tall windows behind him. 

His violet eyes, normally brimming with sharp amusement or cool command, were dulled, ringed with fatigue. They mirrored my own exhaustion and worry etched into both our expressions like twin reflections.

I nodded, swallowing hard, forcing the anxiety that threatened to strangle me back down. 

I gestured for him to continue, even though my instincts screamed otherwise. I hadn't trained in years. I hadn't used my power in years. Not truly. Not since... well. That didn't matter now. 

My shortcomings were mine to bear, but I would not—could not deny my brother. Not when I would move entire mountains if he asked me to.

"There's unrest brewing in one of the Illyrian war camps," he said, his voice low but steady. 

"Tension's been rising for months, but now it's nearing open rebellion. There are whispers, dangerous ones, circulating. Accusations, lies, slander about the Night Court interfering too much in their affairs. They think we're weakening their traditions, threatening their autonomy."

He paused, jaw tightening. "I need someone to go. Under the guise of a routine visit. Someone who won't raise suspicion but who can observe, assess how far the rot has spread."

"Why me?" I asked, voice soft, careful. There was no accusation in it just honest curiosity.

Rhys didn't answer right away. He pushed off the desk and crossed the room, resting his hands on the back of the chair opposite mine. "Cass would barge in like a battering ram. He's too loud, too blunt. The commander would be halfway to drawing steel before lunch."

I smiled faintly. Fair enough.

"If Feyre or I go, it'll send a message—we'd be admitting we know something's wrong. That could trigger an even bigger backlash. And Mor's still out of the city."

"What about Az?" I asked.

The room darkened not with the absence of light, but with the presence of something older, deeper. 

The shadows came first, curling through the corners like sentient smoke. Then Azriel emerged from them, silent and still as death, arms crossed over his chest. His chin dipped in a quiet greeting, the only acknowledgement he ever offered unless words were absolutely necessary.

"I'll be accompanying you," he said simply, his voice a soft rasp, the sound of secrets.

Rhys's grin returned, faint but wicked. "It's no secret Azriel terrifies just about everyone he meets."

A flicker of something close to amusement ghosted across Azriel's face, a barely-there twitch of his lips that could almost be mistaken for a smile.

"You'll go to ensure the 'female recruits are receiving proper training,'" Rhys explained. "That's the official reason. The camp in question is... more traditional than the others. Resistant. They've been quietly ignoring our reforms, especially when it comes to training females. Azriel will be there because we both know Lord Kain would rather eat glass than take orders from a female—let alone you."

I raised an eyebrow. "So Az is my muscle?"

A short huff of breath escaped the shadowsinger—his version of a laugh.

Rhys chuckled as well. "You, my little star, don't need muscle. Not when you've got enough power running through your veins to make even me flinch now and then." His grin softened. "We're siblings in more ways than one, remember?"

I smiled at that. A lie, but a good one. Convincing enough to pass. 

My brother didn't exactly know how dull my magic had become, how useless I was now.

"Then I am at your service, High Lord," I said, standing with a practised grace I barely felt inside anymore.

Rhys stepped forward and pressed a kiss to my temple, his touch warm and lingering. "I wouldn't ask if I didn't believe in you."

I gave Azriel a wave as I turned to leave, his shadows already trailing me like a second escort. I didn't look back. 

Instead, I headed for my room because I had a mission to prepare for. And whether I believed in myself or not... Rhys did.

 "Lord Kain. Where are the girls?"

The words left my mouth in place of a greeting, flat and edged with ice.

I stood tall at the edge of the training field, arms crossed, boots planted firmly in the frost-hardened earth. 

My leathers were immaculate, polished to an uncompromising shine and my posture made it clear that I wasn't here to play games.

Lord Kain turned at the sound of my voice, his face twisting into something between disdain and amusement. The irritation rolling off him had been thick since the moment Azriel and I had winnowed into the camp. 

He hadn't tried to hide it. He didn't care to.

"Well," he drawled, folding his arms with mock casualness. "The High Lord sends his sister to check in on a few recruits. How interesting." His gaze slid over me like a sneer. "Have you not got anything better to do, princess?"

Behind me, Azriel didn't move, but his shadows curled forward, whispering along the ground like they could sense the disrespect, eager to respond in the only language they knew, violence.

I didn't flinch. Didn't even blink. My expression remained as carefully sculpted as a marble statue, cold, unreadable, bored. 

It only made Kain's upper lip twitch in further aggravation.

"This would go much more smoothly if you simply told me where the girls are," I said, voice even, silken with the quiet authority of someone who had no interest in his posturing.

He scoffed, nostrils flaring. "They have chores," he spat the words like a challenge.

"It's already afternoon," I replied calmly. "Their chores should have been done by noon."

"That may be," he said, tone sharpening. "But they'll come out when they're done. Those were the terms, weren't they? Unless you're here to change them... again."

My jaw tightened just a fraction, but I kept my tone level as I spoke. "They'll come out now. They'll train while we have lunch and discuss, clearly, what terms you seem to have misinterpreted—or willfully ignored."

There was a beat of silence, thick and humming with tension.

Kain's mouth curled into a sneer. "Whatever you say, princess," he mocked, drawing out the title like it was a slur. He gave a nod to one of the warriors standing nearby before stalking off, his broad shoulders tight with contained rage.

I waited until he was out completely of earshot before exhaling a slow breath through my nose. "He was this close to snapping my neck," I muttered, turning toward Azriel with a dry laugh.

Azriel didn't share it.

His eyes were dark, his expression carved from stone. Shadows coiled tight around his boots like hounds straining on a leash.

"He should learn to watch his tongue," he said, low and dangerous. "It'll cost him his life one day."

The promise in his tone wasn't empty. Azriel didn't make empty promises.

I waved a hand dismissively, already walking toward the largest of the tents—the warlord's meeting space and my temporary domain for the afternoon. "Mhm. I'm sure there's plenty more misogyny waiting to be endured before the sun sets."

Azriel trailed a step behind, silent, his shadows already peeling away from him to slither through the camp like smoke, seeking out secrets and soft spots.

The dining tent was stifling, despite the breeze outside. The air inside was thick with spiced meats and tension, both equally hard to stomach.

I sat across from Kain at the long wooden table, Azriel at my right, silent and still as a shadow, his presence enough to keep the rest of the gathered warriors at bay. 

The other commanders, hand-picked by Kain no doubt, sat further down, pretending to eat while they listened with sharpened ears.

Food had been laid out, smoked lamb, roasted roots, dense bread, a bottle of something strong poured sparingly. 

Kain hadn't offered me any, of course, and I hadn't asked.

"I must say, I didn't expect royalty to find the time to visit a backwater camp like ours," Kain said as he tore a hunk of bread in half, voice casual, words laced with disdain. "Must be a slow week at court."

I speared a piece of lamb with calculated grace. "The strength of the Night Court rests in all its corners," I replied coolly. "Even the ones most neglected."

His smile was tight. "Neglected, huh? I'd say we're just left alone. Some of us still prefer to run things our way—without constant meddling."

I gave a delicate shrug. "And yet, here I am."

Azriel said nothing, but the slow scrape of his thumb across the handle of his blade was answer enough.

"I'm sure you believe you're keeping things in order, Lord Kain," I continued, sipping water, not wine. "But reports suggest otherwise. Constant injuries. Poor equipment. Untrained recruits. Females who were promised a chance to fight being made to scrub tents."

"Reports," he snorted. "You mean whining. From soft, pampered soldiers who don't understand how things are done in the mountains. These females—you can call them recruits all you want, but they're weak. Soft. They're a distraction."

"They're Illyrian," I said softly. "Same as you. Same as any male at this table. If that's how you speak of your own, I'd hate to hear what you say about your enemies."

A flicker of silence passed. Sharp and brief.

Kain leaned forward, hands splayed on the table like he was trying to loom without standing. "We train warriors here, not bleeding hearts."

I smiled sweet, sharp and deadly. "And yet, I don't see many warriors. Just a lot of noise."

His eyes narrowed at that.

Azriel didn't move, but his shadows hissed at the edges of his shoulders. Kain noticed. Everyone did. But the warlord only stood, brushing crumbs from his tunic.

"If you'll excuse me, I have real matters to attend to." He didn't wait for permission. Just turned and stalked out of the tent, tossing a glance over his shoulder that promised this wasn't over.

As the flap swung closed behind him, I leaned back slightly. "He's hiding something."

Azriel rose wordlessly, a silent promise in his shadowed form. "I'll find out what," he said, and slipped into the dimming daylight without another word.

I watched him go, then pushed away from the table myself.

The true purpose of our visit might've been uncovering what Kain was plotting—or hiding but my reasons went deeper. 

These girls... these recruits... they weren't pawns in a game. Not to me.

I wove through the camp slowly, taking in everything with an experienced eye. The uneven terrain of the training ring. The warped dummies. The shortage of practice weapons, wooden blades cracked and splintered from overuse. 

The scent of overworked bodies and underfed ambition. It was a battlefield disguised as a camp, and not a well-maintained one.

Near the back, I found them.

A cluster of young Illyrian girls crouched beside a water barrel, scrubbing pots and pans with red-raw hands. Mud on their boots, braids fraying. 

They looked up as I approached, wary, eyes darting past me to check for a watching male.

I smiled gently before crouching to their level. "What are your names?" I kept my voice soft and even.

They hesitated, eyes flickering amongst one another. Before one brave voice—barely above a whisper answered. "Mira."

I nodded encouragingly. "Mira. Beautiful name. You were promised combat training, weren't you?"

She blinked slowly, fearfully, as if her answer could change the trajectory of her life. "Yes."

I stood firmly. "Then you'll get it."

Their faces didn't light up, not yet, but something flickered in their eyes. Hope, maybe. Or disbelief. I could work with either.

I hadn't come all this way just to play diplomat. I came to remind them what power looked like when it wore a woman's face.

And I had every intention of leaving this place better than I found it—whether Kain liked it or not.

The path back to the main tent was quieter than it should have been. Too quiet.

The sun was lowering, casting long, spindly shadows between the training dummies and rows of tents. Most of the camp had migrated toward the mess hall or the sparring ring, voices distant. Here, among the supply crates and discarded weapons, it was deserted.

I should've known.

The moment I turned the corner past the armoury tent, I felt them. A whisper of wind, a crunch of boots behind me. 

I stopped. Too late.

Rough hands seized me from behind, one on my arm, the other curling around my throat. Another body stepped into view in front of me. A warrior. Illyrian. Grinning like he'd already won some prize.

"Well, look what wandered too far from the High Lord's leash," he sneered. "Thought you could just waltz in here and start tearing down centuries of tradition?"

"Let me go." My voice came out calm, too calm. I tried to twist in his hold, to channel the heat under my skin, the power I knew lived inside me.

But it didn't come. It hadn't in a long time.

It was like trying to breathe in a vacuum. My body remembered power, but my heart didn't believe in it anymore.

Another male stepped out of the trees. And another. And another. There were four now maybe more, circling like wolves.

"You're not welcome here," one growled. "We fight our way. We train our way. You and your court can't change what's always been."

"She needs to be taught a lesson," another spat.

I swung my elbow back hard, landing it against ribs, but it barely made the male flinch. 

I reached—desperately for my magic. For that starfire in my blood. The twin flame to Rhys's. The power that once made whole cities tremble.

Nothing.

The male behind me shoved me forward and my knees hit the dirt, hard. More hands yanked my arms back, pinning me in place and pain blossomed across my cheek as a fist struck.

I tasted blood.

"You're just a girl playing warrior," one of them sneered. "Your kind doesn't belong here. You never did and nothing you say or demand can change that."

I closed my eyes, not in fear. Fear would've meant I still cared about surviving this. No, what curled in my chest was worse. Shame.

Because this wasn't who I used to be.

This wasn't the girl who had once scorched battlefields in the name of her court. Who had walked into enemy territory with her chin held high, who had danced with gods and come out alive.

That girl had died somewhere along the way—quietly, invisibly. And I'd let her.

And now? Now I couldn't even save myself.

Another hit came. I barely registered it. My lip split open and my vision blurred at the edges as the voices around me dwindled.

Silence followed. A different kind. A deadly kind.

A shadow moved. A gust of wind that carried no sound, only finality. And then—

Screams. Short. Cut off.

The hands that held me vanished and I fell forward, catching myself on trembling arms. I blinked the haze away just in time to see it. See him.

Azriel.

He stood just ahead of me, his wings spread wide in the dying light. Shadows dancing at his back like death. Blades sang in his hands, one curved, one straight. One still dripping red.

He moved like a wraith—like darkness incarnate.

He didn't fight. He ended. Swift. Brutal. Beautiful in the way only something deadly could be.

Each movement of his was efficient, precise. Lethal. There was no sound from him. No grunt of effort, no yell of rage. Just the dull crunch of bones and the wet whisper of blade through flesh.

Within seconds, it was over. Four bodies lay on the ground. Blood pooling dark beneath them.

Azriel didn't even look winded. There was not a drop of blood on his leathers. Not a single hair out of place.

He turned to me then, shadows still flickering faintly around him. His gaze raked over me, slow, clinical, burning.

I pushed myself up slowly, swallowing the thick lump lodged in my throat.

I hated that he'd had to come. Hated that I hadn't been enough. Again.

He knew it. Of course he did.

"You don't need saving," Azriel said, voice quiet but firm, stepping closer to me. "You need remembering."

I looked down at my bruised hands, at the dried blood flaking across my knuckles. "I want to stop being afraid," I whispered. "Afraid of being powerful again."

Azriel's eyes softened, just a flicker. And then, he smiled. A rare, real thing. Sharp and full of dark promise. The shadows settled around him like a crown.

"Then you'll terrify the world once more."

He offered a hand and I took it.

For the first time in years, I felt the fire within me stir to life once more. Not raging yet but waking slowly. Ready and mine.

A/n - Yes, I did indulge in a little forced proximity, sue me x There’s just something delicious about Azriel trailing in the background while reader is the one walking into the lion’s den.

Of course, I couldn’t resist letting Az have his moment too towards the end because overprotective Az? Always a yes!!

Next part is fluffy and sweet and Cass makes an appearance so look out for that (forgive me for the pain please) <33

Little Star tag list - @jaybbygrl @writtenbypavani @fall-winter-heart97 @coeurdeveea @lilg101010 @krazykangaroo712 @moonlitlavenders @lil-lupa @jasmineee05 @pinksnowtiger @yourdarkrose @nerdybee123 @bookwormysblog @thoughtfulcoffeeflower @suspicious-stain-in-spain @anainkandpaper @theflowerswillbloom @queenoffeysand @historygeekqueen @lexi-in-wonderland @tele86 @saamanthaag3 @whydohumansss @xlosttdreamss @bookishwondersworld @plants-w0rld @i-am-infinite @ly--canthrope @lreadsstuff @urfunnyvalentin3 @dnfhascorruptedme

[endless-ineffabilities]

Chemical Override (bonus chapter 2) - August!

Ewan Mitchell x actress!reader

a/n: this sweet one is set just before they broke it off (or rather, before the reader stomped all over his heart) in part five!

series masterlist ▪︎ main masterlist

August! (... slipped away into a moment in time)

It's a fine morning, albeit lazy, you and Ewan having done nothing but lay in bed and talk and cuddle.

Granted, you did a lot more than talk over the course of the night. And this continued in the morning, with Ewan gently coaxing you out of sleep in need.

He's been insatiable, not that you can blame him. You two are finally together, after months of dancing around each other, your friends in eager anticipation to see how the 'will-they, won't they' dynamic will culminate.

They'll be pleased to know that it all led up to the best date you've had so far, followed by a night of bodies burning for the other, marking their territory in the throes of pent-up desire.

Ewan was sure he would remain the gentleman, merely driving you back to your hotel and calling it a night.

But you had invited him upstairs for a nightcap. Maybe some tea, as the Brits do. Needless to say, the tea was quickly forgotten, along with any reservations he might have about simply having you.

The haze of it hasn't subsided. Clad in nothing but undergarments, your limbs are tangled with his under the sheets as you watch the newly released New York foods video he did with Tom a while back.

"Baby?" you say, running your fingers through his hair as he has his head propped on your thighs. The screen plays on, showing the lads thoroughly enjoying some New York City hotdogs.

"Hmm?" he responds, his voice hinting at how soothed he feels from your touch.

"You're such a baby."

"What?" He twists his neck to shoot you a look of betrayal. Adorable.

"I bet those chips weren't even that spicy," you say, rolling your eyes. "I would have devoured those jalapeño chips."

"They were spicy!" He leans against his forearm, which he quickly positioned on your thigh without thinking, causing your muscle to spasm from the sudden weight.

"Ahhh, Ewan!" you wriggle your legs. "Get off, get off..."

"Shit!" He bolts upright, immediately kneading the flesh with his palm. "Sorry, baby. Here, where does it hurt?"

You sigh audibly. "Oh, you." You narrow your eyes at him playfully, trying to look all tough, but apparently he takes it as a cue to press his lips to yours.

It's warm, a bit sloppy, your breaths stale from wine drank over the course of the night. And you don't mind at all.

He croons in your ear, "How do I make it up to you?"

"It's fine, I was only kind of messing - "

"Come now, darling, anything."

He gazes at you, awaiting an answer. In the background, you hear his voice saying, The Fuegos... I didn't like them, as the video comes to a close.

I saw your eyeballs sort of pop out your head a little bit, Tom says in response.

This is going to be fun, you think, smiling evilly to yourself.

Rising to your knees on the bed, you loudly declare, "Today, my love, you will conquer your fears and eat my favourite spicy food."

"Nooo!" He shakes his head right away, already plotting how to get out of this predicament. "Baby, please make me do anything else. I can't handle my spice!"

"My mind is made up."

"What if I do that thing that made you scream last night? When I buried my tongue insi - '

"Ewan!" Your face reddens, but you carry on. His face will soon have the same reaction, but for different, more savoury reasons. "I mean, I would like that but - "

"Alright, let's go baby, spread your knees - " he nods, desperate to placate you and your challenge, but also eager to get down to business.

You shuffle away when he tries to pry your legs open. " - I said I made up my mind! We're eating spicy food. We gotta eat anyway, I'm starving."

He groans, collapsing back on the bed. He runs his hand tiredly over his face, mulling it over. As if he actually has a choice. He wants to do this for you, seeing as how excited you're getting.

"Get up, ol' sport," you crawl on top of him, perching above his stomach. "We're gonna go get the goods."

"Hmm," he sighs contentedly, one look at you more than enough to quell his worries. For now.

"Okay, darling," he relents, then his eyes flash in mischief. "But before we get out of bed... how about I do that thing anyway?"

There is not a single chance in the seven hells that you could ever say no to that.

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

An interesting spread is laid out on the round dining table in your hotel suite.

Your stomach growls in anticipation, while Ewan is stiff as a board as he sits beside you.

"I'm hungry, aren't you?" you nudge him, but he only moans, throwing his head back in his chair.

"What if I'd already eaten? I can skip this?" he tries.

"And what the hell did you eat?"

He smirks, and even though his answer won't save him from what follows, it renders him gleeful all the same. "You," is his reply.

That prompts an eye roll, but you shake your head at him fondly. "What should we start with, baby?"

"Water."

"Come on."

"How about the strawberry milk?"

"Okay, then I'll pick." You clasp your hands, surveying the options. "Let's start with something easy." You settle for the bowl of Flamin Hot Cheetos and place it right in front of him.

You help yourself to a few pieces, before noticing that he hasn't moved a muscle, so you take one and bring it to his lips. "Open up, handsome."

"Mmmm," he tilts his head away on instinct, but he gives in after a second. He makes a face as the snack crunches in his mouth. "Not... bad, I suppose.... Urghhh - " he coughs a little, making you snicker at him between bites.

"That's not spicy at all," you say. "At least, it's nothing compared to what we'll have next."

The chicken wings are an unnatural bright red colour, covered in hot sauce and dotted with flecks of chili. You lean down and take a whiff, your nose scrunching as the strong hint of spice hits your senses.

Your placating smile does nothing to ease Ewan, who only looks like he is regretting his life choices on the spot.

"O-kay, dragonblood. Time to breathe fire," you remark in an attempt to inspire some confidence in him. Didn't he take pride in playing a Targaryen dragonrider? Surely some part of him would want to overcome the big, bad opponent that is known in our world as spicy wings.

"Breathe fire?" he exclaims. "That does not make me feel any better!"

"Do it for Vhagar, my love. Do it for Vhagar."

"I'm doing this for you," he corrects, before gingerly taking the smallest bite of a wing. He waits for the impact, confused when nothing unpleasant occurs.

So he bravely takes another, heartier bite.

Big mistake.

His hand gravitates to the glass of water, and he chugs it down like a lifeline. His once pale face becomes the same hue as the fiery culprit.

"Fffuck, ba...by," he hiccups. "I didn't like that at all."

You have a bite, wincing just a little when it hits your throat. It wasn't too bad, so you tell him to calm down.

He complains anyway, "I think I just saw my life flash right before my eyes."

You chortle at that, which unfortunately makes some of the spice travel up your nose. "Oh god!" You instantly take a huge gulp of milk. "Don't make me laugh!" you say, when the heat dies down.

"See?" he cries out in vindication. "Why must we torture ourselves, darling?"

"The food's tasty," you counter.

"Yeah, but is it worth the price?"

You grip his shoulder, dramatically saying, "We have to keep going, soldier."

"No."

"Yes."

"You won't break up with me if I refuse, will you?"

You pause, making it seem like you are seriously deliberating it. "Maybe."

"What?!" His expression takes on a more real sense of alarm.

"I'm kidding," you giggle, nudging his leg with yours. He leans his head against your shoulder, responding with, "You're mean."

"And you're dating me. What does that say about you?"

He lets out a weary laugh, "That I'm just really in love, I guess."

That almost makes you give up on the challenge entirely. You could just let him eat the pepperoni pizza you have saved as the actual meal. But it wouldn't hurt too much to tackle the grand finale. The final boss. Maybe it will even get his taste buds to crack and cross over to the dark side.

"Baby?" Here goes everything.

"Hmm?"

"It's time for the spicy ramen."

He sighs a true sigh of defeat and acceptance. "If I survive this, you have to swear you're never letting me go."

"That's your bargain? Easy, baby."

His blue eyes bore into yours. His cheeks are still red and he's still sniffling from the spice, but his sentiment holds weight. He shrugs, before his arm reaches out for the bowl of ramen, making it known that he has already accepted his fate.

You slide the glass of milk closer to him.

"Try not to get it on your lips as much as possible," you advise him, growing worried as the ramen pack did warn that it was '2x Spicy'.

You cringe inwardly as a forkful of noodles enters his mouth. He drops his arm, chewing slowly, and finally the food gratefully slides down his throat.

"Mmm," he clears his throat, trying his hardest to remain calm. His forced, blank expression is even more alarming than the alternative.

"Ewan?" He turns his head toward you, slowly. And you see the full extent of the damage. His eyes well with tears, and his breathing is shallow from an even more congested nose.

"I'm okay," he wheezes, trying to maintain a show of boldness for your sake. "I can do this."

"You don't look okay." You shake your head at him, as his face takes on an even deeper shade of red.

A pained grunt escapes him. "Maybe a kiss will make it better."

A cursory glace at the ramen sauce staining his lips compels you to protest without a second thought. "How about no? You've got it all over your lips."

"Darling, who cares? You're going to eat them too!" he says, scandalised.

"But I've got a technique. I don't let it touch my lips so it doesn't burn!" You inch away as he leans in.

"So you won't kiss me?" He uses his baby blues against you, eyes bright and shimmering as he pouts in disappointment.

"You don't need a kiss." He tries to grab you, making you stand from your chair to get away. With your palm outstretched, you implore him, "Baby, just drink your milk."

"Then I get a kiss?"

"Fine. Then you get a kiss."

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

Tom calls you a few days later, his tone animated from the moment you pick up. "Would you look at that! I didn't think I would get a hold of you lovers. Thought you'd be busy doing somethin' else, if y'know what I mean."

"It's noon here, Tom," you reply matter-of-factly, stretching your legs out on the bed.

"So? I reckon Captain Big Balls over there has got it in him."

"Wow," you let out an amused exhale. Tom always did have a way about him, being a Manc and all. "Well, he's in the shower right now if you wanted to speak to him."

"I'm surprised you're not in there with him, love! You guys are all over the news, bloody hell. Even out here, everyone's buzzin' about the hot new couple from House of the Dragon. And no, it's not Matt and Fabien."

You smirk at his last remark, "Are you sure it's not Matt and Fabs?"

"Positive," he says. "But we never know what could happen. Anyway, how in the hell did you convince him?"

You rack your brain for what exactly he could be pertaining to. "Convince him to do what?"

"To create a bloody Instagram profile, that's what!"

Your mouth falls open, and you quickly put him on speaker so you can scroll to the aforementioned app. Sure enough, it doesn't take long for you to sift through your new follower notifications before you find him.

His username is on brand - straightforward and no-frills - just ewanmitchell . Already verified with a hundred thousand followers and counting. In his following list, however, there is only one - your profile.

If the papparazzi pictures and tabloid stories and fan encounters hadn't convinced everyone yet, likely this will.

Ewan, notorious not only for his charisma and pure talent, but also for being steadfast in staying off social media, has sent the entirety of Ewan Nation into a tailspin with his profile.

Icing on the cake - he only follows you.

"You see, this is what convinces the public that you two are not PR," Tom says. "Because Ewan would never, ever get on the socials for just anyone."

"I didn't even know he made this. I haven't been online in quite a bit."

"Been busy, huh?" he asks.

"Yeah."

"Doin' a lot of stuff out there?"

"I guess."

"Like Ewan?"

"Tom, I'm going to lynch you when I see you."

He only laughs, having gotten his desired outcome from prodding at you.

The bathroom door slides open, and Ewan steps out with nothing but a towel haphazardly wrapped around his waist.

"Who's that?" he mouths at you.

"Tom," you answer loudly, prompting Tom to greet Ewan from the speakerphone.

"Aemond the Fierce!" he bellows, the long-distance call doing nothing to stifle his personality. "I always knew you had it in ya. Ever since you laid eyes on her during the table read, I knew it was only a matter of time."

Well, isn't that a revelation. You had thought it was just you harbouring a crush in the beginning. "The table read, really? I just remember being so nervous," you say.

"I thought you were attractive," Ewan admits, scratching the back of his neck. "And you were reading your lines with such passion that I... "

Tom interrupts, "He ran over to me and told me to show him your social media."

"Not just that, I - "

"He wanted to see whether you had any pictures with a boyfriend or something."

"Alright, alright." Ewan snatches the phone from your hand, as if that will keep Tom from exposing him even more. "How are you, mate?"

"I'm good, lad, and yourself?"

Ewan glances at you, seeing that you've gone back to reading a script, your brow furrowed in concentration.

A smile tugs at the corners of his lips.

"I'm great. I'm happy."

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

"Over here! Over here!"

"How's your evening going, you guys? How are you enjoying LA?"

The papparazzi needlessly try to make small talk and they flash their cameras in your face. You and Ewan barely have time to grimace at each other once you get inside his car. The restaurant where he took you to dinner hadn't been crawling with paps when you arrived. Someone must have tipped them at some point.

Ewan instinctively reaches for your hand when you've driven some distance away from the restaurant, a breath of relief exiting his lungs.

"That's Hollywood for you, baby," he says amusedly, putting on his best standard American accent.

The car speeds through the streets of LA. Heading to Mount Hollywood, you have the famous Griffith Observatory set as your destination.

You have always wanted to go, and it only took one mention to Ewan before he planned it for your next date.

It doesn't take long before the observatory's iconic structure comes into view. Its white domes seemingly gleam under the night sky, a sentinel watching over the city of Los Angeles.

Stepping out of the car, you take in the scene in awe. The resulting look on your face lets Ewan know he made the right choice in taking you here. He'd take you here everyday if it meant seeing you in a spell of childlike wonder.

The observatory itself is just a bonus.

The outer balcony stretches like a vertice into the vastness of the city, a sea of lights glistening down below. It seemed to sprawl on endlessly, a labyrinth of hopes and pains and dreams.

You stand there, drawn to the view like a moth to a flame. The evening breeze dances through your hair, and your face is aglow from the illuminated city.

Smiling widely, you turn and find Ewan lingering just behind, watching you.

"Come and look at this, my love," you wave him over.

He wants to capture the moment, so he does. He subtly points his camera in your direction. Your profile is partially visible, with your face turned out into the horizon. Your silhouette stands before a mosaic of the shining city.

But it's you that has his attention. You that pulls all of his focus into the frame.

He never thought he would have much use for a public social media profile like the one he created on Instagram, but hours later, as you're sound asleep beside him, he finds purpose for such a thing.

He uploads the first ever photo on his profile - the one he secretly took of you at the observatory.

Too conscious to think of a caption, he doesn't type in any, content to let the photo speak for itself.

Putting his phone away, he presses a soft kiss to your forehead and falls into blissful slumber.

Ewan hadn't been aware of the phrase breaking the internet, and he's in for quite the rude awakening.

Even so, he doesn't let it faze him.

You're in shock when you discover the amount of comments under the photo, well past the twelve thousand mark when you wake up. Positive, negative, and everything in between.

Almost unheard of for an Instagram debut.

His reaction?

"At least everyone knows that you're mine now. What's wrong with that?"

You can vote here on the reader's hotd character name!

Taglist: @sprinklesprinkle888 @namelesslosers @skymoonandstardust @valyrianflower @luckyfirebasement @omgsuperstarg @elissanatok @callsignwidow @sinistersnakey49 @darkwriteracademia @yyrzmomo @queenofshinigamis @luvaerina @shamelessblazecrown @mirandastuckinthe80s @elleinex0x0 @pierrotlu @aegonswife @strangersunghoon @lunampacheco @writer-ann-artist @gaiaea @of-swords-and-words @ateliefloresdaprimavera @m00n5t0n3 @helaenaluvr @peachysunrize @annie-ruk @luvly-writer @ananas26t @athenafaes @lovelyteenagebeard @mamawiggers1980 @moongirl27 @katherine93 @barnes70stark @justbelljust @cloudroomblog @somestufftoday @esposadomd @girl-in-the-chairs-void @insideyourimagination @hotdismylife @vyctorya @wildrangers @livcookesgf @dracaryxzs @aemondwhoresworld @aisselasstuff @onlyrealjoy (continued in comments)

The sad, angsty bits will be saved for the next proper chapter! What happens to Ewan's Instagram then? What happens to him?? 🥲💔

I was going to include the double date idea, but alas, my ideas ran dry.

I've got nothing but love for all of you that have followed this story to this point! If you've got scene requests, just let me know!

[bring-forth-his-sac]

maybe some fluff and smut w negan where reader has scars/self harm scars and reader is like looking at them thinking about the past and negan cheers her up😋 also he’s like aggresive in bed but is sweet outside all that. also maybe some aftercare included too

thank you so so much for requesting (and for your patience!) I hope you enjoy!

Pairing: Post Whisperer War Negan x f!reader

Tags: mentions of self harm, mentions of suicidal thoughts, cunnilingus, rough sex, pet names, swearing, dirty talk, aftercare

Word Count: 3.5k

The voices around you blend into a monotonous rhythm. At this point in the community meeting, they shouldn’t be surprised people are beginning to zone out as they rehash the same talking points over and over again. 

You try to force yourself to focus but it’s a losing battle. The gist of it, as Negan so eloquently said to you the other day is “At this rate, the only thing that’ll be on the menu is regret, served with a big glass of desperation… but hey, if we gotta start cannibalising each other, I have no problem eating you out”. 

That last part earned him a scoff and quick slap to the arm.

Gathering in the heart of what was once the thriving community of Alexandria, the aftermath of the Whisperer's rampage is visible everywhere. Ruined homes, scattered debris of what was once vibrant greenhouses and the scarcity of resources cast a shadow of uncertainty over everyone.

“Gabriel is already working on the vegetable patches,” Rosita takes over “but we need food. Now. So I say we raid the old military base not too far from here. We can round some people up and scavenge through there in a few days time. Daryl’s out there now, seeing if it’s worth it”.

You sit quietly on the porch steps to one of the only houses left habitable, staring down at the scars that map your hands and lead up one of your forearms.

It’s been a while since you’ve truly stopped and studied each one, every line acting as a reminder of a time when pain felt like the only answer. 

You trace the lines with your fingertips, the blurry memories of these desperate moments slowly coming back to you. Back then, it was a release and the only way to stop the chaos swirling inside your mind. You remember the fleeting relief that followed, how it dulled the aching inside, if only for a moment. 

In a twisted way, it’s quite funny. You’ve fought so hard to stay alive since the dead began to rise and yet you would still do this, still hurt yourself.

How ironic.

You let out a small sigh, shifting your gaze up to watch Rosita again and pretend like you’re listening. 

It’s been a long time since you’ve self harmed or even had those thoughts. It feels dangerous to think about though, as if thinking back to those memories is like walking a tightrope of temptation. 

“If you’re interested in going to the military base, talk to me or Carol about it,” Rosita begins to finally wrap up the meeting “if not, then go speak to Gabriel or Aaron about helping with the rebuild. We gotta all work on this, no slacking. That’s the only way Alexandria can survive”. You nod vaguely to her words and thankfully, the meeting ends. 

As everyone disperses, you stay seated on the porch steps. Your mind feels foggy as it struggles to fully return to the present moment.

Thoughts of the past continue to tug at your consciousness, lingering like a bad smell. A sigh escapes your lips as you run a hand down your face, your eyes immediately going back to the scars that litter your arm. 

“You buffering or something?” The question completely catches you off guard, the deep voice coming from behind you. 

You already know who it is, of course you do, especially since you’re one of the only people he ever approaches— mainly because he knows you won’t tell him to fuck off… without good reason.

“I can’t just sit and enjoy the view?” you bat back, your prior feelings instantly getting masked with a facade of sass. 

Negan leaves the safety of the doorway now that it’s just the two of you. He grunts softly as he sits beside you, looking out at the remains of Alexandria.

 “... what view?” he asks dryly.

You roll your eyes. “Jackass” you curse him playfully.

He watches you out of the corner of his eye for a few moments, silently debating how to go about this. “You catch everything that was said in the meeting?” he asks, already knowing the answer.

Negan doesn’t exactly understand why but he always finds himself drifting over to you, his gaze flickering between you and whatever he’s supposed to be paying attention to. And the past few minutes of the meeting has been a very obvious case of depressive daydreaming, something he’s seen you slip into every once in a while.

“Hm? Yeah,” you shrug casually, glancing over at him.

He waits, wondering if you’ll crack and open up on your own. When you don’t, he tries again.

“You got notes written out on the lines on your arm?” Negan gestures to your scars, being as blunt as possible about it. 

Automatically covering your arm with your other hand, you shoot him a glare. Negan has always somehow toed the line, knowing how direct he can be without upsetting you too much. 

He doesn't push; he simply tests the waters before backing down and letting you take the lead. Negan quickly put his hands up in surrender. He knew there was no easy way of mentioning your scars but the sooner he addresses it, the sooner you’ll talk. 

He’s expecting a slap or to be cussed out for mentioning it but instead, you stand and march into the house.

It’s your natural reaction to flee the second someone mentions your scars, something you’ve done even when others simply looked in the direction of your arm.

He groans out your name, instantly standing to follow. “Don’t just walk off,” he follows you inside, silently thankful that the house is empty, everyone else out working for the day “you know I didn’t mean it like that… well, you know I didn’t mean to offend ya”.

You pause, debating with yourself on what to do. You opt to look down at the floor, unsure how to feel about the sudden confrontation.

"Listen, I get it. I saw ya eyeballin’ your arm for half the meeting and not to get all mushy and shit, but those scars don’t define you” Negan's expression shifts, giving way to something more sincere. He steps closer, his tone dropping to a softer register.

“They’re not a mark of weakness or worthlessness or whatever bullshit you tell yourself. They show you survived. You’ve got grit and I admire that more than anything.” He reaches out, gently grasping your chin to tilt your face toward his.

Despite every inch of you wanting to run again, you look up. The warmth in his eyes is undeniable and as much as you want to sink further into your defences, you can feel them slowly melt away.

You've always been a fortress in life, sturdy and unyielding. Every brick laid was a lesson learned, or another wound healed. 

You've perfected the art of keeping people at arm's length, never letting them see the cracks that run beneath the surface. In today’s world, vulnerability feels like a foreign language and one you've continuously avoided speaking.

“And if you ever need to remind yourself just how strong you are,” Negan continues, dropping his hand back down to his side “I’m right here, darlin’” 

You smile at his valiant offer and before you can stop it, you slowly open up “I just… sometimes, even when I don’t want to do those things again, I still think back to it. It’s like I’m reminiscing… and it can be hard to decipher whether my brain is thinking back because I want to be back there again or because I’m relieved I’m not…”. 

You brace for the impact, scanning for the possible retreat in Negan’s eyes but instead, you see nothing but understanding.

“You don’t think I feel like that now that I’m a supposed free man?” He asks softly “Even now, there’s still days —usually when I get the hundredth dose of stink eye thrown towards me— that I wonder if I’d be better off disappearing back into that cage. Even though I fuckin’ hated being in there!”. 

A strange sensation almost overwhelms you. The tension in your shoulders strangely ease and for the first time in ages, you're both not just survivors forced to endure; you're simply you and Negan is simply Negan.

Both of you flawed, real, and human. In his presence, vulnerability seems like less of a burden and more of a shared strength.

The air crackles with unspoken words and electric energy. You can almost taste the bittersweet mix of apprehension and desire. It's suffocating and you know you need an escape… but not by running away. 

As you look into his eyes, something shifts within you. The world outside fades and all that matters is in this room. Right now, you want to cast aside any doubts and just embrace the thrill. 

In a quick move, you step closer to him, invading his personal space. The sombre glint in Negan’s eyes transforms into something deeper.

Without thinking, you reach for him, fingers brushing against his arm and igniting a spark that sends a shiver through you both. Surprise flickers past his face before that signature grin breaks through, wide and knowing. 

You lean in closer, your voice barely above a whisper. “This has all been… a lot…” you begin, unsure how exactly you’re about to say this “and I think… I think I might just need—“

Negan doesn’t give you time to finish that sentence, your urge towards him telling him all he needs to know.

In one swift motion, he pulls you flush against him, his lips finding yours in a kiss that ignites a wildfire of emotion. It’s a blend of urgency and tenderness, a collision of passion that leaves you breathless. 

It’s dizzying, the way he makes you feel seen, even if it’s just for this heartbeat in time. You let yourself be swept away, surrendering to the connection that pulls you both together.

“Oh I know exactly what you need“ Negan mutters against your lips.

You pull him into another bruising kiss before egging him on further “Then show me”.

That’s all Negan needs, your request allowing him to let loose. Capturing your lips in another kiss, he slowly begins moving forward, forcing you back until you hit against a table. He grabs your waist and lifts you up onto it, his hands immediately going for the zip of your pants.

He kisses down your neck, nipping and sucking as he goes. “You just sit back,” he instructs, pleased as you lift your hips and let him tug down your jeans, not stopping until they’re on the floor beside him “let me take care of everything, baby”.

In an instant, Negan is kneeling between your thighs, pressing soft kisses along both legs. You can feel the warmth gather at your core, immediately wanting to welcome every inch of him.

“Ready to turn off your brain for a bit? Hmm?” Looking up at you through his eyelashes, Negan places a gentle kiss on your clothed pussy. 

He tries not to smirk as he feels your pussy pulsing desperately for him. Letting out a whimper, you nod.

“Ah ah ah,” Negan tuts, his tone as soft as it can be despite his scolding words “you made me wait a long fuckin’ time to show you a good time, you damn well know I’m not going to dig in until I hear you say it”. 

“Fuck– Negan, yes,” you say breathlessly, glancing at the door as you do “please, I want you”. Even with how exposed you are, your mind is too hazy to care about the possibility of someone walking in. All your attention is on Negan’s breath that’s only a mere few centimetres away from your soaked pussy.

Kissing you through your panties again, Negan hooks a finger around the fabric and slowly pulls it to the side, carefully revealing his gift.

Without a second thought, he buries his face between your thighs, his hands gripping your hips firmly to keep you from squirming away. 

You gasp loudly, not expecting so much contact so quickly. You bite your lip to quieten your moans but it’s no use.

He looks up at you with his mouth full of your pussy, his eyes gleaming with desire. He sucks harder, his tongue flicking rapidly against your clit. 

He releases his hands from your hips to rub your ass, pulling you against his face. Mumbling against your most sensitive area, a shiver runs up your spine as he compliments “Mmm, best fuckin’ meal I’ve had in years.”

Your legs quiver as you get closer to the edge, your core helplessly clenching around nothing as he eats you out. He’s determined, you’ll give him that. And the one thing Negan wants now more than anything is to taste your release on his tongue.  

“Come for me, doll” he growls encouraging, his stubble scratching your inner thighs. 

With a series of whines and moans for more, you let go.

He keeps his face between your thighs, lapping up your essence as you come undone. Negan waits until you've stopped convulsing before he lifts his head up, wiping your gleaming juices away from his mouth with the back of his hand.

He grins up at you, happy with his work. “Well, you wanted me…” he trails off purposefully, taking a moment to plant a kiss on your leg before giving a slight tug at your panties that are still pushed out of the way “so now you’re gonna get me”.

Negan hurriedly unbuckles his pants as he stands, freeing his hard cock and giving himself a few strokes, precum already dripping from the tip. Working in tandem, you yank down your panties and drop them next to your jeans. 

Before your panties have time to hit the floor, Negan’s kissing you again, allowing you to taste yourself on his lips. You immediately wrap your legs around his waist, both of you as impatient at the other.

“This what you wanted, huh?” Negan continues to talk, rubbing the head of his cock against your slick entrance, “this the distraction you were looking for?”.

You speak only in moans, going wild at the sensation of his cock being so close to your centre and yet still so far away from actually being inside of you. 

He cups your chin, making you maintain eye contact as he presses you for an answer “I can’t hear you, sweetness”.

“Please, just do it” you pant, still not over your initial high.

He grins wider at your compliance and slowly pushes into you, his eyes locked onto yours. Your body tenses as he stretches you out in a way that borders on painful. “Negan,” his name leaves your mouth as a haggard breath.

“Don’t you worry, sweetheart, you know you’re ready for it, you can take it” he coos, pushing all the way in before he stops to give you time to adjust.

He groans as he fully sheaths himself inside you, his hips flush against yours. Attempting to be a gentleman, Negan starts slow.

His eyes leave yours, watching as he gradually pulls out. He grunts satisfactorily, filling you to the hilt again. 

“Please,” you whimper “don’t tease”.

Negan chuckles, though his restraint is weakening “Patience is a virtue, darlin’”.

You tilt your head back, the slow force of Negan inside of you making your brain melt. All you want is already inside of you but it’s not enough. This isn’t a time for sweet love making. 

You want to be fucked, plain and simple.

“Yeah and you’re a vice so fuck me already,” you nudge the heel your foot against his ass, trying to make him speed up. Negan smirks again, his ego adoring your words.

The table creaks under you when he picks up the pace, the wet sounds of flesh slapping against flesh echoing through the room. 

"You can take it, can’t you? Fuck yeah, I know you can" He captures your mouth in a searing kiss, swallowing your moans as he continues to pound into you. 

You nod desperately, wanting to prove to him that you can take all he’s got to give. He hooks his arms under your knees, spreading you wider and increasing his depth.

His movements become harder and faster, making sure you can feel every inch of him. You yearn it, trying desperately to shimmy your hips on the table to meet each thrust.

Negan pistons into you like a man on a mission, burying his face in by your neck as his hands frantically begin to explore your body. Negan knows he won’t last much longer, but he’ll be damned if he doesn’t take this opportunity to finally see your tits. 

His hands push up your shirt, hiking it up in a hurry as your bra comes into view. “Wanna introduce me to the girls?” He suggests, his breath coming out in hot pants against your neck.

At this moment, you want everything just as much as he does. Reaching down, you lift up your bra just enough for your breasts to come free.

Even though there’s no rush, it feels as though you don’t have the time to take off your bra properly, feeling that coil tighten in your lower stomach.

His eyes drop to your chest, and he licks his lips hungrily. “Goddamn, just when I thought you couldn’t get any better” Negan cups your breasts roughly, squeezing and kneading the soft flesh as he continues to fuck into you. He leans down and takes a nipple into his mouth, sucking hard.

“Oh my fucking—” you groan out, interupting yourself with another moan. You grip the edge of the table enough to turn your knuckles white, your whole body feeling overwhelmed.

He releases your nipple with a wet pop and straightens up, his thumb trailing down to your swollen clit.

“C’mon darlin’, I need to feel ya clench around me,” Negan slams into you, his rhythm erratic as he nears his own release “one more time, baby, come for me”. 

Your body convulses as it hits you. Gasps morph into a wave of quick, sharp pants as you clutch Negan any way you can. Feeling your pussy clamp down on his shaft, Negan’s hips sputter to a stop as the contractions send him over the edge with you.

It takes all of Negan’s willpower not to stay exactly how he is; with his dick buried deep inside of you. 

But he knows better and quickly pulls out, releasing his load onto your inner thigh instead. He has to nuzzle his face in by your neck, silencing himself the best he can. The last thing either of you need is Negan to get loud and attract people from outside.

The sound of your mixed breaths fill the room as you both come back to your senses. You look down at the mess on your thigh, wondering how much longer you both have until someone comes looking for one of you. 

“You know what?” Negan breaks the silence, a sheen of sweat across his forehead as he moves to look at you “I think I like it when you open up”. He nudges your legs, a deep chuckling escaping him.

“Shut up,” you roll your eyes “and get me a towel or something”. He licks his lips, his mind already wondering what your next session will be like, subtly noting how much he likes hearing you order him around. 

He nods “Yes ma’am”.

Leaning down, Negan searches the back pockets of his pants before pulling out a small handkerchief.

“Now,” he announces as he gently wipes his cum off of your thigh “my cum rag can become ours”.

“Negan!” You exclaim, your hands busy yanking your bra and shirt back down to push the rag away from you “Don’t use your dirty cum rag on me!!”. 

Negan chuckles, his smile alone keeping your annoyance at bay. “I’m just fucking with ya, it ain’t a cum rag,” he wipes the last drop of himself off your leg “but now that we’ve christened it as a cum rag, I guess that means we'll have to use it again”. 

Negan winks as if you don’t get the obvious insinuation and before you can object, he kisses you. You’re quick to reciprocate, knowing that there’s no way you’d turn down an opportunity like this again.

A faint smirk graces his face as Negan pulls back, pleased with the fact that you returned his kiss.

Taking a moment to compose himself, Negan clears his throat “But seriously, next time you need to talk to somebody, or open up them legs, I’m your man”. 

You smile at the sincerity of his words, knowing he’s completely and utterly serious about both offers. 

Thinking for a moment, you agree “I will”. 

He holds up his pinky “Promise? And then I’ll help you into your jeans?”. 

You scoff as if he’s inconveniencing you by making you a pinky promise but you both know you appreciate the gesture. Lifting your pinky up to his, they hook together.

“Promise”.

And with that, Negan steals one more kiss before helping you back into your jeans.

[nerdygirlramblings]

It has been three weeks since the gods departed, and a full moon rises over the village. There had never been any conversation about what occurred the night you made your first sacrifice. All your people knew was you secluded yourself in your home and two days later the rains came. The gods' intercession was tangible. Now you need to convince the Elders you've received some kind of message they will have to take on faith. You aren't sure if it will work, but you know you must try.

The morning after the full moon, you dress in the most elaborate garments you own, looking every bit the seer you've been dubbed, and walk calmly in to the main building. The Elders meet each morning, though there is usually little to discuss. Your people are welcome to bring any grievance or concern to the Elders any day, but since your sacrifice, few have felt the need to approach the Elders, most of their burdens eased when the rains came and the fighting stopped.

It is known how you spend your mornings, so your appearance at the Elder's meeting, dressed in much more finery than is typical, is impossible to ignore. Elder Stigr banks his glare but only because there are others present. Elder Hrafn looks you over and says, "Seer, what a surprise. This is a change from your morning routine. Has something happened?"

Before you can respond, Elder Agnar, who has been watching you carefully, asks, "Have you heard from them?" There is no need to ask which them he speaks of. There really should be only one reason why you are dressed ritualistically and encroaching on their space as though you are the one in charge. You smirk to yourself knowing where you stand with the gods, knowing who they would say is the leader here.

Instead of voicing this, you dip into a small curtsy and smile as you rise. "I dreamed of our gods last night." It wasn't a lie at all; you see them every night, and last night Gaz told you what to say to make the Elders believe new altars are their idea. "They are pleased with how well we honor them." You let the words settle, allow the Elders to bask in their own pride at making the gods happy.

"Their pleasure cannot be the only reason you came," Elder Agnar says. "Do they need something from us to continue blessing our people?" The others' gazes sharpen, concerned.

"Perhaps," you answer slowly. "They mentioned another god, Fra, whose worship has been forgotten."

Elder Stigr leans forward, accusations in his gaze. "Would Fra also bless our people?" he asks.

You look down and bite back another smile. If Elder Stigr believes, when he is now so suspicious of you, the others will fall in line. "It seemed so from what the others said: Fra was a protector of home and hearth."

You let them make whatever assumptions about blessings they want. All you care about is their permission to build Fra's altar with the others. After a few moments of fiercely whispered conversations, you are given permission to build whatever Fra needs.

You leave the main building and find Gunnarr and Njall working their craft. You tell them what you need - wood made stronger for being burned - and why. Unlike the Elders, most of your people take the gods' blessings on faith. The men promise to have you the wood you need in two days' time.

Two days later you are in the space with the other altars when Gunnarr and Njall come over carrying bundles of blackened wood in various sizes. Gunnarr must see your unease as he points out how parts of the branches are more flexible, thus less likely to crack and break. The men help you build Fra's altar, and when you finish, Njall's wife Astridr comes over with a small loaf of freshly baked bread, perfectly sized for the new altar. She looks to you for permission, and you nod. Astridr reverently places the bread down and thanks Fra for protecting her son, Bui.

That night you do not dream of your men gods at all. Instead, you dream of a woman built as you are but covered almost entirely in cloth. All that is visible is her piercing gaze. She tells you to have Bui search in the forest just beyond the river's bend. When morning comes, you set off for Njall's home before your usual visits. Luckily you catch Bui before he sets off for the day's work and pass on the message Fra gave you in your dream. The boy's eyes widen in fear and awe, but he takes off for the section of forest Fra indicated.

That evening, Bui comes triumphantly into the village, carrying a plant whose medicinal properties are known but which hasn't been seen in over a generation. Its uses will help many in the village with a variety of ailments. When Bui attributes his miracle to Fra, your people's esteem for you and the ancient gods is solidified. You know they will help restore the others to glory regardless of what the Elders may say in the future.

more

series masterlist | main masterlist

~~

taglist: @hidden-treasures21

[girlgenius1111]

You Come Back With Gravity

alexia and r have an argument. r misunderstands, and when alexia leaves to calm down, she thinks she's going for good. angst + fluff :)

-----

Alexia was big on communication, and she didn't like to fight. Neither did you, although your track record in past relationships may argue otherwise. That was more on your former partners, though, than it was on you. Not fighting was new for you. Alexia never yelled, and she insisted that the two of you talk about any issues that were going on calmly, and like adults. A voice had never been raised between the two of you, arguments never escalating to full blown shouting matches, mostly because of Alexia's insistence that they didn't.

Something about this argument, though, felt different. Alexia had proposed a few weeks ago, and, after having a bit too much to drink, you'd brought up something that had been nagging at the back of your mind for a while. Alexia had brushed it aside that night, and again and again since, until you practically forced her to talk about it. Normally, when you presented Alexia with an issue you had, she was quick to try to fix it. Your teammates often joked about the complete 180 Alexia did when she was around you, melting and agreeing to anything you asked of her. You were the same way for her, but it was more surprising that their normally very willful captain so easily did as you said.

If Alexia wouldn't budge on an issue, she normally had a reason, and you didn't require her to explain herself to you. This was different, though. You needed an explanation, before your mind continued to take off in the worst directions.

"Alexia, do you not see that this is important to me?"

"I do, amor, but there is no room for discussion. We are not going public with our relationship. It has stayed low key for this long, and I intend to keep it that way." Alexia was quickly losing her patience with you, and you could tell. Still, you persisted. 

'You won't even give me a reason, Ale! Is this what our relationship is going to be like for the rest of our lives? You make a decision that affects both of us, and I just have to live with it?" Your voice was slightly raised and you could tell Alexia was upset. You were pacing around the room, and she was sitting, completely still, on the couch. Alexia was never still. A part of her was always moving.

"I am not changing my mind on this, mi amor." Alexia told you calmly, although her jaw clenched tight when she finished speaking.

"Okay, well that's it. You don't care what I think. Whatever you say goes, is that it?" You were using anger to hide how terrified you were. There was really only one reason that you could think of to explain Alexia's complete refusal to be transparent about your relationship.

"You know that it is not."

"This is absurd, Ale, we can't even have a conversation without you-"

"¡Basta! Stop yelling, I do not want to talk anymore about this," Alexia shouted finally, rising to her feet.

"I am yelling because you are not listening to me,"

"You are not listening to me. No more of this, we can discuss it when we are both calmer."

"I don't want to push this aside again, I would like to resolve it now." You tried to calm yourself down slightly despite your words, drawing in a few deep breaths as you waited for your fiancée to respond.

"It is resolved. There is no discussion to be had. There is no other option; we are not going public. No."

You let out a humorless laugh, and Alexia's eyebrows shot up. She did not like to be laughed at.

"You aren't being fair, Alexia. I deserve an explanation for why you are so very ashamed of me, to the point you don't want anyone to know we are together."

Alexia rolled her eyes, not taking your statement seriously. She thought you were just being dramatic, there was no way you really believed that. You did believe it, though and Alexia's complete dismissal in the face of your admitted vulnerability made you furious.

"Jesus, Alexia. Fine. You get your way. As usual. Captain Alexia always gets what she wants." You yelled, throwing yourself down on the couch dramatically and burying your head in your hands. You didn't want to cry while you were fighting with her, and you swallowed the lump in your throat. You knew you weren't being fair, or particularly nice but Alexia had hurt your feelings and she didn't even seem to understand why.

It was dead silent for a full minute before Alexia let out a long, drawn out exhale, and spoke.

"You are being mean. I am going to go to Alba's."

Her words were stiff, clearly communicating how upset she was with you, and you whipped your head up to look at her, watching as she headed towards the door, grabbing her keys. She put her airpods in, but you didn't see her do so.

"Ale? Are you coming back?" You called, voice full of insecurity.

Alexia couldn't hear you, not with her music playing as loud as it was, and she walked out the door without acknowledging that you'd spoken.

You were frozen. This was what you always did; take a small fight and push it so far that the other person finally saw that you weren't worth the trouble. It hadn't happened with Alexia yet because you'd never fought with her. It wasn't enough that she didn't want anyone to know the two of you were together, you had to push her until she didn't want to be with you, period.

You were an over-thinker to your core, and you were convinced, absolutely, that you had just destroyed the most important relationship that you'd ever had. It was hard to breathe, hard to think, the suffocating weight of thinking that the woman you loved was not coming back taking over.

You weren't sure why you were surprised. People left, people always left. Why would this be any different? Alexia was the best person you'd ever known, and she deserved far better than what you could give her, even when you were at your best. Of course Alexia didn't want anyone to know that she was with you. Of course she didn't want you. You had only yourself to blame.

-----

While you sat alone in your apartment, spiraling, Alexia was driving not to her sisters, but to the beach. She needed some peace and quiet to think, which she surely would not find at Alba's.

She just needed to cool down. You were upset, she was upset, and continuing on like you had been would only lead you both to say things you didn't mean. She'd take an hour, calm down, and head home. Alexia had no idea that you had asked her a question before she'd left, had no idea that you were sitting at home, convinced she was done with you.

The longer she was gone, though, the more guilty she felt. She remembered the look on your face when you'd spoken:

"I deserve an explanation for why you are so very ashamed of me, to the point you don't want anyone to know we are together."

She thought you were just trying to make a point at the time, but as she got space from the fight, and from her own anger, she felt less sure about that judgment. You'd looked distraught when you said it. It would explain why you were so very upset with her reluctance to go public, why you were so very upset with her.

Alexia had watched many relationships fall apart once they hit the public eye; some of her own, and some of them, her friend's. She didn't want that. As long as you two kept this to yourselves, allowing your loved ones and teammates to know and no one else, the media couldn't destroy it. That was Alexia's biggest fear; losing you, and having no control over it.

Of course, you were sat at home, practically catatonic, at the thought that you had lost Alexia.

-----

Alexia didn't even make it an hour like she planned. She was parking in the driveway 44 minutes after she'd left, flowers next to her in the front seat, as she tried to figure out if she'd given you enough space to think. She determined that she had, mostly because she couldn't stand leaving things like this any longer, and she fixed her hair in the mirror, tucking the shorter pieces behind her ears in the way she knew you liked, before grabbing the flowers.

When she had left, it was still light out. It was dark, now, and Alexia was surprised when she opened the door and there was not a light on in the house. She panicked slightly, wondering if you'd left, before spotting your silhouette on the couch. Exactly where you'd been when she left. It looked like you hadn't moved, even an inch. The blonde slipped her shoes off, walking cautiously closer to you, flipping on the light.

You didn't make a move, giving her no indication that you knew she was there with you. Alexia could tell you were trembling, and every breath you drew in came with a small, pained whimper. Alexia was more than concerned, now. She dropped the flowers on the table, before crouching down in front of you.

"Mi amor?" She said softly, weary to touch you, not wanting to startle you.

"Hey, amor?" She spoke slightly louder this time. Still, you didn't even twitch. Tentatively, she reached her hand out, letting her hand wrap around your wrist. She was going to try to pull your hand away from your face, but you beat her to it, jumping a foot in the air at her touch, and scrambling backwards.

"It is me, amor, it is just me," Alexia reassured, throwing her hands up in the air, and not moving any closer.

"Ale?" You gasped, as if you couldn't believe that she was here in front of you. You were half convinced you were hallucinating. It felt like 2 minutes had passed, but also like it had been hours since she left.

"It is just me," Alexia repeated, taking a seat on the very edge of the couch. You were still shaking, and Alexia longed to bring you into her arms.

"What are you doing here?" You asked.

"What do you mean?"

"You came back. Why?"

"Why... why would I not come back? This is our home. Ours. Did you not want me here?" Alexia asked insecurely, entirely confused at your reaction. Your eyes were watery, and you bit your lip, shaking your head at her.

"No, I want you here, I... I asked if you were coming back. And you left without answering."

"Qué?" Alexia asked, looking genuinely confused. Alexia couldn't lie to you, and if she'd ignored something you'd said, she'd admit to it.

"Before you walked out the door, I asked if you were coming back." You explained further, although you were already relaxing slightly. Ale was here, she came back.

A look of realization dawned over your girlfriend's face. "I had my headphones in, amor, I did not hear you."

Now that Alexia could see where your mind had started to go, it wasn't hard to piece the rest of it together. It made sense, suddenly, why you were so upset. You'd thought Alexia had left you.

It was only seconds after that revelation that Alexia was reaching across the couch and pulling you into her arms; one wrapped tightly around your back, the other hand lacing through your hair and pushing your face into her neck. You clung tightly to her, melting into her touch.

"I would never leave you. Not today, not tomorrow. Not ever. I wanted to calm down, so we could have a conversation. I should have thought that through, bebé, I am so sorry."

You shook your head against her. "I shouldn't have overreacted, it was just that you were so upset, and we never fight. You're so good, Ale, it's like I'm always waiting for the other shoe to drop, always waiting for you to realize that you can do better. I thought you had, I thought that's why you didn't want anyone to know about us."

Alexia shut her eyes tightly. You'd meant what you'd said earlier, then, and she'd completely dismissed it. She guided you away from her, just a bit, cradling your face in her hands. She brushed your hair back out of your face, pursing her lips as she tried to figure out what to say.

"It was not an overreaction. You thought I ignored you, you thought I was leaving. I know how nervous these things make you, mi amor, I should have been clearer."

"Amor, do you think that I want to keep our relationship private because I am ashamed of you?" When Alexia said the words, it felt ridiculous. You knew it was irrational to feel the way you felt, but at the same time… your fear was all encompassing. You tried to lean away from her, preserve some of your dignity even as more tears slid down your face, but Alexia wouldn't let you. "Hey, no. Tell me, por favor.” 

“You’re you Ale. And I’m just me. I would understand if you didn’t want people to know you were with me, you should be with someone better, prettier,-” 

“Stop.” Alexia said, shaking her head frantically. She looked physically pained at your words. “Stop. You are not allowed to talk about yourself like that. You are mí niña, mí niña perfecta. I am proud that you are mine, everyday. You are the best, you are the prettiest. You are all I need, te prometo que.” The blondes eyes were wide with a desperate need for you to believe her. You wanted to. 

“Then why, Ale? Why don’t you want people to know you’re with me?” You chewed on your bottom lip when Alexia didn’t answer right away, and her thumb reached over to lightly tap it. You released your lip, tightening your grip on your girlfriend, only growing more terrified for her answer as time passed. 

“You are so perfect.” Alexia started, giving you a stern look when you shook your head on instinct. “It’s so easy with you. So easy to love you, so easy to be with you. The media complicates everything, the fans. They would say horrible things to you and about you. As long as no one knows, I can keep you safe. I can keep you mine. Just mine.” 

“Alexia, I’m not worried about that.” You assured her. 

“You should be, mi amor, I am worried about it.” Alexia emphasized, and you only really realized the stress this worry was causing her at that moment. “It would not be the first time the media has ruined a relationship, and I do not think I could survive it if I lost you.” The blonde’s voice cracked at the end of her sentence, and suddenly, she wasn’t holding you anymore, you were holding her. Cradling her face in your hands as you insistently tried to get her watery, hazel eyes to meet yours. 

“Even if the media goes crazy, even if people say mean stuff. I’ll still want you, Ale. It won’t be fun but it’s worth it. If it’s for you? It’s worth it, it’ll always be worth it.” 

Alexia let out a sound that was halfway between a sob and a sigh of relief, burying her face in your neck. Her tears were wet against your skin, her breaths ragged and frantic. “Te amo,” she murmured. “You make me so happy, amor. If you are not worried about the media, then I will try not to be. If you want people to know, then we tell. Whatever you want, whatever you need. As long as you know that I love you, that you are perfect, that you are mine, forever. Para siempre.” 

Now you were crying, and she was still crying, as she gave you a very wet kiss, and it was entirely more emotional than either of you would have liked, but there was nothing to be done. The perfect relationship, you supposed, was one where you each thought the other to be perfect. Even if you didn’t see yourself that way, Alexia would always be there to convince you of your perfection, as you would for her.

-----

[kinkley-love]

the much requested part 2!

(continued from here)

They all stared at him. Tommy didn’t react, just slid into the chair they had left open for Buck. He looked over them. Focused on each of them, met their eyes for a moment before sliding to the next. He looked at Eddie last, and when he got to him, his gaze didn’t shift away.

"I know you’re grieving. We all are. I’m not about to tell you how you can or can’t grieve, or mourn, or process what you need to, with one exception. You cannot do so in a way that hurts anyone else. Especially Evan."

Eddie scoffed. They all turned to him.

"Something to say, Diaz?" Tommy all but spat.

Eddie shook his head. "I just— c’mon man. This has to be a joke. Who do you think you are to do this? You think any of us could hurt him like you did? You haven’t even talked to Buck in what, months?"

Ravi snorted. He knew they had talked. Had done much more than talk.

Eddie side-eyed him. Apparently Eddie was the only one allowed to interrupt. "Seriously, Kinard. Yeah, see? I can last-name you too. You what, steal Buck’s phone to get us all here, and now you’re coming off all high and mighty?"

Tommy didn’t rise to the bait. "I didn’t steal Evan’s phone," he replied calmly. "I explained I needed to talk to you all and asked if I could use it."

Eddie looked taken aback by that. Ravi was pleased to see Hen and Chim didn’t.

"Look. I know you’re all a family, that you all lost Bobby, and I’m not discounting that. But Bobby was a father to him, and Bobby forced Buck to leave him to die."

Ravi looked to the table, stared at the grooves in the wood in front of him. No one really talked about what happened in the lab after they had gotten out. They had all been getting decontaminated, getting checked over; it had taken some time to realize Bobby and Buck hadn’t followed them out. Then Athena was getting called in, and all felt silent until Athena came back out, her face like stone, and told someone to call the coroner. Until Ravi was looking around, frantic, trying to figure out who was missing, who was gone. Until Ravi panicked, because neither Buck nor Bobby were there, but Tommy was there, Tommy was begging for turnouts so he could go to Buck, so it wasn’t Buck who was gone, it was—

Tommy’s voice pulled him back. "And yes, Diaz. Evan did everything he could."

Ravi looked back up, surprised. That emphasis. Wait, had Eddie...

Hen beat him to asking, though she addressed Eddie when Ravi wanted to turn to Tommy. "Did you say he didn’t?"

"No!" Eddie tried to defend himself, but he backpedaled at Tommy’s glare. "Okay, maybe, but not exactly, I just." He switched to the offensive. "Look, you know I wasn’t there. He asked if I thought he’d done everything he could and I just said I didn’t know because I wasn’t there!"

"What the fuck, Eddie." They all turned to Chimney. He hadn’t spoken since arriving, and his words now were even more forceful in their flatness.

"I wasn’t there," Eddie repeated softly.

Ravi couldn’t let that slide. "That shouldn’t matter. Do you think for one second that Buck wouldn’t have done everything in his power to save any one of us, let alone Cap?"

Eddie shook his head, finally cowed.

Ravi took a deep breath, settling himself before he turned to Tommy. "What else do you have? I’m sure there’s a reason you wanted us all here." He didn’t want a dressing down like Eddie had gotten, but if he had done something to deserve it, it needed to be done.

But Tommy relaxed his sharp posture, seeming to deflate. "Look. I don’t want to betray Evan’s confidence, but I can see how much this is hurting him. Before he died, Bobby told Buck to take care of you all, and he’s trying his best. All you have to do is let him."

He turned to Hen, "Don't make plans behind his back or act like he can’t handle being part of difficult conversations."

He turned to Chim, "Don’t order takeout for you and Hen and act like it’s no big deal when you don’t include everyone else."

He glanced at Ravi, who braced himself, but Tommy moved past him to Eddie. "And for the love of God, if you make one more comment about him making everything about himself, I will make sure you never get a moment alone with him again."

Tommy looked over them all. "You’re a family, even if you’ve lost a member. Act like it. Let him cook for you. Let him take care of you. If it gets to be too much, tell him, talk to him, not everyone else behind his back. Understand?"

A chorus of subdued affirmations met him.

"Good." He rapped the table, then stood. "See you around." He took a few steps, then turned back. "Call if you need anything."

Ravi nodded, then watched him go.

(combined with the first part on ao3)

[omgfangirlland]

The Shadows That Nurture 25

The suffering of Bruce will continue for maybe 2 more chapters and then we're back on the timeline- Alien Rubicon was... painful. But it did make me finish ch26 so- enjoy-

Masterlist || First || previous<< Chapter 25 >>next

You’ve gotten too used to the chaos, to something always happening- maybe that paranoia will be your downfall, maybe it was just your mind telling you your life wasn’t meant to know of peace and serenity. You did thrive on the adrenaline fights provided, no matter how much you dream of living quietly, painting and just existing in a better world.

Sadly, that wasn’t a reality that could be, not for you. So, while the sun was still yet to rise, you basked in the night, letting the shadows provide warmth and letting them speak to you- you haven’t done that in a while. “You’ve neglected us.” Maybe John was right for once- even if you initially laughed at the idea, meditating won’t hurt you now.

Well… you weren’t one to stay still for long, so despite letting your mind fly, eyes closed softly, you let your body twitch, shift, move as it wished. You let your thoughts and worries pass through you- let the thoughts that you were failing Debbie, or your brothers, come and go, you let the guilt that kept you awake go with them- even if it all still lingered. The shadow’s whispered nonsense became clearer the more time you spent like this, body resting on the recliner, warm blanket over you- “Open your eyes, darling.”

The clear voice made you flinch awake, and yet, as you looked around, it was clear you were dreaming, your body sat upright in a void of complete darkness. “It’s nice to finally meet you, daughter.” The voice accompanied by a warm hand made you gasp as you turned around, your eyes immediately meeting a woman’s, a woman you’ve never met before, and yet you knew her-

“You-you’re Death herself.” Your statement was met with a gentle caress and a loving smile as she confirmed her identity. Death has been written to be this cold, awful thing- ripping and painful- and maybe it was to others, but all you saw was love and melancholy. You saw the love of a sister and the sadness of loss only a mother could hold. “Did meditating kill me?” At your whispered words She could only laugh, a melodic thing that filled you with warmth, and you definitely understood why the Dacians referred to Her as they did. She was a sister guiding you, a mother to welcome you on a lonely road to whatever afterlife you believed in, the warmth needed to face mortality… but- “It’ll never be your turn. We both know that.”

“I would have caught you in your realm, but you move so fast, you could rival the speedsters. It won’t kill you to take it slow sometimes, but then again, Morpheus couldn’t understand that either.” She teases, and your cheeks flush. You felt like a child being scolded for drawing on the walls. “I have eternity and beyond at my disposal to take it slow-“

“You do. But do you understand what that means?” You knew. It’s another reason why you’ve been unable to sleep sometimes. Immortality- it’s a dream, especially when it comes with the powers gifted to you. “It’ll be lonely. I won’t age, but everyone- Mark, Oliver, dad, mom-“ your voice shook. “They will eventually have to walk by your side. While I’ll have to keep moving the other way.” It wasn’t natural for you to speak so freely about things so personal. But you couldn’t bring yourself to lie or do your usual avoidance tricks.

“You’re still holding back.” She said softly, with so much understanding that it made your lip tremble and your eyes tear up. “I appreciate it- I really do- I don’t want to give this up. This opens so many possibilities- I can learn every language, can learn any skill, and see so many things I wouldn’t have had the time to, but it still hurts so much to think about how everyone I know will eventually meet the same fate-“ She let you sob into her shoulder, her hands running soothingly over your back. “Yes. But what’s life without love and hurt? I know you think the one thing that makes humans human is hate, but I’m a romantic at heart-“  Her soft palm raised your head and wiped off your tears. “I think it’s love, and I’ve never seen love like you humans hold for each other, platonic or otherwise.”

“You came to tell me to be a lover?” You sniffle as you chuckle. “No. I’m just being selfish and wanted to see you.” Death nudges you. “But it won’t kill you. You’ll see, the fates have already sewn your threads. It’s just a matter of which one you decide to walk.” You didn’t move away from her, but you did wipe away your remaining tears. “Sounds like the illusion of choice.”

She just smiles. “You have choices. Plenty. And all will work out in the end. You’ll see.” Her hands came to cup your cheeks again. “Oh, you’ve grown so much- still tripping on stairs, but you’ve come so far in life.” You whined as she teased and pinched your cheeks. She truly was a mother in the end. “We’ll have eternity to know each other, but sadly, I can’t stay anymore. You make sure to visit Gotham too, she misses you-“

And just like that, you woke up before you could say your goodbyes, hand reaching for someone long gone. Your eyes barely opened, your relaxed expression turning into a frown as your eyes caught an imposing and dark figure flying just a few paces over you, its figure obstructed by the shadows in a familiar manner. “…Dad?” You groan as you raise a bit, your hands trying to rub the sleep from your face. “No.” The unfamiliar voice immediately woke you up fully, your body tensing.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Debbie has been sleeping in today, granted everyone did, so by the time they were supposed to eat, it was already lunch. Everyone was slugging, still tired from moving, packing, and unpacking, but Nolan’s and Debbie’s eyes moved over the present people, counting heads, before the mother locked eyes with her son. “Mark, is your sister still sleeping?”

The young adult shrugs, hair disheveled as he gets up. “I’ll go check, we stayed up quite late-“ A scream cut him off, and before he could react, his father was already outside.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

You’ve been staring at the balding Viltrumite for a while, and he’d been staring at you right back. “And he sent you to give me- this?” Your eyes went down to the- you weren’t sure how to describe it… It was a plant- that you were sure of. Similar to the carnivore Pamela had and yet it was very clearly alien. The colors of it are continuously changing, seemingly settling on a color when it feels strongly in one way- is it even sentient like that? “I offered.”

“You offered?” Your eyes went back up to him. “Yes. We’ve been watching you. We’ve seen you deal with Vidor with no hesitation, you’ve dealt with most enemies efficiently, put fear and doubt in quite a few of the younger ones, and stood up to Thragg with no fear whatsoever. You’re brutal and efficient. We two are similar to a point,”  you couldn’t help but trace your hairline at that, “we enjoy what we do. And yet people talk to you, they want to be your friend-“

“You Viltrumites have friends?” Your mouth moved faster than your brain could process, but your words only earned a dry laugh. “I guess we don’t, not in the sense you humans do-“ The man continued speaking, and the more he did, the more you felt bad for him and the Viltrumite way of living- even though a part of you felt like it was manipulation. “You can change all of that- but you haven’t, you’ve just accepted it as an absolute, unchanging fact.”

“If I go against the Empire everyone would be trying to eliminate me-“ You just huffed at his words. “They’re already against you. You’re so lonely most days you want to cry, they think you are unstable, you said that. If they think of you as a means to an end, what do you think will happen when they find someone better than you, whom they can control even more? You’re at rock bottom with nothing to lose, the only way is up.” You shrug. “Or just die in the ditch and cover yourself with the dirt you dug. You want change, you’ve gotta fight for it, grandpa. You’re giving incel ‘woe is me’ vibes right now.”

You looked back at the alien-plant thingy. “What even is this? How sentient is it?” Your eyebrows raised as the plant seemed to coo. “I can’t take care of a sentient thing that needs attention 24/7- I can barely keep up with taking care of myself-“ The plant stuck its- uh- tongue? Out and licked Conquest’s hand. “… Well… it likes you more.”

“I think it wants to eat me.” The deadpan way he delivered the line made you snort. “I- fair. I can’t keep a carnivorous plant around a baby, tho- so you can go back to Thragg and rip him to shreds-“ Conquest was quick to interrupt. “He wanted to give you the pelt of an intelligent and endangered alien species. Kregg and I insisted on the plant.”

“ ’aight- that makes both of you more intelligent because what-“ Your hands rubbed your face. “I’ll take the plant- just- no pelts of aliens, please.” You did as much, putting the little thing on the small accent table next to the chair. “… You’re still here.” You sigh. “I wanted to fight you.” You quickly answered that you weren’t going to fight him. “I’m on vacation- mom would kill me if she found out I went and picked a fight!” Conquest crosses his arms. “You’re afraid of your human mother?”

“Yes. Yes, and you should be too, a mother is a scary thing, and when she finally loses it, I know where I’ll stand.”  You floated up to his height just to poke his chest while at eye level with the Viltrumite. “Motherly instincts are an insane thing- that being said, I am bored.” You cross your arms. “…Have you ever heard of the game tag?”

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

You were ashamed of the scream that left your lips as Conquest grabbed your leg out of nowhere and turned you upside down, your body hanging limp as he laughed, boasting with glee that he won. You’ve had a good comment about it, but your focus was on the blur that crashed into the older Viltrumite making him let go of you. You kept your body floating on its side as you looked at Nolan ducking it out with the older Viltrumite, pouting as you realized this might be more complicated than it needed to be.

Keeping up with them was easy- making them slow down and listen wasn’t as easy. It did feel nice to know Nolan was so willing to fight for you, but alas, you had to bring out the big gun- Debbie. So with your mom in your arms and a very confused Mark, you let the woman tear into the two Viltrumites like they were little children, nodding along with her words. “And you-“ Your eyes widened as she turned her finger to point at you. “What were you thinking? Not only about interacting with him- but did you even sleep? Did you eat breakfast? You’re in your pajamas- it’s cold!”

“Grandpa Morgan isn’t that bad-“ You pouted. “Grandpa Morgan?” Everyone questioned, and you shrugged. “He said Conquest is more of a title than a name- He’s old and he sounds like Jeffrey Dean Morgan- so- Grandpa Morgan.” Debbie sighs and rubs her temple. “Wha- I can’t just keep calling him something he doesn’t want to be called-“ the oldest Viltrumite couldn’t stop himself from laughing, his shoulders shaking with the unhinged sound that escaped his throat.

“He’s laughing-“ You turned from Mark to Morgan. “You’re laughing at me?! I can just call you Jumbo, you old elephant-“ The balding man just laughed harder, making Nolan squirm with unease. “Mom!” You whined at the woman in your arms.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

As night came and your parents were getting ready for a party, you and Mark were feeding the alien plant thing to see what it liked- you were still pouting over Grandpa Morgan laughing at you. Alas, seeing the carnivorous thing favor eggs over mice or raw-cut meat was an interesting sight. Ivy’s plant was the opposite- but this may be because yours seems to still be a kid, she may need the calcium… You were getting too attached to the thing.

“Mark, what are you doing? Why aren’t you dressed?” Debbie’s voice brought both of your attention. Marked looked from you, dressed in a plain black dress with a set of pearl jewelry, back to his mom. “Well, I thought I could stay back and help April-“ Debbie crossed her arms. “If your sister has to come, so do you. Get dressed.” And Mark pouted, but did as told.

“Who’s throwing the party, and how were we invited anyway?” You ask as you put the eggs away. “Oliver Queen, I actually sold him a house about a year or two ago.” Your mother smiled as her fingers gently moved some of your stray hairs back in place. “Nice guy- a bit eccentric.”

“He’s a rich man. They all are. And he’s a hero, so…” You shrug. “Robin Hood, right?” Nolan’s voice came as he patted down his suit, making Mark snort as he too appeared. “Green Arrow, dad. But he does look like a Robin Hood movie fancast.”

“He’d make a great Robin, though Prince John would be more fitting, no?” You joke as you stick your thumb in your mouth and rub at your earlobe. Debbie, despite the twitch of her lip, swats at your hand. “Stop it. The man has done nothing wrong to us.” She tried to be stern, but the amusement was clear in her tone.

Your mom turned to April, but before she could speak the blonde woman was already going down the checklist. “-and I’ll make sure to keep an eye on the new family pet as well. Everything will be fine, Debbie. Enjoy the party.” Debbie sighs, but her shoulders relax. April was right- she was supposed to be relaxing on the family vacation… She felt it in her bones that the vacation wouldn’t be as relaxing as the average, normal family vacation.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Nolan didn’t like parties, and he sure as hell hated all the heroes present at this one- Bruce included. Granted, he was glad that Mark and you stuck with Jason and his two red-headed friends. He squinted at your animated form speaking with the Tamaranean. You were too happy to be talking to her. Maybe it was a terrible idea.

“Leave it.” Debbie swatted at his chest. “They’re just talking.” Nolan pouts. “They’re too close, that other man too. Not to mention the other bats and their friends are trying to get close as well- I can just feel it.” Debbie raised an eyebrow while calling him paranoid, yet as her eyes drifted over a few of the heroes she recognized, she couldn’t help but feel the same.

You, on the other hand, were yapping Kory’s ears off with questions about her, mostly- Jason could only watch with amusement as your eyes sparkled at the tall woman. He knew you two would be immediate friends. His eyes drifted back to Roy who was talking with Mark, both complaining about shitty fathers. He couldn’t help but nod- this felt much more like a family, annoying little siblings and all.

Sadly, Jason never could get much peace these days- the sight of Slade with his crotch demons made his eyebrow twitch- wait… his- “Slade? Since when do your kids hang around you?” You asked before Jason could. “Are you really blackmailing them?” Your eyes moved to the three young adults behind the man. “Is he blackmailing you? Holding you hostage?” The three all seemed to smirk with amusement at the annoyance on their sperm donor as they all affirmed your line of questioning.

Slade just huffed, pouting as he turned to face you. “I’m not holding them hostage-“ The young woman commented something along the lines of him being too old to be holding anything up, which Slade ignored- “-but the media may have gone a bit crazy, and they wanted to meet you.”

“Is this about the prank? Because it was a one-and-done, old man.” Jason jumped in, and while Kory was still on edge, Roy and Mark immediately recognized what he meant. “Oh-yeah, Jason just wanted to mess with the bats- your father and Lex aren’t actually dating my sister- I’m uh- Mark, by the way. Nice to meet you.” Mark held his hand out and you did the same, introducing yourself and smiling once you could put names to their faces. “We were worried he had you under mind-control or something.” At Jericho’s amused voice humming through your heads, Slade sighs with defeat while you snort with amusement. “I fear I’m too thick-headed for that.”

“You call it thick-headed, I call it paranoid- not even John has as many protection spells set up, and I honestly think he needs them more than you.” Mark teases you. “There’s never too much protection-“ As you and Mark got into a friendly conversation with Slade’s kids, pulling a reluctant Roy and Kory in too, Jason’s eyes stayed on Slade's face. The annoyance on the man’s mug slowly turned to a softness the crime lord didn’t trust- it made Jason all kinds of twitchy.

The presence of Slade and his kids distracted Jason from the reason he brought Kory and Roy along to a party he otherwise would have avoided, Bruce. The man was inching his way closer and closer with each minute that passed- he was sure it’d be okay, despite what his kids said- You danced with Diana, let Oliver and Dinah twirl you around until all three of you got sick, you must be in a good mood.

However, he was making the same mistake over and over again, much like a crazy person, expecting a different outcome. He was approaching with his Brucie persona instead of the true face you knew him as. So, when his sickly-sweet voice called out your name with a familiarity he wasn’t deserving of, everyone around you noticed how you immediately tensed up. Slade’s hoard seemingly to be the first to crowd you and Mark as the man approached. Jason was right by them once the oldest Wayne was face to face with you.

Your eyes narrowed at the man. “Great. You’re here.” Bruce decides to brush off the annoyance and clear nervousness he brought you. “I was invited- but it’s nice to see my daughter while at it too.” Mark, the usually chill kid Jason knew him as, scoffed as he muttered under his breath about the man’s audacity. “Your mug is pissing me off.” Rose snorted at your bluntness, and Bruce’s smile twitched. To him, it was Jason all over again- but at least with him, he was sure he could fix it one way or another. He wasn’t even sure where or how to begin. “I just want to talk- actually talk-“

“Talk? You’ve had years to talk to me, just because now you feel guilty or some bullshit like that-“ Strike two for Bruce was interrupting you. “I know. But I’m still your father,” strike three, “and I have a right to see and speak to my daughter-“ And he’s out- quite literally. With one punch, he was out, passed out with his back flat on the floor, and Jason’s screech that turned into a boisterous laugh drew everyone's attention to your little group.

While Slade and Mark made quick work of grabbing you and pushing you away before you could start beating on the unconscious man, Tim sighed and pulled out a tablet, opened an Excel sheet titled “forgiveness chart” and started updating it. Steph looked over his shoulder, her eyes tracing over it. “What’s up with the numbers on Damian’s thing?” She asked, and Tim’s eyes followed what she was referring to. “54 72 79 20 74 6f 20 73 61 62 6f 74 61 67 65 2e” Tim looked at the blonde with a blank expression. “Must have been a glitch.” Stephanie gave him an unimpressed look. “Tim. Nobody believes that.”

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Kon-El kept replaying the punch one reporter caught as he tried not to laugh like Jason, who, if it weren’t for Roy, would be rolling on the floor. It was family night at the Kents, specifically “Make fun of what the rich wear” family night. “What did Bruce do to that poor girl? This is like the third time he gets hit by her.” Martha asked Clark, who was slumped, almost falling off the couch, as he rubbed at his face. He only groaned. “She seems like the type of woman who’d like to still work after marriage… I’d make a great house husband-“ Kon’s comment went ignored by everyone but his grandpa who started complaining about the economy and how he should keep working.

Jon’s eyes remained on the clip as it carried on playing when Kon stopped rewinding it. “It’s… a long story.” His mom sighed as she ate more of the popcorn they had around. “That man is getting more beat up than usual by his own kid-“ Grandpa Jonathan started with a huff. “We aren’t getting any younger, we have time.” Everyone’s attention was brought back to the TV as a reporter was quick to jump in front of you and your family, asking exactly what everyone wanted to know. And your angry glare and sadistic smile didn’t ease Clark’s worry. “I’m glad you asked- better be recording, because this is the only answer you’re getting to what my relationship with the fucker is-“

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The chart in question:

Tim doesn't know as much as he'd like to.

ch 26 Sneak peek

“It was a clean punch, good job.” Diana’s comment got a few reactions, mostly snickers and Hal almost choking on the coffee he was drinking, but her smile was due to the way you puffed out your chest. “Thank you- I’m glad someone can appreciate my skills.” Cecil huffed at the look you threw at him. “Anyway-“ He cleared his throat.

[aemondapologistfrfr]

His Princess - pt2

Pt 2 of His Princess

fancast!bloody ben x targ!fem!reader

Summary: Rhaenyra asks y/n to take her host to Harrenhal to speak to Daemon. Y/n rises to the challenge of Daemon and the River Lords watch on in shock and silence.

Warnings: 18+ swearing, political plotting, prob wine somewhere in a cup, bathing, thigh riding, face riding, p in v

Authors Note: soft moments w silverwing and ben, i believe this man would beg you teach him some high valyrian just so he could talk to silverwing and write it down and keep it in his pocket, idc if it’s unrealistic to pet a dragons belly it’s real to me!!, daemon needs to LEAVE harrenhal and step tf up like enough already

Word Count: 4.7k

⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆☁︎⋆₊ ⊹ ⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆☁︎⋆₊ ⊹ ⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆

Over the past week I’ve been in contact with Jace about the status of our growing host in the Riverlands. Rhaenyra has finally returned home and expresses her gratitude for the swords that I’ve raised for her. She takes over the correspondence from Jace as we begin to discuss who is on our side and best ways to bring the other Lords to our cause.

She confides to me concerning her worry about Daemon. She has asked that I meet Ser Alfred Broome in Harrenhal and see if Daemon can be brought to reason. She hopes that he will start to relax and hopefully return to Dragonstone upon seeing their host. We have been on the move ever since her request while slowly adding swords along the way.

“We should reach Harrenhal on the morrow.” Ben ducks into the tent as I lounge on the makeshift bed.

“Thank the Gods. I need a fucking bath.” I slide over so he can join me.

“You still look absolutely divine to me.” as he pulls me into him.

“Oh I’m sure,” I roll my eyes. “The dirt and grime are very comely.” I sigh looking at my nails.

“At Harrenhal I’ll make sure you get the largest and hottest bath available. Even if it means displacing its current Lord.” he promises.

“I’ll hold you to that.” I hum. “I have no idea what state Daemon is in.” I sigh, wiping my face.

“He should be happy you’ve raised a host.” Ben murmurs as he finger brushes through my hair.

“We can only hope.” I moan as his fingers scratch along my scalp as I turn so he can continue his movements.

“Let’s hope they have feed to spare for Silverwing. She’s been eyeing our host for some time now.” he chuckles as he begins to loosely braid my hair.

“Mm, speaking of, I should take her out to hunt.” I sigh stretching out as he completes the plait.

“Will you let me come with you this time?” his eyes light up as he pleads.

“You’ll have to ask her yourself.” I chuckle as I begin to rise and stretch out.

I slowly put my riding armor back on as Ben quickly pulls his own armor on stumbling after me out of the tent. The host around us is now up to 5,000 swords and it’s easy to get lost in the chaos that surrounds us daily. We see the outline of Silverwing in the trees as we approach.

“Wait,” Ben pulls me to a stop. “It’s Hello my beast Silverwing?” a laugh bubbles out of my mouth as his face turns red.

“Y/n, my Princess, please.” he begs trying to hide his embarrassment.

“If you say that she will never allow you to ride with me.” I try to settle my giggles. “Hello, my beautiful Silverwing.” I look to him and nod for him to repeat.

“Hello, my beautiful Silverwing?” his Riverland accent makes the sentence sound funny but he’s got the words down at least.

“Well let’s go see if I get to keep enjoying you or if her meal has delivered itself to her.” I pull him by his arm with a smile on my face. I nod at him to go greet my sleeping dragon as I stand nearby.

“Hello,” his voice slightly stumbles as she begins to stir. “Hello, my beautiful Silverwing.” I hear the confidence in his voice as Silverwing begins to rise.

She looks over to me and then looks down at Ben and huffs. His hair is blown askew by her deep breath as she lowers her head to his height. He puts his hands up as I continue to give her a stern look. She gives a soft chirp before she pushes him with her snout.

“I didn’t learn any other words. Y/n says my accent is funny.” he speaks softly to Silverwing as he settles his hands on the side of her jaw.

She softly blinks at him and then looks to me as if I was so mean for stating the obvious to him. Ben slowly relaxes as he continues to offer her pats. She watches him intently as he begins to walk the length of her. She thuds back to the ground and rolls onto her side for him to pat her belly.

“Oh you big baby.” I chuckle lovingly as I approach them both. We continue to offer her pats and words of adoration until she grumbles and begins to turn back over. “He wants to come with us to hunt.” her eyes lock with mine and narrow. She closes her eyes and dips her wing down for us to climb up.

“Let’s see how this goes.” I breathe out as I gesture for him to start climbing.

“What do I grab on to?” he turns to me suddenly nervous.

“Whatever you can. I’ll be right behind you.” I nod reassuringly as he grabs on to her leg. Silverwing chuffs as we slowly climb on and settle into the saddle. I clip us in and his arms wrap around my waist tightly.

“It’s not too late to get down.” I turn my head and offer to him softly.

“No, it’ll be fun.” he nods as he tries to strengthen his resolve but his words come out a little breathy.

“Fly, Silverwing.” she rises to her full height and I feel Ben’s hands lock tightly together around me.

She launches us into the sky and I feel Ben press his head into my back. I chuckle wildly as she circles our host and gives them an eerie song. We coast along the breeze until we reach the river and she slowly begins to dip down. Ben slowly releases his hands and begins to look down at the land below us.

“What a fucking rush.” he chuckles with me as Silverwing dips into the river to collect fish.

She continues to collect more fish and spits them out on the nearby shore. Once she has a large pile she lands and scorches the fish in a burning pyre. She quickly chomps down on her meal as we stay firmly seated basking in her power.

“Should we get-“

Silverwing shoots us back into the clouds as Ben gasps, handing flying around my waist once more. I raise my hands from the reins and allow my fingertips to caress the clouds as we fly back to camp. With enough encouragement, Ben releases his hands from my waist and allows his fingers to dance in the clouds with us.

⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆☁︎⋆₊ ⊹ ⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆☁︎⋆₊ ⊹ ⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆

We begin marching out just before dawn. The men grumble but are looking forward to making it to Harrenhal finally. Silverwing is becoming restless the closer we get to the Crownlands as she can feel the tension pulsing through us.

We mainly ride the breeze only going in front of the host when we’re about an hour out from the castle. As I approach, Caraxes high pitched song pierces my ears. Silverwing gives out a greeting as we circle back to our host. Caraxes seems to have stayed at the castle much to my relief that Daemon isn’t feeling particularly reckless today.

I land outside the gates and await the host to break through the trees. Once Ben is at my side we begin to approach the gates as they grind open. Daemon swaggers out and looks to me with his hand on his sword pommel.

“Y/n.” he looks at me and the men behind me as if he’s unimpressed.

“Daemon.” I sigh and roll my eyes.

“I’ve claimed Harrenhal.” I squint my eyes at his words.

“And I’ve raised a host.” I shake my head at him confused.

“For who?” he tilts his head to me.

“What is wrong with you? What do you mean? For Rhaenyra.” I approach him studying him.

“It seems as if his knees are bent to you the way he hovers behind you.” he raises his chin to Ben who has indeed followed close behind me on approach.

“Get over yourself. Are we welcome or no. You wanted an army and I’ve brought you one.” my voice starts to rise as I tire of his antics and want the bath I was promised.

“Did she send you?” Daemons eyes squint.

“You’re going fucking mad, Daemon. We are staying. I’m taking the largest bathtub.” I roll my eyes, shaking my head with a chuckle. “His knees are bent to me and he’s mine. He’s not to be touched by anyone.” Daemon smirks at my words as he gestures with his arm for us to enter.

“Welcome,” Lord Simon says as the gates groan the rest of the way open. “Welcome to Harrenhal.

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I almost sob looking at the massive bath made before me. I make quick work of my clothes and armor as servants whisk them away to clean them before leaving me alone. The second the seaming water engulfs me all of my muscles sigh in relief. Suddenly there’s a knock at the door and I groan.

“What?” I grit out through my teeth.

“It’s me.” Ben peeks his head around the door.

“Then get in here and shut the door. I’m in the fucking bath, Ben.” I hiss at him and feel instantly bad as I know I shouldn’t take my frustrations out on him. “I’m sorry,” I sigh out. “What’s wrong?” I sink lower into the pool.

“You didn’t invite me and I felt left out.” his voice teasing. I grab his hand and begin to pull him in with me. He bats my hand away chucking as he takes his clothes off before slipping in the water next to me.

“Better?” I ask resting my head on his shoulder.

“Much.” he hums content. “What happened with Daemon earlier?” he asks softly before grabbing the soap next to us so we can begin our deep clean.

“He’s going insane. I have no idea what’s wrong with him.” I shake my head not knowing how I’m supposed to deal with this. Hopefully Ser Alfred will arrive soon and offer his support.

“What did he say?” he asks as helps me wash my hair once he’s finished his.

“He knows you’re loyal to me. I don’t think he trusts Rhaenyra. His words seemed off and paranoid. I’ll send a raven to Rhaenyra in the morning.” I know my tone is slightly clipped, I’m just done discussing pressing matters. I want to enjoy my bath while a handsome man dotes on me.

“Maybe it’s this old, haunted castle. They say it’ll turn the most sane man mad.” Ben thinks to himself as he rinses out my hair. I’m thankful we’re finally clean but I can’t handle this conversation any longer.

“Ben, I need you to be quiet and make me feel good or leave. I do not wish to discuss strategy or ghosts.” he chuckles as I turn and he takes in my scrunched brow.

“I’m sorry, my Princess. Is the war boring you?” he chuckles pulling me to straddle his thigh.

I sigh as he pulls me forward causing the most delicious friction. He continues sliding me across his thigh and my eyes shut. My hips begin to move on their own accord seeking the pleasure I’ve been needing all week. Whimpers fall from my mouth as Ben looks at me with a smirk.

“So you don’t want to discuss-“

“I will cut your fucking tongue out.” I reply breathlessly as his hands grind me down on to his thigh roughly.

“Then how will I be able to lick your-“

I crash my lips to his in hopes he’ll remain silent. He chuckles against my lips as his fingers dig into my sides. He begins to move my hips quicker as the water begins to splash around us. I begin to moan into his mouth as pleasure begins to explode through my body. His lips capture mine once more as he slowly continues to grind me against him to prolong my pleasure.

“Beautiful,” Ben whispers and my eyes snap open. “Fuck, please let me have said it right.” panic laces his words.

“You did,” my lips attach to his as my heart stumbles.

⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆☁︎⋆₊ ⊹ ⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆☁︎⋆₊ ⊹ ⊹₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆

I sit around the council table with the River Lords who look from me to Daemon. Ser Alfred has arrived this morning and hasn’t been able to form a coherent conversation with Daemon. My eyes stay planted on him as his head lulls as he grips his cup. When his eyes seem to uncloud he stares at Lord Simon’s child, Alys, I’m told.

“Pull yourself together.” I grit out to Daemon who is currently making a fool of himself.

“When did this meeting start?” his words borderline slurred as he looks to Alys who comes to his side.

I shake my head in confusion as she whispers into his ear. I look to Ben to make sure I’m not the only one seeing this and all of the Lords faces mirror mine. They turn me expectantly and I’m at a loss for what to do.

“That’s enough, Alys. Thank you.” I rise out of my chair dismissing her.

“Isn’t it strange we’re almost kin?” she whispers as she brushes past me. I turn quickly but she’s already out of the hall and I take my place again in my seat.

“Are you drunk?” I hiss to Daemon who has an amusing look on his face.

“Welcome River Lords,” Daemon rises, ignoring my question. “I’m thankful you’ve all deigned to join me in Harrenhal. I know how alluring it is to follow a Targaryen Princess.” he looks to me with a smirk.

“While you’ve been doing Gods know what, I’ve been rallying for Rhaenyra. Did she send you here to simply cut wood?” my anger very evident in my voice.

“I’ve secured the largest castle.” he looks down to me.

“Yes, the crumbling, empty castle. What a win Daemon. While you’ve been indulging yourself on wine and bastards we’ve all been doing our part to help Rhaenyra claim the throne.” I shake my head at a loss. I know we shouldn’t be speaking like this in front of the Lords but I can’t help it.

“I will not be belittled by you.” Daemon spits his words at me.

“You’ve done it yourself. Everyone at this table can see you’re going mad.” I look to him as he goes to look out the window.

Ser Alfred looks at me in warning not to push him too far. The other Lords are doing well to hide their terror as I verbally challenge Daemon in this hall. I’m hoping with the right kind of push and verbal berating he will get his head out of his ass and start to fight for Rhaenyra once more.

“Is that true?” he turns to the table of men with narrowed eyes. “Who thinks I’m going mad?” he approaches and leans his hands on the table assessing everyone.

“Go home, Daemon.” I rise from my chair to switch his focus to me and not our Lords. Ben’s hands slip to mine to try and have me sit back down but I can’t stand down from this fight, my mother needs me. “Rhaenyra needs you at her side.” I look to him with pleading eyes.

“Mm, is that what she told you?” he stalks over to me.

“If you bothered to read any of the ravens from either of us, you know it would be true. Must you always be reminded that you are The Daemon Targaryen? The Rogue Prince? You are a force to be reckoned with. Leave this crumbling castle to me and the Lords and return to Dragonstone. Clear your mind. Stand at her side so we may show a united front.” I can see my words process through his mind as he looks at me curiously.

“You want this castle for yourself.” he concludes much to my anger and frustration.

“Leave us.” I turn to the Lords who look at me slack jawed. They begin to shuffle out of the hall as Ben lingers behind. “Ben,” I warn with narrowed eyes.

“You think you can handle my daughter?” Daemon chuckles lowly as he looks to Ben. He hasn’t called me his daughter in years which is how I know something sinister is going on inside these walls. I walk to Ben and push him outside the door before I seal them.

“It’s saved you before.” Ben’s words are hushed as he places the bone knife into my palm. “Please don’t make me regret leaving this hall.” he looks down to me with pleading eyes as I shut the door separating us.

“Sit.” I nod my head to the table and slip the knife into an empty sheath at my thigh before I claim a seat across from him.

“Do you plan to kill me in this hall?” he chuckles as he takes a seat.

“I plan to make you see reason.” I study his movements which seem completely different from how this meeting started.

“Then by all means,” he raises his eyebrows gesturing with his hand for me to continue.

“You and Rhaenyra had a fight so now you sequester yourself into this ruin of a castle? To what end? Tell me your long term goal, Daemon. If I wouldn’t have arrived with a host you would still be splitting wood open, along with that bastard girls legs.” I look to him as he seems to find this amusing.

“To sit atop the Iron Throne. That is my only goal.” he hums.

“To place Rhaenyra on the throne?” I correct.

“She’s welcome to join me.” he nods his head as his thoughts seem to drift.

I can’t believe what I’m hearing. I don’t know if this was his plan all along or if these halls are truly haunted. We sit in silence and study each other waiting to see who will make the next move. I come up with a plan to get him outside of the castle in hopes he can clear his head and finally see his actions for what they are.

“When was the last time you’ve ridden Caraxes?” I change the subject hoping to bring him back to the present.

“It was only…” he trails off.

“Come, let’s go for ride.” I rise and look to him in question.

Surprisingly he follows me out of the hall. Ben is waiting on the other side of the door and he walks by my side. I instruct him to send a raven to Rhaenyra and say that I’m sending Daemon home and hopefully he should arrive tonight, I will escort him if needed. I also have him tell the servants to pack a small bag for Daemon for his travels home.

“Please return to me.” Ben kisses the side of my head and nods at my instructions.

⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆☁︎⋆₊ ⊹ ⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆☁︎⋆₊ ⊹ ⊹₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆

After a long flight our two dragons land in the abandoned countryside. I press my luck and dismount and turn to see that Daemon is doing the same. We meet between our two dragons as they sing a bone chilling song.

“I will go home.” he nods to me with a scrunched brow.

“You will?” I raise my eyebrow in surprise.

“Do not let that heinous woman inside your head. Don’t accept her tea.” he shakes his head as a shutter travels through him.

“Understood. Please send me a raven when you get to Dragonstone.” I reply curtly still not caring for him much at the moment.

“You’ve already sent her word of my return?” he asks over his shoulder as he begins to mount Caraxes.

“I have,” I nod my head up to him. “If you cause her trouble, I will come for you and show you why this growing host has bent its knees.” the threat is laced through my voice like a promise.

“I wouldn’t expect anything else, daughter.” he says before him and his blood worm launch into the skies.

I mount Silverwing and sigh in relief that somehow everything worked out. I hug Sliverwings neck and offer her words of love and praise before she brings us up to the clouds.

⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆☁︎⋆₊ ⊹ ⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆☁︎⋆₊ ⊹ ⊹₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆

Ben rushes to me once I dismount Silverwing and assesses me head to toe. Once he’s satisfied I’m in one piece he turns to Silverwing and walks around her and makes sure she’s taken no damage as well. He offers her soft pats before he returns to me.

“I’ll be right back,” he whispers before running back through the gates.

I lay down at Silverwings feet and curl into her. She wraps her head around me protectively as she sprawls on the ground. We hear motion from beyond the gates and we both raise our heads curiously. Ben walks through the gates trailing a couple cattle behind him.

“Thank you for keeping my Princess safe, my beautiful Silverwing.” he hums as he approaches her. I rise and come to his side as she begins to chirp him a song.

He leaves the cattle with her and he guides me back through the gates and into the castle. The Lords look at me expectantly as I call a short meeting in the council chambers. I tell them of Daemons hopeful return to Dragonstone and give Ser Alfred leave to follow after him and return to my mother. The Lords look to me in awe that I was able to rein Daemon in and send him back to Dragonstone. I end the meeting with promises of a more in depth discussion on the morrow.

“Let’s go to bed,” Ben hums softly as he offers me his hand.

We quickly make it back to our chambers and he seals the doors behind us. He cups my face and pulls me into a passionate kiss. He pulls apart resting his forehead on mine as we pant as I look up to him with low lids.

“I’m perfectly fine, you didn’t have to worry so much.” I breathlessly chuckle.

“I was worried for the King Consort, the look in your eyes in the council chamber was downright murderous.” he chuckles lowly before placing a quick kiss on my lips before he starts to remove my armor.

“Good he was being daft. Someone had to stand to him.” I roll my shoulders once he removes the plates there.

“Sometimes you fucking terrify me.” he whispers though his voice is full of devotion as he removes my last pieces.

“Mm, I’m honored.” I hum as I begin to remove my layers of clothing.

“Allow me, my Princess.” he whispers as he lifts my shirt above my head.

He slowly peels the rest of my clothes off. He removes his clothes with haste while pulling me over to the bed. He falls onto his back pulling me with on top of him. He kisses me softly and pulls back with a smirk.

“I think you should sit on my face.” he says lowly.

“What do you mean?” I shake my head chuckling.

“Put this,” his fingers reach down and slide through my wetness. “on my mouth.” his eyes are dark as they look to me.

I shiver as his fingers continue to ghost over my core. He begins to slowly pull me up his body until I finally rise and kneel on the bed to look down at him. He pats the side of my thigh trying to coax me to straddle his face. I let out a shaky breath and kneel above his face and look down at his eyes under me.

“Thank you, my Princess.” he says placing a soft kiss on each of my thighs.

His hands grab my waist and pull me flush against his mouth. His tongue begins to attack my clit and my head falls back. His name falls off my lips as he continues to swirl against my clit. I grind against his face and immediately stop. He grunts at my stillness and begins to move my hips himself as moans seep out of my mouth.

“Ben,” his name is the only thing I’m capable of saying.

This spurs him on and his tongue moves even more ferociously. My hips begin jerking on their own accord and he moans against me. The vibrations send me over the edge as I come against his face as he keeps lapping at me.

“Ben,” I whimper as he still holds me against his face.

His torturous tongue continues to circle my sensitive bud sending shock waves through my body. I’m a babbling mess above him as he starts to grind my hips against him again. A sob tears through me as I come against him once more. He lifts me off and I collapse face down on the bed next to him as he chuckles.

“You did so good for me.” he hums as I feel the bed dip behind me. “Aren’t you thankful you didn’t cut my tongue out.” his hands raise my hips until I’m resting on my knees. I turn my head and scowl at him until he starts swirling his tip around my wetness.

“Ben, please,” I whine breathlessly as he leans back.

“Hm?” his tone taunting. I try to push my hips back to find him once more but his hands on my hips keep me firmly in place.

“If you don’t fuck me surely I can find someone else who-“

He slams into me and a moan tears through me. He sets a brutal pace that has my face sliding against the sheets. All I can do is arch my back more as his hips repeatedly snap into mine. His trusts become slow and deep as his hands fall to the sides of my waist as he hovers above me.

“Who do you think can replace me?” he grunts in my ear while grinding his hips into mine.

“No one,” my words barely coherent as my hips chase the pleasure he’s offering.

“That’s what I thought.” he says arrogantly as he pulls me upright with him.

One of his hands stays at my waist to help steady me as he begins to hammer up into me. The other travels around my front teasing and pinching my nipples until it finds its way to my throat. His long fingers wrap around me while his hand from my waist sneaks down to my sensitive bud.

“I- Ben,” I whine as I come, clenching around him.

“Fuck Princess,” his hips slightly falter but he regains his composure quickly.

He pushes me forward back onto the bed while staying inside of me. His pace is crazed as his fingers dig deeply into my hips. I’m pushing back into him chasing all of the pleasure he wants to give me. My hands are fisted into the sheets while all I can do is whimper and breathe his name.

“One more time for me.” he growls while bringing his torturous hand between my thighs once more.

When his fingers reach my clit I see stars. I feel like pleasure is being torn from me in waves as I bury my head in the pillow. His hips shutter and warmth spreads throughout me before he slowly pulls out. He collapses on the bed next to me as we’re both panting and trying to catch our breath.

“I know I’m safe in Harrenhal because the only thing that could make me go mad is you.” he says breathily smoothing my hair.

“Back to your ghost stories already?” I huff as I turn to him and see him smiling down at me.

⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆☁︎⋆₊ ⊹ ⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆☁︎⋆₊ ⊹ ⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆

masterlist

ps: i literally will write more of this if ppl want 🫣

Part 3

[caelivir]

hi! for ur event cld i request a brothers best friend!iwaizumi and lovesick by laufey to the aux pls? femreader pls! tysm!! 💗💗

now playing: lovesick by laufey

fun fact: this was my 12th most listened to song of 2024 like i was obsessed w it. sorry this took a little too long. i rewrote this so many times like i don't think you understand how much i was struggling w this.

content. iwaizumi x fem!reader, snuck in fwb, angst if we squint, mentioned/implied boombayah time, reader queen of assuming, no beta | wc. 800+

you wake up to morning sunlight peaking through the curtains and the subtle rattling of the window that accompanies the november winds. you immediately register an arm draped over your waist. the memories of last night suddenly wash over you, making you stiffen as you recall them.

you shift in your bed, the blankets and sheets rustling as you do so. you flip over, facing the man who makes your heart ache and flutter all at once. his arm brushes your skin as you adjust.

you feel it start again, the beat in your chest picking up when your eyes fall on iwaizumi. a ghost of a smile passes through your face as you take in his peaceful, sleeping expression. the rise and fall of his chest matches your own.

the sun’s golden rays paint his features in a way that makes him look more beautiful than he already is. you soak in every detail; the length of his lashes, the slope of his nose, his lips that are chapped ever so slightly.

iwaizumi is a sight for sore eyes.

it’s pathetic how quickly you fell for him, even when the core of your relationship calls for it to mean nothing. but how could you not? he’s caring beyond your comprehension, respectful to everyone, and supportive when you need it. you’ve never adored someone as much as you adored him.

however, you’re certain iwaizumi doesn’t feel the same way. you know that there’s a part of him that holds you as his best friend’s little sister. you think that’s why he leaves in the morning, because staying makes it more than it should be.

yet for some strange reason, he’s still here today. you don’t know why. that in itself makes your heart pound.

before even realizing it, your hand finds his face, cupping it gently, as if to check that he’s real. the moment your skin touches his, he stirs, eyes squeezing before fluttering open. you nearly pull back, the embarrassment hitting you, but the sleepy grin that graces his face is enough for you to decide otherwise.

“g’morning.” iwaizumi mumbles groggily, pressing a chaste kiss to your palm.

“you’re here.” you answer and regret instantly. that’s not what was supposed to spill out of your mouth. bringing it up only sparks the conversation you’re unprepared to face.

“yeah.” he responds, already aware of what you’re insinuating.

you swallow the lump in your throat. your eyes catch the hints of olive green swirling in his irises. for what seemed like ages, neither of you dared to speak. the silence engulfs the room until iwaizumi breaks it. “we need to talk. it’s… long overdue.”

you know it is, but this can only go one of two ways. this arrangement continues, or it ends. only one ensures that you don’t accidentally end up pushing iwaizumi away.

“let’s call it quits.”

iwaizumi blinks. his eyebrows come together like what you’ve said is the most confusing thing in the world. “what?”

“c’mon iwa, we both know doing this was a mistake. not to mention tooru would freak if he found out-”

“he already knows.” iwaizumi reveals.

this time it’s your turn to blink. your jaw falls open as your eyebrows scrunch. “what?!”

“i told him.”

you sit up abruptly. the blanket falls to your lap, and your quick to pull it back up to cover your chest. the panic is evident in your voice as the questions pour out of your mouth. “why on earth would you do that? are you nuts?”

iwaizumi groans as he uses his arm to force himself up. “i’m grateful that he’s in argentina because i’ve never seen him so angry in my life. believe me, if he could, he would’ve reached across the screen to strangle me.”

“if he knows, then why hasn’t he said anything to me?” you ask.

iwaizumi looks down at your hand. his finger twitches as if he longs to grasp it. “i asked him not to.”

“he willingly he agreed to that?”

“after he heard what i had to say, yeah, he did.” iwaizumi runs his tongue over his lips, nodding. you watch his fingers inch closer. they graze against yours until his own warmth engulfs them. he brings his eyes up back to you.

you swallow, steadying your breath before speaking. “and what’d you tell him?”

“…that i’ve fallen in love with you.”

in that moment, the heavens open up. the sky sings. the words you’ve only dreamed of hearing materialize into reality.

“i know you said you want to end this,” iwaizumi brings your hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. “and if that’s what you want, then we can do that.” he leans closer, kissing your forehead. “let’s start over properly, but i won’t let you go. not now. not ever.”

“iwa…”

iwaizumi cups your cheek. he brushes away a tear that had escaped your eye. “what do you say, sweet girl? let’s give us a shot?”

[am-i-interrupting]

Can I request some pure stupid comedy fluff?

I feel we need more silly and stupid moments with Viktor, like laughing with reader to the point of crying for some dumb thing

I think Viktor would have that silent histerical laugh, he would lift his hand to his face to try and maintain some composure but the tears in his eyes betray him as he cant stop laughing

Late Laughter

It was late or rather extremely early. The sun was beginning to rise through the clouds and above the horizon.

You honestly could not remember when you had come in today or yesterday. It had been early then too. Viktor had already been in the lab. Jayce came in for a respectable eight hours and then left making the two of you promise to actually sleep tonight and well, that promise had been broken.

Your eyes were starting to hurt and water as you looked down at the equations in front of you. All the numbers were beginning to blur together to form a singular gigantic blob.

Viktor had been staring at the chalkboard with the chalk leaving a white powdered line beneath his lower lip from where he kept tapping it. He put the chalk down with a sigh and walked over to the chair beside your own.

It dragged against the floor making a loud noise in the otherwise silent building. His cane twirled in his hand as he looked over your shoulder.

He moved it back and forth from one hand to the other. It bumped against your arm as he failed to catch it.

“You need to keep that in your hands,” you said, “before your cane becomes our cane.”

There was silence for one beat and then two. Then Viktor began to chuckle. It was a deep, rumbling noise from his chest.

You looked over and saw a smile stretch across his face. His teeth were visible. His eyes crinkled ever so slightly.

“What?” you asked.

His laughter spilled from his lips as it rushed from his chest to his throat. He leaned against the table.

“Our cane,” he repeated. “It’ll become our cane?”

Your brows furrowed as you continued to stare at him, completely and utterly bemused.

“Arcane, magic, hextech,” he elaborated.

“Oh!” you exclaimed as it clicked in your head.

That’s when you began to join in on his laughter. It shouldn’t be funny. It was a stupid joke, one that wasn’t even particularly clever or even intended.

Your head hurt already and the lack of oxygen only furthered that.

“I think we should call it a night,” you said through your own laughter and giggles. “I can’t even remember how to do math.”

“I can’t either. I’ve been staring at the chalkboard trying to figure out what 13x5 is. I should know it, but I can’t remember,” he admitted.

The two of you sobered up for a mere moment. Then you looked one another in the eyes and your eyes began watering for a reason that wasn’t your exhaustion.