#shooting me straight in the heart would be less painful

[pinkie-pop]

"I Must Confess, I Am Not What I Seem."

Featuring: Gender-Neutral reader, Furina, Isekaied!Reader, SAGAU, Imposter AU, Golden Blood AU

Word Count: 2.4k

Synopsis: There is a thin line that separates lies from truth, falsehoods from facts. You are a tightrope walker, it would seem.

Includes: Spoilers for 4.2, injury, religious themes

•~•~•~•~•~•~•

“I am a vast ocean confined into the shape of a small and shallow puddle. I am more than you could ever know, yet less than what I am truly meant to be. Does this not answer your question?” You say, golden ichor staining your white robes.

“I…I’m afraid it does not, Your Most Honorable Righteousness,” Clorinde looks down, uncharacteristically nervous. The weight of your title sits heavily upon her tongue—a Fontainion nickname someone coined eons ago.

“Then, allow me to state this in a way you can understand,” you say, now addressing not only her but the crowd around you—everyone gathered in the dueling grounds to watch your fight, now watching with bated breath upon this new development. “I bleed because I am human. Gold because I am a God. I am paradox itself—a godly soul contained in a human vessel. Are you starting to understand now?” Whispers begin to fill the street as everyone takes in what you just said. ‘The Creator has descended to Teyvat in a human body!’ They say. ‘Is such a thing even possible?’ They ask. ‘Of course,’ comes the response. ‘It’s happening right in front of us!’ ‘What’s going to happen to Fontaine?’ says a pragmatic one. ‘Our Champion Duelist nearly killed Them! We called Them an imposter!’ You listen in on the conversations, pleased with the way the rumors spin themselves. Now that the spark has been made, the fire will come next. They’ll weave together their own tales and explanations from your words; the rumors will exaggerate and grow until you no longer need to say a word. They will answer their own questions. Your work here is done.

Truth be told, you’re bluffing about all of this. When you first came to Fontaine, you had no idea what all the talk of being a divine imposter was about. You went along with it, believing yourself to be dreaming, not caring where the tides took you. You didn’t choose to duel for your honor because you knew your blood was golden (Of course not. How could you have known?), you only wanted this dream to be over. 

The pain gave it away. This was all too real. You weren’t dreaming. You had been in real danger. The blade that pierced your chest could have gone straight into your heart, had you not leaped back in reflex. The thought makes you sick, but you do not show it. No, you have a role to play. You are no god, but if it means you won’t be hunted down or hanged for blasphemy, you are more than willing to pretend.

You cautiously raise a hand to your wound. It stings. You look down at your hand, coated in yellow. Dizziness overtakes you, and you fall to the ground.

But you do not hit the ground. Someone catches you.

And all fades to black.

•~•~•~•~•~•

When you come to, you spot familiar faces standing by your bedside. Clorinde, Neuvillette, Wriothesley, Sigewinne, and Furina, too. The four pillars of Fontaine’s political system are all gathered by your bedside. The room you're in is luxurious, colored in a white and (you suspect, real) gold palette. The size and luxury of the room is imposing, reminiscent of a cathedral. You suppose this ‘Creator’ must be a big deal. You try to move, but searing pain shoots up from your wound. Right, you had already forgotten.

“Your Holiness, please be careful!” Says Sigewinne. “You don’t want to pop your stitches, do you? I'll help you sit up.”

“Many eyes watch my movements and recovery. Can I take this to mean you all have something to say?” You think you're getting the hang of talking like someone divine. You can only hope the ones around you buy it.

Neuvillette speaks first. “I am sorry to disturb you during what should be a peaceful rest, but we have some questions for you.” 

“Speak for yourself,” says Wriothesley. “I'm only here to watch over Siegewinne.”

“Oh? Is that so? I had just assumed you were just as curious about Them as the rest of us. My mistake,” says Clorinde, voice dripping with sarcasm. Wriothesley scoffs but doesn't say anything.

“You spoke of questions,” you say, redirecting the conversation. “Yet all I hear is idle chatter.” Wriothesley and Clorinde both look away. Neuvillette clears his throat, but Furina speaks first. 

“Is there…a reason you have decided to descend?” She asks, a hint of anxiety in her voice and her face painted with worry. You know what she's thinking without her even having to say anything. She's worried about the prophecy. You may as well ease her concerns.

“Must I have a reason to visit my own creations? I simply wished to see how things have changed.” Furina visibly relaxes, then, seeming to catch herself, straightens immediately. “Now that you have asked something of myself, I, too, have a query with which to exchange. Where are we?”

“Le Berceau Du Créateur—Fontaine’s largest temple and the place most appropriate for someone of your status,” says Neuvillette. You nod pensively, pretending you've heard of it.

“This is our grandest room, made specifically in the case that you were ever to visit Fontaine. I do hope it meets your preferences and standards.”

“Luxury means little to me, but this room has been made with care and dedication. That is enough.” Neuvillette relaxes ever so slightly.

Rather suddenly, Clorinde kneels in front of you. “Please, your Eminence, I cannot take it any longer. Punish me,” she says. You look at her with an expression you hope mimics apathy. Truthfully, a part of you does wish to punish her, to get some sort of sick satisfaction out of her misery, but you refrain from showing such intentions. You will not punish her. You will be a gracious and forgiving god. You will earn their respect and gratitude.

“I will do no such thing. If there is nothing else, I'd like to be alone now. I'm sure you understand,” you say, making eye contact with Clorinde. Everyone leaves, though Clorinde lingers the longest, a silent apology on her lips as she walks out the door.

•~•~•~•~•~•

You heal remarkably fast. It takes no more than a week for your injury to heal completely. Not even a scar remains. By now, word of your arrival has already spread across Tevyat, and countless letters and requests for visitation follow. You allow only the most important of guests into your temple, that is, only the “acolytes” (that is, playable characters). Truthfully, you dread each appointment. Pretending to be wise beyond your years, to ooze divinity, and to fool both mortals and Gods alike is…a lot of work, to say the least. But you have to keep up appearances. You don't want to get hurt again.

Today you have a meeting with The Seven. You can only hope that things go smoothly. 

Not much happened during the meeting, but you did ask Furina to stay a while longer. The two of you proceed to the drawing room, where tea and snacks have already been served. 

“You wanted to speak to me, Your Righteousness?” Furina asks, her cake and tea untouched, likely waiting for you to eat first. You pick up your teacup with a practiced elegance and take a sip. Furina is quick to follow your lead. Her nervous scramble to mirror your movements brings a small smile to your face. 

“Furina,” you say, putting the teacup down. She straightens in her seat, hanging off your every word.

“Yes, Your Holiness,” she says, sitting on the edge of her seat.

“Soon, you will have a day where everything seems to go wrong. It will feel like everything you’ve built up will have fallen, broken, down at your feet. Take heart, for this is not the ending you fear. Your suffering has not been for naught. When the time comes for you to sit crying on your throne, please remember these words. The prophecy will not come to pass.”

•~•~•~•~•~•

“Hey, did you hear? Everyone’s been saying that The Creator has a favorite Acolyte!”

“They do? But I thought They were impartial.”

“It seems even the Gods play favorites…” 

“It’s Focalors!”

“Who’s the lucky person?”

“Seriously? I suppose They have been staying in Fontaine a lot, but wasn’t it Fontaine that falsely charged Them in the first place?”

“I know, right? I mean, I like Lady Furina as much as the next guy but, she isn’t the most…” 

“Shh! Hey, don’t finish that thought! You don’t want to get charged with blasphemy, do you? You can’t us insult Their favorite like that!”

“So? Do you think she’ll be made a consort?”

“Hey! What did I just say? We’re not talking about this anymore. I’m not going to get beheaded for gossip.”

“They have been meeting with her more often than anyone else… I wouldn’t be surprised if there was something between them…”

•~•~•~•~•~•

“Your Holiness, may I ask why you have me visit you so often?” Furina fiddles with her hands, staring down at her lap. You look at her curiously before answering.

“I feel at ease when I am with you,” comes your reply. “We have more in common than you think.”

“We have something in common?” Asks Furina, bewildered. “What is it?” You smile at her.

“Patience, Furina. All in due time.”

•~•~•~•~•~•

“Hey, did you hear? Have you heard the news? Lady Furina is a human!”

“I hear she was placed under a curse.”

“A human?! But she’s been alive for five hundred years!”

“But why would she pretend to be a god?”

“Beats me.”

“Of course not. Why would They play favorites with her if They knew she was human?”

“What about The Creator? Do you think They knew?”

“But how could They not have known? They are the God above Gods, after all.”

“I have no idea.”

“Do you think They knew?”

•~•~•~•~•~•

“So this is what you meant,” Furina says, nibbling on a cake you had imported from Liyue. “When you said everything would work out, I mean.”

“Yes,” you reply, sipping from your teacup.

“Yes,” you say again. “It must have been so hard for you. I can only imagine the loneliness and suffering you’ve had to endure these past hundreds of years.” Furina looks to be on the verge of tears. You’ve wanted to say this to her for a long time. You allow her to lean into you as she releases five centuries worth of tears. When she finally stops, the front of your shirt is thoroughly soaked. You can't find it in yourself to mind. 

“You knew this whole time, didn’t you?”

“I must apologize for showing you something so unsightly,” she says, seemingly embarrassed. 

You tell her you don't mind, though it seems to do little to ease her worries. 

“Your Reverence, may I ask…why me?” You raise an eyebrow, prompting her to continue. “I mean, I’m nobody special. Not anymore, anyway. I’m not an Archon, I’ve quit the stage, I’m not even immortal…Why do you choose to waste your time with someone like me?”

“What? N-no, I–”

“Are you questioning my judgement?”

“I was joking, you know.”

“O-oh, I see—I mean, yes, of course you were! I was merely playing along, eheh…” 

“Furina,” you say, placing your teacup in its saucer as Furina hastens to do the same. “Do you remember what I said to you the last time we met?”

“Just as I said back then, we have more in common than you may realize.”

“Of course, you said that you felt at ease when you were with me, but I still don’t understand why…”

“We have something in common? But what could it—No, you don’t mean…?”

“I-I can’t. It can’t possibly be true, I must have lost my mind for a moment.”

“Say it.”

“Forgive me, please. I don’t know what came over me, I-I—”

“Say it.”

“Say it.” Furina pauses, seeming to mull over her options. Her movements are skittish, her voice full of anxiety as she paces back and forth, muttering words of apology and justifications.

“You’re not…our God?” Her voice is little more than a whisper. You nod at her, and she collapses onto the couch. “B-but your blood! What about your blood?”

“I’m afraid I don’t know the answer to that, either. It used to be red, but it changed once I came to this world. I don’t know how or why.” Furina remains silent, seeming to mull over your words even as the world around her collapses. 

“What about the vessels? The Traveler? You controlled them, didn't you? You controlled me!”

“That was my doing, but not my power."

“I don’t understand.”

“Neither do I.” You shrug, taking your fork to your slice of cake.

“Fake deep,” you say. “Most of what comes out of my mouth is total BS, but people nod along and act like it’s something profound because they believe I am a God.” 

“What about your speech? All the cryptic wording and allegories?”

“Wisdom isn’t something you can just fake. The people aren’t stupid, they know when they’re being fed what isn’t food.”

“And yet, here we are.” 

“And yet, they didn’t.”

“You can’t not be our God, surely the Archons would have noticed if–” Furina stands up, pacing back and fourth like a caged animal.

“But, but—!”

“Of course, you’re human! But you’re still our God! Did what you said about oceans and puddles really mean nothing at all?! Everyone said you’re an incarnation of The Creator. How can that be lies? You even said that you had lost all memories of Godhood; how can you know that it’s not true?” She raises some good points, but you know it’s nothing more than the ramblings of the desperate.You really hadn’t expected her to take it so hard. Perhaps you overestimated her. Furina throws herself back onto the couch and then sighs. She moves to sit upright and smooth out the creases in her outfit. “I suppose you would know more about this situation than I would, and I must apologize for my…outburst. You must understand, this is quite a shock to me.” You nod at her. 

“I’m sorry, Furina. But I really am human, just like you.”

“But still,” she says. “How can you be so sure?”

“Furina,” you say hesitantly, looking at her as if you were about to say something unpleasant. “The Creator…doesn't exist.”

#yandere genshin x reader #yandere genshin #yandere genshin impact #sagau x reader #genshin impact sagau #genshin sagau #sagau #self aware genshin #yandere neuvillette #yandere wriothesley #yandere furina

[yuuuhiii]

can i get a jjk matchup for a reader who always tends to put herself down in order to make others look better; she does it out of the kindness of her heart, but everyone’s got a sneaking suspicion that she genuinely thinks of herself as less. even so, she’s usually the one to bring life to a party, and is often described a ball of sunshine :3 TYSM

i match you with SUGURU GETO ᥫ᭡

You had a habit.

A habit that Suguru never liked.

When he wasn’t goofing off with Satoru he’d be reserved and in his head.

Or his favorite, admiring you.

He’d always watch from afar as you’d converse with Shoko or Nanami, a small smile on his face. It’s not like he never talked to you, he did, he made an effort too. He didn’t really have to because you were a bright person. Always so positive and caring.

Suguru found everything about you endearing. Yet he hated how you viewed yourself. You’d talk so highly about your comrades, however when it came to yourself you never had good things to say. Always saying you needed to improve in this or were terrible at that.

He wished you could see yourself how he saw you. You were truly perfect to him and he’d do anything to protect you.

Suguru read you like an open book. He probably knew you better than you knew yourself. You were like Satoru, in a way at least.

You weren’t obnoxious and loud. You were kind and thoughtful. A smile that lit up his world and any room you were in. But he could see through it, the act you’d put up to disguise the ugly thoughts you had of yourself.

It pained him to see how sometimes you’d be laughing your heart out with Shoko, just to turn around and look almost empty.

Night creeps around and you were practically third wheeling with Suguru and Satoru. He was showing off, as usual. Proving how much cooler he was than Suguru.

“That’s amazing, you’re really strong Gojo.” He flicks his white hair and Suguru rolls his eyes.

“Don’t feed his ego. He doesn’t need it.” You gaze at him and Satoru laughs.

“You jealous Suguru?” Suguru would pout and turn away.

“I could teach you how to do it, you know, personal lessons.” Satoru gazes at you with playfulness, a small grin on his lips.

“Oh no! It’s fine, I wouldn’t be able to do that, I’m not strong.” You laugh but now Suguru is pouting for another reason.

“Well obviously, no one’s as strong as me.” He laughs again and you laugh along with him. However Suguru is staring straight at you, his brows furrowed. Satoru announces he’s gonna shower, trudging down the hallway.

“Why do you do that.” You turn to him and he’s upset, something you rarely see, at least towards you.

“Do what?” You softly smile and he almost caves.

“You’re always putting yourself down, like you’re lesser than us or something.” Your eyes widen just a bit, your hands fiddling with your shirt.

“No I don’t.” You laugh awkwardly.

“You do.” He says more sternly and you look ashamed.

“You’re a beautiful girl, inside and out, I wish you’d see that.” He says, a small blush on his face. You’re blushing as well, just the both of you sitting on the couch in the dormitory.

“I like you.” He mumbles and you turn to him.

He’s blushing even more and you feel yourself heat up. Then he turns to you with such gentleness in his eyes you’re captivated.

“I’d like to show you or prove it to you. If you’ll let me.” He whispers and you smile.

“I’d like that.” He mirrors your soft smile, the both of you leaning closer and closer.

“I’m gone for 10 minutes!” Satoru yells and the both of you shoot apart.

“I gotta say I didn’t think you had it in you.” Satoru laughs, rubbing the towel over his hair and the rest was history.

Suguru made it up with a nice date the next day.

© yuuuhiii 24 : don’t plagiarize, translate, or post my work on other platforms

#—ai’s 1k event٩(๑❛ᴗ❛๑)۶ #geto suguru x y/n #geto suguru x you #getou suguru x reader #geto suguru x reader #suguru x reader #suguru x you #suguru x y/n #suguru fluff #geto x y/n #geto x you #geto x reader #geto fluff #suguru imagine #geto drabble #jjk x reader #jjk x y/n #jjk x you #jjk imagines #jjk drabbles #jjk fluff #jjk scenarios

[jungkookschin]

older

think i need someone older, just a little bit colder, take the weight off your shoulders

synopsis: all your friends say you're delusional for thinking you have a chance with jungkook, the handsome older man you've known since forever, but you just can't seem to let him go. word count: 18k

pairing: older!jungkook x afab reader

genre: age gap au (seven years), social media au!!!, childhood acquaintance au, fluff, comedy, angsty, outta pocket, alludes to sexual innuendoes warnings: character death (not jk or y/n), cursing, nudity,

author's note: i am so overwhelmed with the support i've gotten for this fic!! obviously this isn't going to be the best written fanfic, but i genuinely enjoyed writing it!! and yes, there will be a part 2!

PART 1 | PART 2

“Girl.. be for real. He doesn’t want you.” Beomgyu’s opinion bounces off your bedroom wall but shoots into your heart like an arrow; you subtly glare at him through your vanity mirror. Though, the Snorlax plush headband and unblended concealer in triangles under your eyes is far less than intimidating. 

“Okay, fuck you-”

Beomgyu shrugs. “You can wear all the makeup in the world and you would never get his attention,” he nonchalantly utters, not caring enough to even look at you while he addresses you. You pout, sulking as Beomgyu’s very real assertion settles into your system. 

Jeon Jungkook would never see you that way. 

He adores you because you’ve been acquainted since childhood- your parents being close friends. He’s seven years older than you and has witnessed you blossom from a childish boy-crazy kid to an equally boy-crazy adult, the same way you’ve seen him go from a prepubescent pre teen to a hot, older, rich, man. 

“Look, and that’s not to say that you’re not pretty or whatever because you are pretty and a lot of guys want you, but Jungkook… he’s just too old for you,” he offers you an empathetic smile before attempting to assuage the petulance in the air.  “Honestly, I would be even more concerned if he responded to your advances because that would be.. hella weird.”

Beomgyu’s claims often transform your brain into a philosophical battlefield. Would it really be all that inappropriate for Jungkook to see you as a woman? An age gap of seven years holds no real significance if you were both in your 20’s, right? But does Jungkook knowing you since childhood completely nullify any chance you have with him?

“Oh fuck off with that. I’m not a little kid anymore. I’m already 19 years old, almost 20-”

“The delusion is never escaping this one…” Beomgyu mumbles. He finally looks up from his phone when you spring up from your chair and stomp over to him. You hold your manicured claw up to scratch his face, but Beomgyu grabs your wrist before you can do any damage. 

“You’re such a horse girl, don’t try to scratch me- wait are you crying?” Beomgyu’s gaze melts after noticing the tears accumulating in your waterline. 

“No!” you respond, the tip of your nose becoming slightly red. You raise your sleeve to wipe your nose. 

“Wait Y/N! You’re going to get makeup all over my hoodie!-” 

Beomgyu halts when he sees your unblended concealer transfer onto his very white and expensive hoodie. His lips form into a straight line while he stares at you blankly. 

“Sorry?” you squeak. He gestures dramatically- blinking at you like a pissed off owl.

…

…

…

You bolt to the door, sprinting from Beomgyu before he quickly follows in pursuit of you. You run through the house, tumbling down the stairs frantically, and when you turn the corner, you stub your toe against the wall, stumbling over and falling flat on your face. 

You shriek in pain, holding onto your toe. Your eyes immediately tear up, sobbing through the pain blistering in your toe. And for some reason, Beomgyu is nowhere to be found. 

“Y/N? Are you okay?” 

You freeze when none other than Jungkook pops out of his room, completely shirtless with nothing but gray sweats on. His abs are literally ripping in your face and his entire sleeve of beautiful tattoos are practically mocking you- especially the mask one. It's laughing in your face because it gets to be on Jungkook’s body and you don’t.  

You begin to cry even harder. No physical pain would ever compare to the pain of not being able to have him. 

“Whoa, whoa, what happened?” Jungkook kneels down and takes your foot in his large hands. 

Thank God you got your toes done the day before. His thumbs press into the balls of your feet while he carefully inspects your toes. “Not fractured, I think. Think you can get up, baby?”

Baby. He’s been calling you that stupid nickname since forever. That’s what  everybody used to call you when you were younger; you were the youngest of all your parents’ friends’ kids after all. But for some reason, the nickname only seemed to stick with Jungkook. He has this horrible tendency (not really) of doting on you, taking care of you, and spoiling you to oblivion. 

You sniffle, shaking your head. 

Jungkook’s handsome face crinkles into a subtle laughter, an amused expression etched onto his features.  He takes his pointer finger and thumb, pinching your nostrils and wiping your snot onto his sweats. 

You smile sheepishly, butterflies erupting in your stomach. 

This man will literally touch your feet and boogers as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. That has to mean something, right? 

Jungkook scoops you into his arms bridal style and takes you into his room. 

Why Jungkook has a room in your house is beyond you. It seems like he was always over doing some errands for your parents- not that you were complaining, of course. He sets you down on his bed and uses his large palm to smooth over the frizzy hairs that are sticking up. 

“Just stay here for a while. I’ll take you to Urgent Care if it hurts in a few hours.”

Truth be told, that shit didn’t even hurt anymore, but there’s no way you were going to pass this opportunity up. You nuzzle into Jungkook’s sheets, his masculine smell absolutely amplifying your will to live. His cologne smells so good, the musky elegance of his scent making you dizzy as you bask in his essence. 

Anyways! Looks like you’re canceling your plans with Beomgyu. Apparently, he already knows that. 

Shutting your phone off, your eyes drift towards Jungkook, owlishly blinking at the computer code projected onto his large monitor. He’s got everything going for him: rich, hot, smart, successful. You want to cry again. “Jungkook, can I ask you something?”

His focus remains on the screen, eyes still boring onto the monitor before he absentmindedly responds, “Sup?”

“What would you do if a bear, a lion, and a gorilla just walked into this room right now?”

Jungkook’s fingers pause, hovering above his light up keyboard. He swivels around in his chair, his handsome features crinkling in evident confusion. 

“I’m serious. What would you do if a bear, a lion, and a gorilla showed up in your room? If you aren’t able to answer the question, then I don’t really know if I feel safe here,” you elaborate as you gesture with your hands, the bratty tone laced in your voice attempting to guilt trip him for not having a backup plan for this very specific specific situation. 

“Easy. I would feed you to them and then escape,” Jungkook bites back a cheeky smile  before spinning around and returning to his work. 

You gasp dramatically, pouting before you pull his covers over your head. 

Jungkook hums to himself, laughing at how obnoxious you can be.

Later on, another question is conjured in your imaginative little mind, and Jungkook’s lip twitches when he hears your classic Jungkook, I have another question. 

“Hmmm?”

“Do you think you could put me on with your piercing guy?”

Jungkook swivels around in his chair once again. “Thought you already had your ears and belly pierced.”

“It’s not enough. I want more. Wanna be like you,” you murmur, eyes settling on his five piercings decorating his left lobe, the one in his eyebrow, and the two on his lips. 

“It is enough,” he immediately counters, “You shouldn’t put holes in your body.”

You cock a brow at him.  “I know you’re not talking.”

Jungkook’s lip twitches upwards at your cheekiness. “Yea, I’ll send you his instagram. Tell him you’re with me and he’ll squeeze you in as soon as possible.”

-

“And I told Soobin to not piss in the water bottle, but he did anyway. And guess what? I almost drank from the same water bottle. Can you believe that? I was so fucking pissed at him I almost threw his piss back on him…” Yeonjun can tangibly feel that you’re not all there, your eyes occasionally drifting off- so his eyes follow your train of vision until-

“Oh c’mon Y/N!” Yeonjun’s fingers release the grip on the gym equipment, causing the weights to thunderously slam back into place. You yelp, flinching a bit before you swat Yeonjun’s biceps. 

“You scared me you bitch!”

“You scare me! And what the fuck are you wearing? What kind of basic bitch wears a pink set to the gym?”

You gasp dramatically. “You did not just say that.”

“And stop drooling over Jungkook! He doesn’t want you-mmmphh!” You clasp your palm over Yeonjun’s mouth mid-sentence, your boba eyes glaring up at him. You release your hand, pouting at him dramatically when you feel you’ve tortured him enough. 

Hands on your hips, you continue glowering at him and he gladly reciprocates the scowl on your lips. 

Yeonjun acquiesces from the glare-off almost immediately, too entirely soft to hold a grudge against his best friend. “Did you only agree to come to the gym with me to see Jungkook?” he asks, sincere disappointment laced in his words. 

You immediately soften, disheartened to hear the crestfallenness in his tone. You shake your head at the notion. “No- I wouldn’t do that. I swear he’s here by coincidence,” you explain thoughtfully, “I’m sorry for being an inattentive friend. It wasn’t intentional. I just get distracted whenever I see him. I’m sorry.” Your eyes return to Yeonjun’s who smiles knowingly at you. He opens his arms, offering an embrace and you gladly accept, hugging all the problems away. 

“You’re such a lovestruck girl,” Yeonjun teases. 

“I can’t help it. He just looks so good. Look at his arms and his tattoos- oh Yeonjun, I’ll never get over him. What should I do?”

“We just have to kill him. That’s the only option left,” your eyes meet his, his empty gaze boring into your skull before you both burst into giggles. 

“You’re right. That is the only option left.” You take a step back to stretch your arms, releasing the tension in your limbs until you sense a very familiar walking pattern approaching you.

“Hey Y/N,” Jungkook casually greets, creeping behind you to wrap a single arm around your shoulder. He pulls you closer to him from behind, nonchalantly nuzzling his forehead into the back of your head. You use both your hands to grip onto his thick forearm. “Um, hey Kook.”

Yeonjun bites back laughter, watching how you practically become hysterical at Jungkook’s casual gesture. 

Jungkook uses his vacant hand to dap up Yeonjun- over your head. “What’s up Yeonjun?” Jungkook grins. Yeonjun reciprocates the friendly greeting. “Hey, how’ve you been?  You looked great with the tricep presses.”

Jungkook beams at that. “Oh, you saw? I’ve been bulking so I’m trying to go super heavy with the weights.”

“I can tell. You look fucking enormous,” Yeonjun comments. 

Jungkook immediately dismisses the compliment with a wave. “Don’t say that. You look good too…”

Tuning out of the interaction, your brain begins to malfunction when you realize that Jungkook is extremely familiar with all of your friends. You definitely aren’t the most social person, often opting to napping in your cozy bed instead of going into the harsh, unforgiving world, but you are lucky enough to have great friends like Yunjin, Yeonjun, Beomgyu, and Jungkook knows all of them. That had to be indicative of something deeper, right? Perhaps his underlying affection for you? Or a sign that he was possibly in love with you? 

“What are you giggling about?” Jungkook teases, gently using his vacant hand to ruffle your hair. 

You crimson intensely. “Nothing,” you sheepishly respond, skitterishly ducking under Jungkook’s arm to scurry behind Yeonjun, using your friend as a protective shield. 

“What’s up with her?” Jungkook asks Yeonjun, to which Yeonjun feigns ignorance. “Not a clue.”

“Well then, I’m gonna head out. I’m actually staying at Y/N’s for a bit because her parents are out of town. Can you believe I still have to babysit her?” Jungkook says to Yeonjun, giving you a teasing glance. 

“It’s just in case someone stalks me or tries to kill me! I don’t need to be babysat,” you emphasize, scowling at Jungkook and he can’t help but to reach out and pinch your cheek. The casual gesture sends you over the moon. 

“Whatever you say. You need a ride home though? I can wait so Yeonjun doesn’t have to waste gas on you,” Jungkook suggests, eyes darting towards yours then Yeonjun’s to detect any traces of reticence or hesitation in his features. 

You do the same, glancing towards Yeonjun who actually sports a look of indifference. You playfully link your arms with Yeonjun’s before sending Jungkook a downward smile. “It’s okay Kook.  Wanna spend time with my friend today.”

A touched gasp leaves Yeonjun’s lips as he holds his hand over his heart, gesticulating dramatically to convey his surprise that you would choose him over the man you’ve been salivating over the past thirty minutes. 

Jungkook has no protests about your preference. “Alright Y/N, see you at home. See you Yeonjun,” he gives you a little squeeze before he departs. 

Yeonjun waits until Jungkook is out of ear shot to provoke you, mocking you in an obnoxious, high pitched voice, “I don’t need to be babysat! You’re such a baby- but thank you for choosing me, you know.”

You tilt your head, eyebrows pinching before you subtly frown at Yeonjun’s comment. “Of course I would choose you. You’re my friend.” You say it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world- because it kinda is. Bros over hoes any day. 

Yeonjun’s lips quirk up at the sentiment, “Oh how touching, thank you so much for gracing me with your presence, my queen.”

-

Jungkook thinks you can be such a princess sometimes, especially when you drag your feet back into the house, a sour expression consuming your pretty features. Particularly receptive to your emotional fluctuations, he doesn’t hesitate to ask you what’s up. 

He leans against the kitchen counter, rolling his sleeves up to his elbows as his eyes settle on your moping figure. “Who made you sad? Bring them to me right now,” he muses. 

You pause, letting your light green gym bag (with little Snorlax’s decorated all over it) fall to the floor with a thud before gazing at him with a vacuous expression. “Why are you dressed up?” you point towards his work attire- a simple white button up and slacks. The buttons on his dress shirt are undone and messy, giving you access to his chest and it makes you want to roll around on the floor and cry. His slacks are tight- accentuating his long, muscular legs and you decide that you’d be okay with dying only if  you were suffocated between his thighs. 

“Had a work call,” he responds, indifference laced in his voice, “Now who made you sad? Want oppa to handle it for you?” he teases, releasing a breathless laugh at the way your nose scrunches up in disgust. 

Nonetheless, you spill everything to Jungkook- because you always spill everything to Jungkook and because you trust him with everything in you. He makes you feel safe. Plopping yourself down on the seat by the dining counter, you wordlessly slide your phone across the counter. Jungkook effortlessly stops your phone with a single hand, his eyes scanning across the array of text messages popping up on the screen. 

“Not this guy again,” he mutters under his breath, gauging the situation. 

“I know!” you concede, “Wish he would leave me alone- but I feel like I have to respond.”

The text messages were from none other than your ex-boyfriend, telling you how much he misses you, how he’ll do better for you, and every other generic I want you back text in the book.  

There are various reasons why you feel obligated to respond to him: (a) the whole breakup was a mess and (b) it was your fault. You were in a long-term, committed relationship with your high school sweetheart until you recognized your exponentially growing feelings for Jungkook. The guilt of breaking your ex’s heart haunts you- his crying, tear-stained face often popping up in your mind when you feel shitty, making you feel even shittier.  Though you were no longer emotionally tied to him you do feel obligated to give him closure, or at the very least respond to his text messages.  

But you’ve had this conversation with your ex numerous times. How much closure does one need in order to move on?

“You don’t have to respond to him,” Jungkook’s sonorous voice pulls you from the thoughts plaguing your mind. “You’ve already told him how you feel,” Jungkook is the rational force in your life, always tugging you towards the right direction, especially when your susceptible mind feels the need to please everyone and everything.

“I know,” you sigh, “I just feel bad. He was my first kiss, first boyfriend. It feels like I just abandoned him.”

A look of contemplation blankets Jungkook’s handsome face, evident by the way his fingers trace over his chin and lips. “That’s true,” he eventually asserts, “but no one as young as you should stay in a relationship out of obligation.” He approaches you and settles himself down on the vacant seat beside you. “Actually Y/N, I’m proud of you for building up the courage to let him go. It would be more painful if you forced yourself to stay.” 

You purse your lips and nod, allowing yourself to enjoy the sensation of Jungkook comfortingly rubbing your back. “t’s just sad. I used to love him.”

“I know Y/N, but sometimes you just have to start living in the present instead of the past. If you respond you’re just going to give him false hope. Just let it be,” he articulates, using prudence to assuage you.

You nod, craning your head to sustain eye contact with him, making the conversation feel all the more intimate and personal, “How would you feel if you were him? I mean- if your girlfriend broke up with you and you were still like- in love- with her?”

He tilts his head, thoroughly contemplating the question because he takes your feelings seriously, and he wants to give you the right answers. “If my girlfriend loses feelings then she loses feelings, there’s nothing I can do about it. I definitely wouldn’t beg for her back, I’d go out and make a lot of money instead,” he smiles, “But I wouldn’t know how it feels. I’ve never been dumped before,” he adds. 

“Seriously?” you interject, not believing that Jungkook has never been dumped in his 26 years of living. “What about that one girl you brought to Thanksgiving Dinner a few years ago? What happened to her?”

“Ahh her?” he somewhat grimaces at the thought of his ex-girlfriend, “She was getting a little too suffocating so I let her go. She was really pissed off- tried to key my car and shit,” he states. 

You gasp. His ex-girlfriend was so sweet to you- she even bought you a Snorlax plush keychain. But you can imagine Jungkook trying to hold her back while she jostles out of his grip, trying to key his car- his baby. “No way? If she ever comes back, just let me know. I’ll throw hands for you,” you enunciate, showing him your fists to which Jungkook just scoffs in amusement. 

“Yea, I’ll definitely call you,” he remarks sarcastically before getting up, “So are you good, baby?” he asks, casually resting his hand on your shoulder, and you nod. 

“‘M good. I’m not gonna respond to him.”

Jungkook’s lips quirk up at that. “Good.”

-

 Jungkook is livid. You can tell by the way he spam calls you even after you repeatedly reject his calls. You quietly sneak out of the lecture hall and answer his call once you’ve reached the hallway. 

“What? I’m in class,” you impatiently mutter. 

“You’re fucking kidding, aren’t you?” he scoffs through the phone, “I canceled your appointment, by the way.”

The color drains from your face once you realize what this is about. “He told you?”

“You’re out of your fucking mind if you thought you could go through me to get your nipples pierced! I can’t believe you thought I would let you do that!”

“Why? What’s wrong with it?” you whisper shout into his phone, “I’m an adult, I can do whatever I want!”

“No you’re not. Baby, you can’t even drink,” he reiterates, a little more calmly this time. 

“Who cares? You’re not my mom! I can do whatever I want. Even if it’s through someone else!” you bark back. The silence that ensues intimidates you.

“Baby.” His voice is low, and it’s kinda hot but you don’t pay attention to it because of how angry you are at him trying to monopolize your actions.

“I’m not a fucking baby anymore so stop calling me that!” 

“You’re not a baby?” Jungkook laughs lowly into the phone, as if the claim itself is ridiculous.

“‘m not.” He can practically hear your pout through the phone.

“You can’t even get on a plane by yourself.”

You gasp at Jungkook’s low blow. That was one time. A month ago, you took a flight to Vegas for EDC to meet up with Yunjin, who flew out the day before you. But you had no clue how to check your bag in, and were far too intimidated to go through the security check by yourself. What if they thought your ID was fake? Or worse what if they sent you to jail? There was just no way you could go through by yourself.

You remember the way Jungkook shook his head at your preposterous notions but nonetheless still agreed to take care of you.

So Jungkook drove you to the airport, carried your bag for you, weighed it, and checked it in. He also stood with you for the entire thirty minute wait at security and only left the airport when called and told him you were waiting at the departure gate.

You don’t respond, and he takes it as an opportunity to further his point. 

“That’s what I thought. End of story. You’re not getting it done.” 

He hangs up and you blissfully sigh. This literally takes feminism back 32904098 years, but you kind of love a man that can put you in your place. 

-

Jungkook goes to the gym everyday solely so he can beat the shit out of Taehyung and Mingyu, who get off on tormenting him for his extremely complex and profound feelings for you. 

Hooking up to the bluetooth speaker and blaring the sound of police sirens, going “Ayo! He’s right here, officer!” every time they walk past a policeman- they even go as far as putting handcuffs on him while he sleeps- hooting and howling in laughter when Jungkook wakes with his hands restrained.  

Initially, it made his intestines twist and turn with pure guilt, guilt about harboring feelings for you, the little girl who used to prance around his room and do cartwheels in futile attempts to impress him. 

His friends make him feel like shit, but they’re his friends for a reason. 

“Hey, so how’s Y/N?” Mingyu casually asks, sinking into the welcoming leather of Jungkook’s sleek, black sofa. He props his feet up on Jungkook’s coffee table-  mahogany brown and custom designed to suit Jungkook’s meticulous and elegant taste. 

Jungkook narrows his eyes at the nonchalance of the comment, half expecting Taehyung to pop out of nowhere in policeman cosplay, ready to put him in cuffs. “Why’re you asking?”

When Mingyu detects the hostility blanketing Jungkook’s features, his jaw drops in realization of the reality of the situation. “Wait.. you don’t take us seriously when we tease you about that shit, right?”

Jungkook cocks his head in confusion, settling beside Mingyu, chopsticks in hand as he blows on his ramen. “I mean, kinda. I feel guilty about it.”

Mingyu eyes his friend for a while, and Jungkook slowly turns his head towards Mingyu when he feels lasers boring holes into his skull. “What, asshole?”

“Ah, sorry man. I didn’t know it bothered you. I kind of thought it was a given that you and Y/N are cute together. Didn’t know the age gap bothered you.”

Oh. 

Jungkook pauses, setting his sizzling ramen back into the plastic container instead of into his mouth, and Mingyu feels the need to further elaborate. 

“I mean, you’re always helping her out, taking care of her,  that’s pretty cute.”

Jungkook blinks at Mingyu, raking his tattooed hand through his hair. “Doesn’t that just make me look like a dumbass?” he mutters, before letting out a bitter, light-hearted laughter at the reality of his assertion.  

His emotions for you run deep and intricate, but one thing remains unequivocally clear: he doesn't do these things because he expects something in return. That would be selfish. Obligation doesn't factor into his decisions either. Jungkook doesn't subscribe to such motivations when it comes to his personal life. He views it as unnecessary and cumbersome—except when it involves you. Whether it's looking after you, lending you money, helping you with homework, or driving you to the airport, he does it all because he genuinely loves you.

He acknowledges the peculiarity of his natural inclination to care for you. In the past, he's ended numerous relationships due to girls he found excessively clingy, suffocating, or overbearing, all attributes he easily uses to describe you- but he lives for that shit when it comes to you.

Mingyu’s forehead wrinkles in confusion. “What? That girl loves you, Jungkook. If she does good in school and gets rich, you’d be bathing in that shit,” Mingyu jokes, causing Jungkook to sputter out laughter at the absurd thought. 

“Right now though?” Mingyu continues, “She wouldn’t be able to change your tire or some shit, but she brings you this sense of peace, and that’s something every guy needs in his girl.” 

Jungkook pauses at that. 

-

Jungkook is abruptly awoken by the blaring sound of his ringtone. Groggily, he reaches for his phone on the nightstand, eyes barely open. 

You, the only person that would call him at 3 in the morning, and you the only person he would answer at 3 in the morning.

Babysitting is the last word he would use to explain why he’s at your house right now. He’s at your house because, well,  he would do anything for you, even if you aren’t aware of the lengths he would go to keep you satiated and happy. 

He’s aware that men find you charming for your ditzy and oblivious nature, but Jungkook likes you regardless of whether or not you possess such an arbitrary trait. But it is true that there are a lot of things you aren’t aware of, like how utterly lovely you are. Jungkook knows you- sees how oblivious you are to the men who shamelessly ogle at you, or the boys who practically break their necks to get a glimpse at you. 

You have this resonating effect on him. You drive him crazy and you don’t even know it.

Initially, Jungkook had never truly focused his attention on you, yet as time passed, an irresistible attraction began to pull him toward you. He vividly recalls an incident in particular that left him dumbfounded.

Jungkook’s mom visited yours to drop off some vegetable. Gifting fruits and vegetables from their gardens are the way the aunties demonstrate their love and appreciation for one another. Jungkook reckons you didn’t know he was there because you pranced down the stairs with the tiniest boy shorts and  camisole top. Jungkook isn’t the type of man to become disoriented over the sight of a woman’s body, practically desensitized from all the women he’s been with, but he stiffens at your presence.

“Wow baby!” His mother giggles, using your classic nickname as she ogles you shamelessly, “You’re getting really sexy!” 

She playfully nudges your mom, “Are you ready to have grandchildren?” The joke makes your mother roll her eyes, though a smile lingers on her lips, infinitely proud of her beautiful daughter.

“I wish someone would marry my daughter!” Your mom jests, “All she ever does is sleep! I just wish a man would even look her way!” 

Jungkook’s eyebrows pinch in bewilderment. He knew your mother was only joking, teasing you as per usual- because clearly, you are captivatingly gorgeous. You make a sly comment in return to make his mom giggle, always so smooth and sociable with the old ladies. 

Suddenly, you randomly swivel around, yelping at Jungkook’s presence. “Oh hey,” you greet, fidgeting in place, “I didn’t know you were here. Sorry- I should cover up a little.”

For the first time in his life Jungkook is speechless in front of you. You. You just look so pretty standing in front of him, your manicured fingers twirling a single strand of hair, gazing at him and gnawing your lips like he makes you nervous when in reality you make him tremble with just one look. It makes his chest tighten and he inhales deeply to compose himself.

“No. Not at all, you should be comfortable in your own home,” the smile he offers you is forced, polite, and you’re bewildered at the tension accumulating between you and him. Your eyes glint downward; you can’t even look at him, and suddenly a bold wave of impulsivity washes over you.

“Hey Jungkook, can we talk in the other room?”

Jungkook’s eyes flash towards his mother’s then rapidly back at you. Subconsciously, his eyes trace down your body and he feels like has to physically gouge his eyes out to prevent himself from looking.

“Yea, sure.”

He follows you upstairs into the guest room, taking extreme measures to keep his pupils focused on the ceiling lights above your head. However, his efforts work against him because the ceiling lights shine on you like a spotlight, illuminating your gorgeous figure as you make your way up the stairs.

Your fingers wrap around his forearm and you pull him into the room.

You waste no time getting straight to the point.“Jungkook, I think I’m pregnant.”

Jungkook blinks, processing what you just said. “Huh?”

You bite your lip anxiously, crossing your arms while you look down at your toes. “My period is late, and I don’t know what to do- you’re the only person I trust to talk about this.”

Jungkook doesn’t hesitate to confirm the sentiment. “You can trust me with anything. I’ll always take care of you- ‘m just a little shocked because I thought you were still a virgin.”

Gasping dramatically, you pout at him and stomp your foot. “I’m not a little kid anymore.”

Yea, clearly not, he thinks. “Just act normal. After I drop my mom off at home I’ll come back with a pregnancy test.”

You nod and give him a downward smile. “Thanks- ‘m just really nervous and I hope I’m not pregnant because I don’t even remember who the dad is and-“

Jungkook frowns at that, perturbation morphing onto his features. “Y/N, you don’t remember who the dad is? Please don’t do that- only sleep with people you trust. Please.”

“I trust you.” 

The words tumble from your lips immediately, before you can even process your thoughts. You clasp your hand over your mouth, a small gasp leaving your lips as you gaze up at him in pure horror. 

Jungkook doesn’t know what to think- doesn’t even know if that was just a fragment of his imagination. He blinks at you, brain too fused to even conjure a proper response.

“Wait- I didn’t mean it like that!” you blurt out. At that moment, you give up on any attempt to salvage the situation and scurry out of the room, stumbling back down the stairs. 

Jungkook runs his hands over his face. 

He’s going to hell for the thoughts running through his mind.

Thank God you weren’t pregnant but after that night Jungkook just never looked at you as just a family friend. It’s complicated . It’s morally conflicting, and it frustrates Jungkook like nothing else.

“Hello?” he speaks into the phone

“I bled on my bed,” you sniffle into the phone, “Just please come upstairs,” you say before abruptly hanging up.

He begrudgingly rises from his bed. Though tired, he doesn’t hesitate to throw his black t-shirt over his head to look presentable for when he checks up on you.  Rubbing at his eyes with his knuckles, he shoves his hands into the pockets of his black sweats as he makes his way up the stairs. He gently opens the door to see you sitting idly under your covers, clinging onto your Snorlax plushie for dear life. You’re wearing 

He sits on the edge of your bed. “You ran out of pads?”

You don’t say anything, remaining stiff like an ice sculpture, not melting under Jungkook’s warm touch like you usually do.

He nods at you and gently tugs on your oversized T-shirt, urging you to get up as he sticks out his hand. “Change the sheets and I’ll go out and buy you some pads-“

“Jungkook, I'm in love with you.” 

Abrupt. 

Impulsive. 

Messy. 

But you feel like you just have to say it.  With a radiant glow on your rosy cheeks, you purse your lips in a demure manner, physically unable to look at him. You have to look at Snorlax to get your words out instead. 

You inhale deeply. “I’m sorry if that makes you uncomfortable, and I’m sorry if it creeps you out but I’ve always had feelings for you- and I hate you for it because I don’t think I’ll ever have the capacity to love anyone else like I love you.” With glossy eyes you finally peer at him just to see an entirely indecipherable expression- you’re not sure if it conveys shock, bewilderment, or horror but it evokes the most unsettling and humiliating sensation in the pit of your stomach. 

Just as day transforms into night, humiliation morphs into anger, and anger morphs into nonsensicality. Outrage bubbles within you and you chuck the Snorlax plushie at his face. 

“Fuck you! How can you treat me the way you do and expect me not to feel anything?! I emotionally cheated on my ex with you! You’re the fucking worst and I hate you. I hate you so fucking much!” Your hands frantically search for every single squishmallow, plushie, and teddy bear you have and you violently chuck your beloved squishies at him.  From zero to one hundred, you’ve escalated rapidly and you feel like you’ll die if you don’t convey everything to him right now, in this moment. 

Jungkook remains stoic, somewhat resembling the statue of a Greek god: handsome and stagnant, not even flinching at the impact of your squishies hitting his built body or the way you nonsensically scream at him.

“This is all your fucking fault Jungkook. You ruined my life! You ruined love for me! I’ll never get a boyfriend, never get married, never have kids because of you! I’m going to die alone and it’ll be all your fucking fault! How could you do that to me? How could you do that to me?” You erupt into sobs, pushing your face into your hands as you violently cry. Snot, tears, and saliva leak from your face as the chagrin completely consumes you. 

“Y/N.” The sound of Jungkook’s deep, baritone voice is barely audible over the sounds of your heaving. 

“I’m sorry Y/N.” He does sound sorry, but you can’t help but question the authenticity of his words because he didn’t do anything wrong in the first place. It’s like he’s merely uttering an apology to appease you. 

But for Jungkook, he’ll apologize a million times if it helps dry your tears.  He never let his pride get in the way when it comes to you.

He sits at the edge of your bed, using his finger to tilt your chin up, revealing your disheveled, snotty, and glossy face. You whimper when your vision clears and focuses on him. 

He wipes your face with your own shirt, tugging up the hem to absorb your tears, still gentle and attentive. You swat his hand away. “You need to stop doing that,” you mewl, blinking more tears from your eyes. 

“You need to stop crying. It makes me sad,” he retorts, passing you the same Snorlax plushie you violently launched at him. You cushion the plushie on top of your thighs and bring your knees to your chest. You inhale and exhale deeply, trying to settle from your emotional high. 

“You don’t even take me seriously,” you mumble, peeking up at him. 

“I always take you seriously,” Jungkook responds, “but I want you to stop crying first-

“Jungkook, kiss me,” you breathe out, “If you don’t hate me, then kiss me,” you say, your eyes fluttering shut, delusionally- as if he was about to kiss you. Instead, you feel his large palm on your head, softly caressing your hair. 

“I’m not gonna kiss you. You should get some rest.” His voice is deep, calm, and composed. How can he be so normal when you’re on the brink of losing your mind?

Your face scrunches up in indignation before you erupt in tears once again, practically screaming. “Fuck you! I hate you! I hate you!”

“Y/N.” He calls your name repeatedly.

“Y/N-”

“Shut the fuck up you asshole!”

“Y/N,” his voice becomes more stern with everytime he calls your name, but you don’t let him get a word in. You keep screaming at him, calling him every name in the book of insults, shaking him off every time he goes near you.  

When he attempts to sit by you, you violently push him away. “Go away! I’m not a little kid anymore! I don’t fucking need you anymore! I’m gonna be single forever because of you! If you don’t want me to be single forever then just fucking leave and never come back!” 

You’re aware that your words are horrible, but the overwhelming sense of embarrassment and shame erupting in your system prevents any rational train of thoughts from developing in your mind. You’re embarrassed and devastated that Jungkook doesn’t reciprocate your feelings, and it sends you spiraling.

He attempts to calm you once more by sitting on your bed, but you push him even more violently. “Don’t fucking touch me! I’m never gonna find love because of you! Just fucking die, just leave forever if-”

He staggers on his feet, caught off balance from the force of your push, and for the first time in his life Jungkook yells at you.  

“Y/N!”

Giving you no time to say or think anything, he seats himself on your makeup chair, tattooed hand gripping onto its top rail. “Y/N,” he scowls deeply at you, features blanketed in exasperation,  “We’ll talk about this later, but you need to calm the fuck down. You’re hurting me when you talk like that.”

Your eyebrows furrow deeply in horror, your cheeks tear-stained and your eyes filled with sorrow. The haunting realization of what you just said settles into your system. Your quivering lips barely enunciate your words. “Kook, I’m so sorry,” you blubber out. “I shouldn’t have said that, I didn’t mean it. I promise I didn’t mean it!” You shoot up, stumbling over your own feet and collapsing onto the floor. You’re a mess. Your face glistens with a layer of your own snot, and your hair is matted and tangled, the result of the countless times you tugged at it during this interaction. 

Unbeknownst to you, there's a red blotch near the lower hem of your T-shirt, and droplets of blood escape you and drip onto the floor as you stumble out of bed.  Jungkook notices though, eyebrows pinching in concern as a very disturbed expression morphs on his face when you collapse to your knees, your trembling hands holding onto him for support. “I’m so sorry. Please don’t leave. Please don’t leave. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean it! It’s all my fucking fault!”

Jungkook doesn’t say anything. 

“I’m so sorry, Jungkook,” you sniffle. “I’m so sorry I said that. That was so horrible of me. Please don’t die. I’m so sorry.”

A sigh of vexation leaves his lips, but nonetheless he remains patient, compassionate towards  the devastation that consumes your face. “I’m not gonna die.” He cups your face with his tattooed hand, and uses his thumb to wipe the idle tears on your face.  “I forgive you. It’s okay.” 

“Promise? Promise it’s okay? I’m so sorry,” you cry even more, desperately latching onto his hands, using the side of his fingers to wipe your eyes.  

“It’s okay,” he confirms, tilting your head upwards before wiping your face with a makeup wipe from your vanity. “‘M really tired. I’m gonna go get your pads then I’ll be back. 

You sniffle. “Okay. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.” The smile he gives you is forced, and it makes you feel horrible.

He motions his head towards your bed. “Get some sleep. I’ll wake you up when I come back.”

You tiredly listen to his words, getting under your covers and holding onto your Snorlax plush. “Good night Kook.”

“Night,” he says, somewhat emotionlessly, flickering the lights off and vacating your room. 

-

Horrible. You wake up with puffy eyes, infinite eye boogers, and an awful pit in your stomach. The memories of last night come flooding in and you immediately check your phone to see if Jungkook texted you. There’s nothing there. 

Why would he want to talk to you after what you did?

You decide to send him a text message to further emphasize how sorry you are. 

You throw your phone on the bed and scream into the stomach of Snorlax. 

Dry. He’s being so fucking dry and it’s all your fault. 

The next few weeks are spent with you attempting to redeem yourself. 

-

You have no idea why you’re in front of Jungkook’s work, let alone with a lunchbox cake in hand. Begrudgingly, you stumble inside the tall building, awkwardly smiling when you come face to face with the sweet old security man. Jungkook’s work place is fancy as hell. Every floor of the tower hosts the office of an aristocratic company. There are even enormous, airport-esque x-ray machines stationed towards the entrance. You have to walk through a metal detector to be granted access into the building.

“Why hello, young lady! What business do you have here today?” 

“Um, I have a cake for someone. H-he works at HYBE Tech Solutions.”

“Alright, go ahead and put your bag and belongings here,” he says, motioning towards the tray on the X-ray machine conveyor belt. You watch as your belongings pass through the machine and come out on the other end. Then, you step through the metal detector, holding your arms up to be properly inspected. You bid the security man goodbye and walk towards the elevator. 

An ominous feeling of stupidity washes over you as you press your fingers onto the elevator buttonsYou feel stupid. You feel dumb. You feel silly. You would never do this for a man, but here you are. 

You take a deep breath before you stumble in, coming face to face with the lady that works at the front desk. Your eyes settle on the badge on her blouse. Dorothy. You vaguely remember Jungkook ranting about this woman, venting about how she crossed professional and ethical boundaries-  often sneakily creeping her fingers up his chest while they spoke and even going as far as to dig into the company’s database for his personal information. 

You clear your throat. “Hi, how’s your day been?”

“I’m great! Thanks for asking, hun. How can I help you today?” She asks, voice bubbly and uplifting, perfect for customer service.  

“Oh! Um- I have something for Jungkook. He works in the tech department.”

Her bubbly and friendly atmosphere immediately diminishes, and she raises her eyebrows at you before eyeing you conspicuously. With a vacuous expression, she picks up the landline, pressing her thin fingers into the numbers. “Hey, can you let Jungkook know that there’s a child here for him?”

You purse your lips at that, rocking back and forth on your heels. You try to avoid eye contact with this woman by looking elsewhere- pupils frantically darting to the daisies on the front desk or  the grandfather clock that sits idly against the beige walls- but she’s persistently staring you down. 

Thank God Jungkook appears from the end of the hallway. 

He sports a light blue button up and brown slacks, a stack of papers in his tattooed hand while the other rakes through his short hair. He looks delicious as ever and clearly Dorothy agrees because she practically moans as he walks down the hallway.

“Y/N?” He narrows his eyes in your direction, confirming that it’s really you.

“Um hi Kook. I brought you something.” You use two hands to present the styrofoam box to him.

Jungkook’s eyes scan from the lunchbox to you. He places the stack of papers on the front desk before accepting the box and popping open its lid. “A cake?” he questions, and you nod shyly, fidgeting in place. 

“Thanks,” he plainly says, giving you an awkward smile before his eyes dart towards Dorothy, who is intensely scrutinizing the interaction. There is tension in the atmosphere, and Dorothy’s presence isn’t helping. 

He clears his throat. “You didn’t have to, you should be studying,” he says, his words a little more light-hearted this time.

You shake your head. “I wanted to do this for you. I’m sorry for last night, Koo.”

He stares at you before letting a sigh escape his lips. “t’s okay Y/N. Told you I‘m not mad. We’ll talk about this later.”

You twiddle with your fingers, your puppy eyes flickering towards him. 

“Hug?” he asks, cutting the tension, tilting his head while he holds his arms open. You pout, nodding before running into his arms. He holds you tight, and whispers into the top of your head so Dorothy wouldn’t catch heed of the conversation. “You made me sad last night, you know.”

“‘I’m sorry.”

“‘It's okay. I can never be mad at you for too long,” He subtly releases you from his embrace and pinches your cheek. “Now go home, okay?”

You take a step back and offer a nod. And for some reason, Jungkook feels that you’re looking at him as if you’ll never see him again. “Enjoy your cake.” 

Jungkook smiles back, waving you goodbye. You turn to the office lady, who quickly averts her eyes once you notice her blatant eavesdropping. “Thank you auntie. Have a nice day!”

Jungkook has to physically restrain himself from laughing.

-

A heart emoji. Butterflies erupt in your stomach at his most insignificant actions.  You hold your phone to your chest and bite back a smile. 

Loud music booms and vibrates through the walls of this massive mansion. There’s a huge pool, complete with a waterslide and waterfalls spilling into the pool. You’re surrounded by tons of other like-minded college kids, clad in nothing but a white lace bikini. You’re able to acknowledge that it isn’t the most tasteful outfit, but you feel good and you look good. 

After jumping in the pool and violently pelting water balloons at each other (effectively scaring away all the hoes), you and Yunjin lie under a cabana mindlessly scrolling through your phones. You only look up from your phone when you sense Yunjin holding up her phone for a selfie. Jungkook would have rolled his eyes at the sight.

“Can I show you something?” you abruptly blurt out, eliciting a cynical look from your friend. “Is it bad?”

You immediately shake your head, composing your posture so you can properly show Yunjin your texts with Jungkook. Her eyes rapidly scan over the phone in moments and she shoots you a sly glance. 

“So do you think?-”

“I don’t know… but I really, really, really hope that it means something. I don’t want him to see me as a little kid anymore, you know?” Bashfully, you smile at her, your demure expression a complete juxtaposition to your practically naked figure. 

Yunjin cups your cheeks making your glossy lips pouty. “Y/N! You’re about to pull Jungkook!”

“I am?”

“Yes you are-”

Yunjin flinches dramatically when a harsh stream of water unexpectedly drenches you. You both whip your head to the culprit in question: Beomgyu standing directly in front of you with a massive water gun. 

“You bitch!” Yunjin shoots up and runs after him with you rapidly following your partner in crime’s lead. But as you’re running towards Beomgyu (who maniacally screams and dashes), another stream hits you from the back.

The second culprit. Soobin. You sprint towards, latching your claws onto his white T-shirt him while you tug him towards the pool. “Wait Y/N! I just dried off. I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” 

No mercy for this bitch.

You position yourself behind him, using your whole body to push him into the pool. Splash! You jump and squeal in excitement when he emerges from the water wiping his face with his hands. You laugh hysterically in his face, childishly pointing your finger at him, finding it even more hilarious when he gives you the stink eye. “That’s what you get, asshole!-“

You pause and shriek in horror.

Somebody just pulled on the strings of your bikini top, exposing your boobs to the entire party.

You instinctively crouch, shoving your chest into your knees.The gasp of horror that leaves Soobin’s lips mirrors yours, and he immediately springs into action, rapidly lifting himself from the pool and sprinting after whatever asshole just violated you.

“Y/N!” Your savior, Yeonjun appears in front of you, crouching to your level. He rapidly rids himself of his shirt and pulls it over your entire figure. “You’re good, you’re good,” he whispers calmly to you, trying to prevent you from having a full blown panic attack. You stand up reticently, folding your arms over your chest, eyes trained on the ground and only looking at Yeonjun’s feet to gauge which direction you’re heading in.

“You okay?” Yeonjun settles under the cabana. “That guy is such a dick,” he mutters to himself. 

You nod and sink into the cushion of the outdoor-couch. “I’m so fucking embarassed.”

Attempting to salvage the situation, Yeonjun immediately shakes his head. “No, no. Nobody saw anything.” You shoot him a skeptical look, knowing damn well everybody in the party saw your bare boobs. 

“Is that Jungkook?”

You immediately whip your head towards the left, and indeed Jungkook is walking your way. You can’t believe he’s real. All heads whip in his direction as he makes his way towards you. He flicks his head back to prevent hair from falling in front of his eyes, barefoot, black T-shirt, and gray shorts. He looks so handsome you can’t even comprehend it. 

“Y/N!” He shouts, quicklyducking under the roof of the cabana before he positions himself in front of you. He inhales and exhales deeply, the blistering sun forming particles of sweat on his forehead. 

You look up at him and your heart melts. The sheen of sweat on his face, the way his eyes fixate on you. Your heart skips a beat. You want to cry. Again. Out of embarrassment, and how emotional you become at Jungkook’s mere presence.   

You bury your head into your knees, making Jungkook's eyebrows pinch. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

Yeonjun opens his mouth, hesitatingly glancing at you to confirm if telling Jungkook is okay.

You shoot up and practically catapult yourself onto Jungkook, latching onto him like a Koala. “Nothing happened,” you say, nuzzling your face into his shirt. “Come swim with me. Please.” 

Jungkook sighs, using his large palm to tame your frizzy stray hairs. “Y/N. We need to go home.”

You cock your head in confusion.“Wait why?”

His voice becomes oddly stern. “Y/N. It’s important and we have to go home.”

“To your place or mine?”

“My place. Just follow me.”

You haven’t a clue as to why Jungkook is behaving so urgently, but you follow him nonetheless. You pick up your purse and give Yeonjun a quick hug, running after Jungkook who cooly breezes past everyone, not a single person missing the hot guy who suddenly showed to the party. 

Jungkook opens his car door for you and allows you to step in. 

“Jungkook… is something going on?”

“Yes, there is,” he says grimacing slightly, shutting the door for you before he climbs into the driver’s seat. 

This nauseating anxiety bubbles inside you and sends chills up your spine, making you flinch when Jungkook closes the car door on his side. Jungkook doesn’t say anything, just looks behind his shoulder to reverse from his parking spot before zooming out of there. 

“Is this because of what happened the other night?” you ask, and he glances at you quickly. 

“No, it isn’t.”

“Well.. are we going to talk about it?” you push, twiddling with your fingers. 

Jungkook shakes his head, noticing your trembling fingers in his peripheral view. He reaches over and puts his hand on top of yours. “Not now.” 

You don’t respond, shifting in confusion.

“Here,” Jungkook starts, throwing his phone in your lap, “You can play whatever song you want.”

You purse your lips and silently nod. 

Sooner or later, you arrive at Jungkook’s apartments, and he leads you up the stairs and sits you on his black leather couch. 

He cups your face with both hands, caressing the apples of your cheek with his thumbs. With your eyebrows pinched, you peer into Jungkook’s eyes, conveying your confusion through your scrunched facial features. 

“Y/N, before I tell you what I want to tell you, I want you to take a few breaths. Just know that I’m always here for you.”

You nod steadily, pretty facial features still crinkled in confusion. 

“Y/N, your parents were in a car accident, and they didn’t make it.”

“What?”

And as the haunting realization settles into your system, all you can remember are your shrieks of terror echoing throughout his apartment and the way Jungkook holds you against his body while he wipes your tears and assuages your loud cries. 

-

The few days that proceed are a blur, but Jungkook takes care of you and is far more attentive than he ever has been. You cling onto him like fragile glass ornament hanging from a delicate thread- like he was all you had left because he was all you had left. He was your spring solace after a harsh winter, and the way he treated you indicated as much.

Jungkook works from home so you aren’t alone. For the entire day, you sit on his bed and watch him work. You eavesdrop on his meetings, falling asleep to the sound of his voice and whenever you wake up Jungkook ensures that he feeds you, constantly worried about your inability to eat. 

You’re queasy just thinking about going back to your house, so your daily and nightly attire consist of pieces from Jungkook’s wardrobe. You haven’t verbally acknowledged what has happened- not ready to talk about the death of your parents. You’re just trying to survive, and you feel like you’re barely making it. 

Thankfully, all your friends and family have been extremely helpful trying to get you through your grief. Jungkook’s mother stays with you for a few days, and after that Yunjin sleeps over with you for a few days- but you know that a piece of your heart has been ruthlessly ripped form you.

“Y/N, you need to take a shower,” Jungkook expresses, obstructing your view of the TV. His toothbrush hangs from his mouth, toothpaste residue bubbling around the perimeter of his lips. You owlishly blink at him, observing how his expression hardens at your look of indifference. 

You scoot towards the left end of the couch, hoping to get a clear view of Ever After High projected on his flat screen TV. 

“Y/N you haven’t showered in three days,” Jungkook interjects, “Please take a shower.”

“I will. Later.”

He pushes up his glasses, staring at you with intense disapproval. “Y/N,” he says sternly, trying to be gentle despite his qualms. 

You acquiesce, pouting at him. “Okay, fine. Later.”

His frown deepens. “Y/N.”

You chew on your bottom lip, deeply contemplating what Jungkook has asked of you. His large frame remains frozen in front of you. No matter how you position yourself on the couch, he renders you unable to watch the princesses prance around on the TV.

“Okay… but will you at least come with me? I don’t want to be without you.”

Jungkook pauses. 

“I don’t mean like getting in with me, but will you just sit on the toilet and talk to me?” You ask, sinking into the leather of his sofa and using your sweater paws to sweep your hair back. 

“Yea, I’ll do that.”

Once you step in the shower, you close the curtains, and strip yourself from your clothes, handing the pile of clothes to Jungkook. You turn on the water, yelping at the sensation on your body. Jungkook was right. You needed this and you kind of do smell like butthole. 

“Wait Y/N, do you want me to go to your house and get you underwear?” 

After folding up your (his) T-shirt and boxers, he notices that you haven’t been wearing any undergarments. 

“No!” you call back, “I don’t want you to go there! Not yet,” you call back. 

“Then do you want me to buy you some?” he responds, placing the folded clothes on the bathroom counter. 

“Um, maybe we can order some on Amazon.”

“Just send me the link and I’ll place the order.”

“Okay.”

A wave of silence washes over the bathroom, and you peek your head from the shower curtain to see what Jungkook’s up to: scrolling on Instagram. On his screen is some instagram model’s bikini pic, his fingers pausing on the screen so he can look at the photo.  

“Who is that?” you ask, making Jungkook jump in his seat. 

“What the- Y/N, just take your shower!” Jungkook feigns annoyance but can’t help himself but scoff in amusement at how petty you can be.

“Is she prettier than me?” you ask, glaring at Jungkook with disapproval. 

Jungkook purses his lips and tugs the shower curtain past your face and holds it against the wall, preventing you from peeking your pretty head past the curtain. He holds it there for a good minute, unfazed by the thrashing against the shower curtain. 

Swish. 

You swipe open the shower curtain from the other side. Your eyes bore into Jungkook’s and Jungkook thinks you’re foolish not to realize how alluring and sultry you are. Your bare body is akin to a sculpture of the goddess Aphrodite. Water drips from the crevices of your body and you gaze at him with anticipation etched onto your face. You’re just standing there, but your posture is so seductive- or maybe it’s just the natural curvature of your body. 

“Why don’t you join me?” your sweet voice makes his Adam's apple bob in his throat. 

When he doesn’t respond, your features morph into humiliation, regret consuming you. You nod your head. “Sorry Kook, I’ll just-”

“Y/N, you’re gorgeous. Any man can see how lovely you are. Honestly, you take my breath away every time I see you,” Sensing the trepidation on your face, he solidifies his claim, “I mean it Y/N. You’re beautiful, and I want to join you but I’m not going to. You’re hurting right now and I don’t want to do anything to take advantage of you.”

And he isn’t lying, he yearns for every kind of contact with you, but he’s not going to go through with this. Not when you’re traumatized from the death of your parents. Not when you’ve been so unhinged for the past week, refusing to even shower. 

You stare at him for a second, dazy eyed and your eyes darting around the room. “Okay Jungkook. I’m sorry.”

He smiles sweetly at you and gently closes the shower curtain. “It’s okay Y/N. I’m gonna head to my room. You’re welcome to come visit me anytime.”

-

Boys’ night. Jungkook being the handsome stud he is, happens to have friends that are also handsome studs. Jungkook offered to postpone boys’ night but you declined his attempts to make you more comfortable. Jungkook has exerted so much effort to take care of you. There’s no reason for him to forgo time with his best friends. Besides, you can always hide in your room. 

You crack your door open slightly ajar, peeking through the crack to spy on Jungkook and his friends. Antisocial is the perfect word to describe you. 

The sound of the doorbell ringing was your cue to lock yourself in your room. Jungkook knocked a few times, but you were too scared of other people that you didn’t even grace him with a response. 

Clearly Jungkook got the message because he opted to leave a greasy piece of pizza outside your door, sending you a quick text message about it.

You just wanted to scout the scene, see who was there. Mingyu, Taehyung, Jimin, and Namjoon. Soju bottles are scattered around the table, and there’s some music blaring from the TV. You’ve met everyone here a few times- they all know you, but you aren’t close with Jungkook’s friends like he is with your friends. 

“Oh Y/N! Come join us!” You freeze at Mingyu’s words, and all eyes in the room whip towards your direction.

 “Umm..” you close the door gently and leap into the safety of your bed.

You overhear their banter through the wooden door. “Hey! Why are you making little kids uncomfortable!” Jimin yells, slapping Mingyu on the neck. 

Your lip quivers, and you inhale deeply, gathering the courage to step outside of the room. You quickly put on deodorant, and step out stealthily, taking a seat next to Namjoon on the couch. No one seems to notice you, and you tap on his shoulder. Namjoon whips his head towards you, the confusion on his face melting into fondness. 

“Hi,” you squeak out, fiddling with your fingers. 

“Hi Y/N,” Namjoon greets, the kindness laced in his voice assuaging the trepidation bubbling on your inside. Jungkook’s red lava lamp  illuminates the room with shades of crimson, and your eyes flutter shut when a ray of light shines on your face. 

“Are you okay?” Namjoon inquires, holding his hand up to shield you from the light.  

“Yea, I’m fine,” you blink a few times. You don’t say anything, just awkwardly take a bite of your pizza while your eyes dart around the room. 

Namjoon doesn’t seem to know what to say to you either, so the two of you just sit and eat pizza in silence. For a moment, your eyes lock. You owlishly blink at him and he blinks at you for a good minute.  

But then, to your surprise, Namjoon sets his pizza down, opening his arms. Your features scrunch up, and you let yourself melt into his warm embrace, glossy tears rolling down your face. 

“I’m so sorry about what happened,” he expresses, gently caressing the back of your head with his palm. You sniffle. “t’s okay,” you sob, “but I’m so sad. I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

“You’ll get through this. We’re always here for you.”

His words invoke a tornado of intense feelings in your system, and your strong facade crumbles as you become vulnerable in Jungkook’s friend’s embrace. By this point, everyone has noticed your presence, and suddenly the night becomes about you. 

After wiping your tears with the back of your hand, you find yourself sitting in between Jungkook and Namjoon in a “friendship circle”. It’s quite cute that these grown men still sit criss-cross applesauce in a circle, but you’re overjoyed that you’re welcome to the group. 

“I brought you a cake Y/N,” Taehyung announces, handing you a lunchbox cake. With your doe eye, you look towards him before opening the lid of the cake. A lunchbox cake with Snorlax’s face iced on the top.  “Jungkook mentioned that you really liked Pokemon, so I thought you’d find this cute,” he continues, slightly trailing off.  You’re Strong! Is what it reads, and you fall into pieces, your features crumpling up before you burst into tears. 

Jungkook laughs in fondness at the vulnerability of your reaction, wrapping a single arm around your frame. 

“Th-thank you,” you sniffle, offering Taehyung a crooked smile. “Can we eat it together? I don’t want to get f-fat.”

At that, a chorus of no’s echo through the room, and you giggle a bit. 

Your heart is incredibly full. Family. Friends. People who care about you. This is something your soul desires, something your soul needs. 

The night meets its unfortunate end, and you stand in front of Jungkook as you bid his friends goodbye. Before the boys walk away, you find your fingers clinging onto the hem of Jimin’s oversized shirt. Before he ventures off, he turns around and graces you with an endearing look of confusion. “What’s up?”

“Can I come with you?” you spout. 

“You want to sleep over at our place?” Jimin questions, gingerly scratching the back of his head. 

You shake your head steadily, “I just want to talk to you,” you clarify, gazing up at him shyly. Jimin’s eyes dart towards Jungkook’s for approval and Jungkook nods his head. “Go ahead. I’ll give you guys privacy,” he pinches your cheek affectionately before closing the door. You stand on your tiptoes, peeking through the window of the apartment to ensure that Jungkook isn’t eavesdropping. 

Jimin leans against the railings, observing you carefully. 

You tug on the hem of Jimin’s tee, urging him to follow you to the lobby of Jungkook’s apartment. He follows in your stead, not questioning you until your actions pause. You shift around uncomfortably for a bit, and you look up at him. Taking a deep breath, you find the courage to ask him the question that’s been lingering in the back of your mind. 

 “Do you think Jungkook and I could ever.. be a thing?” you finally question, shifting your weight between your feet, a crimson sheen sweeping over your cheeks. 

Jimin’s eyebrows pinch, and he repeatedly opens and closes his mouth, looking for the right words to say. “Like romantically?”

Your eyes cumbersomely drift towards the painting behind Jimin. “Y-yea. I really like him, and I want him to be my boyfriend- and I know he’s attracted to me but won’t act on his feelings because of his ethical qualms,” you stutter out, pursing your lips after seeing how Jimin’s face morphs into astonishment. 

“Well, I don’t think Jungkook is seeing anyone right now- but Y/N, if I’m going to be totally honest, I don’t think you and Jungkook being a romantic pair would be appropriate. I mean, he’s known you since you were a kid. Even if he does like you, I don’t think he would cross those boundaries.” he very gently explains, meticulously finding the correct wording to not hurt your feelings. 

You bite your lip bitterly, sinking into the realization of his assertion. “Yea, you’re right. I don’t know. I guess it’s just a stupid crush,” you dismiss your confession with a wave and offer Jimin a shy smile. 

Jimin pouts at your invalidation of your own feelings. “Don’t say that. I know you’ll find someone who cherishes and loves you. Someone you deserve,” he asserts. You smile at him, nodding before he ruffles your hair and leads you back up the stairs. 

Someone you love. 

Would you ever find it in yourself to love anybody that wasn’t him? Jungkook has successfully monopolized your heart, your soul, your very being. 

Ping!

-

Tonguing his cheek, Jungkook impatiently and abruptly brakes at a red light, accelerating rapidly when the light turns green. He changes from his casual clothes to a black sleeveless shirt, loose leather pants, and a beanie. Mingyu sits on the passenger seat, frantically typing on his laptop as Jungkook zooms down the highway at record pace. 

Breaking into a frat house to terrorize some dumb college kids definitely wasn’t a part of the plan tonight, but Jungkook was down for some last minute terrorism.

“So what are you gonna do? Threaten the kid? Call the cops?”Taehyung questions from the backseat, both hands gripping on the headrest of Mingyu and Jungkook’s seats. 

“Look, I’m really trying to not sound corny, but I’m going to torture him,” Jungkook enunciates, which evokes a few seconds of silence. 

“This bitch-”

“He’s lost his fucking mind,” Mingyu mumbles. 

Jungkook laughs to himself, amused by the comments of his friends. Jungkook is an intelligent, rational person. Normally, he wouldn’t take it this far but he deems it extremely necessary for this particular situation. 

“What the- now he’s creepily laughing to himself-”

“If we tell Y/N about this she’s going to be scared of you,” Mingyu abruptly comments, shooting Jungkook a pointed look. 

Jungkook pauses, seemingly deeply considering the utterance of his friend, toying with his lip ring for a while he finally makes a comment. “I won’t do anything bad. I’ll just intimidate him a little.”

His friends sigh, not pressing further on the matter because Mingyu and Taehyung were pissed off too. Instead, Mingyu rolls down the windows of the car, allowing the breeze of the cool night to consume the interior of the car. 

Jungkook considers this very night a milestone in your healing process. You isolated yourself in his apartment for two consecutive weeks, your grief severely limiting your social capacity and ability to normally interact with people. His friends were privy to your situation, purposely not coming to Jungkook’s home out of respect for you. But tonight, the color that reappeared in your aura overwhelmed his heart with joy.

While you were on the couch, talking to Namjoon about something, Jungkook got an alarming text from one of your friends- Yeonjun. Jungkook is cool with your friends, but not close enough to be sending private text messages, so his eyes brows pinch in concern when he sees the notification pop up from his phone. 

Mingyu’s eyes drifted towards Jungkook, who was noticeably brimming with indignation. Jungkook scoffed to himself, a macabre smirk on his lips before he laughed erratically at the message. He repeatedly wiped his face with his hand, chuckling in amusement. Jungkook discreetly passed his phone to Mingyu without a word, with Taehyung looking over his shoulder, both of them gasping at the message.

This whole time, you were oblivious to the scheme Jungkook was contriving and Jungkook intended to keep it that way. You were carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders, and Jungkook would cut his limbs off to lessen that burden. The indignation and resentment bubbling within him threatens to erupt because he’s so fucking pissed off. 

You’re everything to him, and the thought of you being violated makes him want to indulge in his violent impulses.  He can’t imagine how you would feel knowing that video spread around, and usually he would confide with you about these things but right now he needs to sweep this under the rug and make sure it never comes back up. 

Luckily, he and Mingyu both have degrees in computer engineering and know how to hack into technical infrastructures. 

Jungkook pulls up to the frat house, rolling the window down steadily before he rests his elbow on the ledge of the window. He sits there for a second, toying with his lip ring while his eyes bore into the interior of the house. He’s sure he looks creepy as hell- just staring into the house.

After a few minutes of waiting in silence, some guy arises from the house and approaches the car. 

Jungkook keeps his lips sealed until he’s close enough to perceive his features. 

“Uh is there something yall need?” the guy asks, innocently scratching the back of his head. 

“Yea,” Jungkook responds, voice firm and somewhat chilling, “Your name Josh?”

“Yea? What’s up-”

Jungkook kicks the door open, knocking Josh over until he’s rolled on the floor, clutching his leg as he shrieks in pain. 

“Oh shit, are we really doing this?” Taehyung mutters before joining Jungkook outside the car. 

Jungkook sits on top of Josh, continuously punching the shit out of him before he spits on the kid’s face. He uses a single hand to lift him by the collar, and violently pushes him against the car. “You mad Y/N rejected you? So you pulled that shit?” Jungkook menaces, his face centimeters away from Josh’s. 

Josh whimpers, crying- too horrified to coherently respond. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” he pleads, tears and snot streaming down his ugly face. 

“Shut the fuck up!” Jungkook repeatedly bangs Josh against the car. “I’m gonna say this shit once and I’m not going to repeat myself,” he seethes, satisfied by the way Josh whimpers and nods his head pathetically. 

“You’re not shit. You’ll never ever be good enough for Y/N. You’re the same as the shit on the bottom of my shoe,” he breathes against Josh’s face, who whimpers and cries, “If I ever see you messing with Y/N ever again- I will ruin your whole life.”

Josh nods, unable to do anything else. 

“Got it?” Jungkook seethes, pushing Josh’s head against the car door.

“Got it!”

“Good. We’re going inside, and you guys are going to watch us go through all of your iClouds, and we’re going to delete every single copy of the video there is, alright?”

“Yes! Yes! That’s fine! I’m sorry!”

Jungkook scoffs in amusement at his despicable demeanor, before he throws Josh on the ground and enters the house. 

“I can’t believe we’re doing this,” Mingyu mumbles, following Jungkook’s lead into the house.

-

You anxiously wait for Jungkook to return home, absentmindedly toying with the Switch to distract from the hysterical thoughts frantically racing through your mind. You’ve done everything you could to distract yourself, your restless heart aching to do something of substance.

 You’ve been isolating yourself from society for the past month simply because you can’t bring yourself to leave Jungkook’s home, as if it was your safe haven. 

You dread the moment you have to return to your home, memories of your family coming to mind. You’ve been trying to avoid thinking about everything, and you reckon that it’s time to process everything. There are aspects of grief that you find unfathomable- questions you have that make you want to throw up. 

What will happen to the home that holds the memories of your family within its walls? How will you assimilate back into society without your father, without your mother? You’re not confident that it will ever be the same, and your heart sinks into your stomach at the notion- but you have to be resilient; you have to face it. 

It feels worse to avoid the reality of your life than to face it head on. 

You’re pulled from your thoughts by the sound of the doorknob turning. 

“Jungkook!” The way you call his name is breathless, and his eyebrows pinch in concern when you pounce on him. Nonetheless, he allows you to nuzzle into his embrace and he soothingly rubs your back- like he always does. 

“Wasn’t gone that long,” Jungkook absentmindedly comments. 

“I know- just missed you. I’m sorry for being clingy,” you murmur, to which Jungkook shakes his head at the absurdity of your words. 

“Not at all. Stay here for as long as you want. I’ll take you with me wherever I go,” he adds, settling into the leather of his sofa. You shuffle after him like a cute little penguin, sitting your ass directly next to Jungkook despite the vacant empty space on your right side. 

“Then am I allowed to sit next to you?” 

Jungkook’s features crinkle up in amusement, nose scrunching as he laughs lightly at how cute you are. He pinches your cheek, “It’s one thousand dollars for every minute you’re within a five foot radius of me,” he comments, tone stoic and firm. 

He doesn’t have to look in your direction to visualize the way your pretty lips fall open, swatting at his bicep for his cruel words. “Jungkook, I don’t have that money! You know I only have 35 cents in my bank account!”

“Okay, then go sit over there,” Your eyes follow the trail of his pointed finger, the corner of the room. 

“Fine! You fucking asshole,” you mutter bitterly, jumping up from the couch and stomping away with a hmph, until Jungkook slyly wraps his hand around the circumference of your wrist and pulls you to him. You collapse onto the couch, your back against his chest, and your butt between his legs. 

He clings onto you, almost suffocating you with the way he wraps his arms around you, grabbing his elbows as he locks his arms over your head. “‘M just kidding- you know that. I can’t survive without my baby either, y’know?”

Your chest erupts with butterflies, and you hold onto his forearm with both of your hands. “I know.”

-

The next day, you return to school. Your professors were so empathetic and understanding to the nuance and confusion of your situation, allowing you to complete your coursework from the comfort of Jungkook’s home. 

Grief isn’t a linear process. Though you’ve found it in you to return to school, it’s the mundane and the typical that you’re becoming increasingly bothered by. 

No one in your Philosophy class is paying attention to this movie, clearly. You can tell by the lit up screens scattered within the clusters of students, and you aren’t diligent enough to not be one of those students, doodling flowers and Snorlax’s on your paper. 

For the second you do look up at the movie, your heart stops. It’s always the most mundane, irrelevant details that get to you. The scene barely occupies a minute and it makes your chest tighten in the worst way possible. 

The main character walks down the wedding aisle, her arm linked with her father’s. The haunting realization settles in your system- you will never ever experience that. You begin hyperventilating, your hand crumpling the paper, and you quickly rest your forearms on the table before shoving your face into your forearms. People are already looking at you and you can’t fathom the humiliation so you stay like that until class is dismissed. 

You finally lift your head, rubbing your eyes to adjust the blinding ceiling lights. 

“Hey, are you okay?”

You shriek at the unexpected voice and whip your head to the left. 

“Hey hey hey- I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you,” he breathes out, rolling his chair towards you before rolling back so as to not scare you further. 

“No no, you’re good,” you breathe out, inhaling and exhaling to bring you down from your petrified high. “Just having a shitty day,” you explain, sweeping away the hair dried to your face by your tears. 

He seems to be unable to conjure a proper response, peering at you with an empty gaze and you sink in your seat, feeling the need to further explain yourself. “Well there was that part in the movie where Emma got married, and that made me feel horrible because I recently lost my dad.. And my mom.”

“Wait, I’m sorry. You don’t have to explain yourself to me,” he articulates, “I just noticed you  haven’t been in class for a while and was kinda worried when I saw you crying. I’m sorry if I pushed your boundaries.”

“You know me?”

His lips tug up in embarrassment as he gingerly scratches the back of his neck. “Well we usually sit next to each other so I thought we formed an acquaintanceship or something,” he mumbles. 

“Oh I’m sorry,” you pout at him, “I usually tap out during class so I never noticed you. What’s your name by the way?” You shyly stick out your hand, and he gives you a straight lined smile before shaking your hand gently. 

“Sunghoon. I-I’m really sorry for your loss by the way,” he adds, and you find his nervousness quite endearing. You shyly smile at him, and he gazes back at you with similar amity. He ever so softly pulls your wrist towards his and scribbles his number onto your forearm. “Feel free to text me if you ever need help with homework. You missed a lot of school,” he offers, and you find yourself giggling at his forth forwardness. 

“Thanks Sunghoon."

-

When  Jungkook returns from work that night, the first thing he’s met with is you shoving your boots on, seemingly ready for a vivacious night out. Your figure is adorned with a white satin slip on dress, and your hair is put up in an elegant updo. Jungkook pauses, eyes settling on your figure before scanning up to your face; he thinks this is the first time he’s seen you with makeup on since he wiped away the mascara running down your cheeks the day he broke the news.

“Hey daddy,” you purr, “Where have you been? The kids have been waiting for you,” you giggle, sliding your mini purse down your arm. 

Jungkook narrows his eyes at you, humorously scoffing at your corny choice of words. 

You giggle, skipping towards him before jumping onto him, latching around his neck before you whisper in his ear. “‘m going out with my friends, don’t wait for me to get home because I might stay the night with Yunjin.”

Jungkook stiffens, remaining frozen while you back up from him. 

“So, do I look like an angel, or what?”

“Always look cute,” because despite the infesting irritation bubbling in his system, he would never not tell you how it is. You are cute, always cute, always like an angel. 

“Thanks,” you giggle, skipping towards the door but before you can skip past him, he latches onto your wrist. “Wait.”

You tilt your head, slightly confused. “I bought something for you.”

He digs in his backpack and pulls it out. Nipple pasties. “You never wear a bra, so I thought you’d be safer if you put these on before you go out.”

“You were the one who said I had small tits!”

“Okay, well you still have nipples- so at least put these on to keep you safe.”

You narrow your eyes at him, but he doesn’t back down. You snatch the pasties from his hand and march into the bathroom. “Fine!” 

Jungkook lounges on the couch, eyes trained on you before you bid him goodbye and skip out of his apartment. He inhales deeply to settle the erratic palpitations in his chest. He needs to stop being so protective of you. 

-

Your arms linked with Yunjin, you skip around from one club to the next, dancing and partying your little hearts out. When the night comes to a close you prance to the local ramen shop around your campus. From a distance, you can already make out Jungkook casually speaking with his friends. He’s always so animated when he’s with his friends, dramatically gesturing and hip thrusting in the air while his friends laugh at his immature jokes. He’s got a cigarette between his pointer and middle finger, taking slow puffs, allowing the smoke to fill his lungs before he tilts his head to exhale a long plume of smoke into the atmosphere. 

That’s right. Jungkook smokes occasionally but never lets you do it. What a hypocrite. 

His eyes drift off for a second until they land on you, and his lips curl up in your presence. 

“Well look, if it isn’t my favorite girl,” he teases, letting out low laughter at the way you crimson when all his friends’ heads whip in your direction. 

You narrow your eyes at him, giving him a dirty look that Jungkook cooes at. Even when you were trying to intimidate him you akin to a cute Snorlax, so adorable, eyebrows pinched and lips pouted- how could he feel anything but adoration at that? 

“Aw angel,” he jests, throwing your words right back at you, “Don’t ignore me, ‘m sorry for teasing you,” he catches you as you walk past him, pulling you towards his chest before resting his chin on top of your head. 

He casually smiles at Yunjin. “How’s my angel been doing? Has she been behaving?”

Yunjin’s jaw drops at the bold statement and you attempt to wrestle out of his firm embrace to berate him. 

Just kidding. It’s getting late, though. Do you girls need a ride home?” he asks, finally letting you go just for you to stumble out of his grip and almost land on your face, but luckily Jungkook pulls your shoulders back without even looking in your direction. 

“Jungkook, it’s literally 10,” you deadpan. 

“Oh c’mon, I don’t want you girls to get kidnapped or something,” he snarkily responds. 

“How about you give us some money instead?” Yunjin jests, clearly joking, but Jungkook takes it so, so seriously. He raises a brow at both of you. “How much do you need?”

“Wait no- I was kidding,” Yunjin quickly clarifies, her ears becoming slightly red, “you don’t have to..”

Jungkook looks from you to her, then back at you before whipping out his phone, taking another puff of his cigarette before blowing the smoke upwards, careful so you don’t inhale any smoke.

Ping!

Your eyebrows pinch in confusion when you get a notification, and you unzip your mini purse to grab your phone, allowing the screenlight to illuminate your pretty features.  

JEON JUNGKOOK HAS TRANSFERRED YOU 500 DOLLARS VIA HYBETRANSFER.

“250 each, alright?” Jungkook laughs, taking another puff of his cigarette before he saunters off, his friends pushing him around and teasing him. 

“Ayo, when did Jeon turn into a sugar daddy?”

You and Yunjin are left dumbfounded, even more so when Jungkook turns around and makes kissy lips at you. 

You fall to your knees. 

-

The next morning is the weekend.

You absentmindedly chomp on your cereal, eyes still crusty and mind still hazy from the morning daze. Jungkook arises from his bedroom, hair still messy and sticking out in various directions- but he still looks as handsome as ever, the tired and morning glow suiting him wondrously. 

“So, I’m planning a trip with my friends at the beach. We’ll stay in an AirBnb. You wanna come with?”

You pause, features crinkling up in confusion. “Which friends? The ones from last night or Mingyu and them?”

“Mingyu, Tae, Jimin, Namjoon,” he counts off, before shrugging, “I already planned to take you with me so it’s not like you have a choice anyways.”

You scoff to yourself in amusement. “Aren’t you being too forceful?”

Jungkook narrows his eyes and graces you with a look of skepticism. “So you don’t want to go? or..”

“No!” you rapidly interject as you shoot up, clearing your throat and regaining your composure at the way Jungkook smirks at you. 

You settle back into your seat. “I do want to go,” you exhale, “but do I have to pay for my own room or something? I’m broke.”

“Oh, I was just gonna have you stay in my room,” Jungkook responds, trailing off as he tries to detect any trace of apprehension on your features, “Is that alright with you?”

You don’t even realize you’re holding your breath until you breathlessly exhale. “That’s perfect.”

So that’s how you found yourself at the beach, in nothing but your black bikini, prancing around the waves with Taehyung.

“Jungkook watch!” you call as you swivel around towards Jungkook, who’s applying sunscreen to his legs, not really paying attention to what you were doing. 

You stand in front of the upcoming wave, holding your arms out as if you were going to embrace the wave. “I’m going to stand against the wave!”

At that, Jungkook whips his head upwards, eyebrows pinching in worry as he shoots up. “Tae! Get her! She’s gonna get swept in by-“

And on cue, the wave collapses over you and you tumble into the unwelcoming water. “Motherfuck-“ You thrash and scream, powerless against the unforgiving currents until a pair strong arms pull you from your armpits and drags you to the sand.

“Holy shit Y/N, are you alright?” Taehyung asks, crouching beside you as he pats your back, allowing you to cough the water up.

“Y/N that was so dumb,” you hear Jungkook’s voice as he approaches you, crouching beside you as he hands you his black steel water bottle. “Take a sip,” he urges, and you nod shakily, grasping the bottle with both hands before you take a sip from it.

“I’m okay. Thanks for saving me Taehyung,” you smile at him and he releases a sigh of relief. “You scared the shit out of us!”

You gulp down the water and close the cap, returning his bottle to him. “Sorry, I won’t do that again, but can we get back to playing now?” you smile as you playfully fling a ball of wet sand at Jungkook.

Jungkook closes his eyes on impact, scoffing in amusement before he grabs you by your legs, signalling  Taehyung to grab your arms before they both lift you and run into the ocean.

-

Jungkook waits outside your shared room, knuckles softly knocking on the wooden door. A towel loosely wrapped around his lower waist, water drips from every crevice on his body, but he can’t enter until you’re done changing.

“Oki! I’m done!” you call out, opening the door for him, a towel in your hand as you use it to scrunch up your damp hair. 

“Wow. You’re really muscular,” you giggle, fingers hovering over his abs before you look up at him for approval to feel, to which he gently pushes your head aside and waltzes into the room.

When he’s done changing he beckons you back to the room, and you plop in the king sized bed, belly down and legs swinging back and forth in the air. 

Jungkook lies down beside you, resting his head on the pillow as he scrolls aimlessly on his phone, only looking over when he hears your ringtone go off.

You answer the call almost immediately.

“Oh hey Sunghoon!” you greet, shooting up from the bed to touch up your appearance in the facetime camera.

Sunghoon. Jungkook knows all your friends and he hasn’t heard that name before.

“Hey Y/N, how’s your vacation going?” Sunghoon asks, and you take a seat at the desk, propping your phone up against the wall. You twirl an idle piece of hair around your fingers. “It’s really fun here, I feel great,” you explain, “so what’s up?”

“You look like you’re having fun- wait, is there someone in the room with you?”

You rapidly turn around and look at Jungkook, then tilt your phone at an angle where he isn’t visible. “Oh, he’s just a family friend, do you want me to go somewhere more private?”

“Oh no that’s cool, I was just wondering but I called to ask you about the homework…”

A family friend? Jungkook scowls at that. Wordlessly, he breezes past you and exits the room, closing the door and sits next to Jimin on the couch. 

Jimin takes a few moments to acknowledge Jungkook’s presence. “Hey, is there anything going on between you and Y/N?” Jimin finally asks, eyebrows furrowing in concern when he perceives Jungkook’s sour face. 

Jungkook pauses. “Why are you asking?”

Jimin shrugs. “I don’t know. Don’t you know she has a crush on you? Isn’t it inappropriate for you two to be sharing a room?” Jimin continues, nudging Jungkook with his elbow. 

At that, Jungkook buries his face into his palms. He’s let this go on for far too long. “I know,” Jungkook murmurs, voice projection muffled by his hands. 

“You know? The other day she asked me if it was possible between you two and I straight up told her that you wouldn’t go for it.”

Jungkook remains wordless at that, and he thinks he’s developed an idea of the reality of the situation. 

Jungkook was too scared to address the subject with you; he let it linger for far too long. He didn’t want to burden you with anything else besides what you already had on your plate, and you got in your head about it. He never explicitly stated that he more than reciprocates your feelings, leaving you dangling on a string. 

He’s going to fix that. 

“No Jimin, that’s not it,” Jungkook clarifies, wiping his face with his palms. “I like her too, and I’m going to tell her tonight,” he states firmly, slightly craning his head to gauge Jimin’s reaction. His reaction isn’t what Jungkook expected. Instead of a look of concern, worry, or horror, Jimin looks over the moon. 

“Well shit! I wish I knew that before! You guys look perfect together!” he exclaims before eagerly patting Jungkook on the back. 

Jungkook raises his eyebrows at his friend. “Really? Don't you think I should wait a little longer? Until she's ready?”, to which Jimin simply shakes his head.

“Y/N's an adult. She can handle herself. I thought you wouldn't go for it because of the age gap, though. I guess I shouldn't have told her that," he says gingerly, scratching the back of his head. ”Sorry Kook."

Jungkook doesn't say anything, seemingly in deep contemplation. "It used to bother me,” Jungkook clarifies, "but it doesn't anymore."

“So what’s wrong with it?"

That’s right. There is nothing wrong with it.

-

A cool night on the beach. You feel the cool breeze through your air, the lunar radiance of the moon illuminating the beach. You’re adorned in a lovely, summer-esque two piece set with floral patterns running along the fabric, The top piece is cropped and strapless, exposing your collar bones and belly button piercing, and the bottom piece is a long, flowy skirt that blows marvelously against the wind. 

You gingerly step outside the beach house, enjoying the cool sensation of the night breeze. The guys are all hanging out in the yard, soju bottles and beer cans scattered on the wooden benches positioned on the beach. Namjoon and Jimin are posted up on the benches, chowing down on meat whilst engaging in pretty animated conversation. You spot Mingyu and Taehyung running around the beach, slapping each other and chasing after each other, their dirty heels slipping against the coarse sand. 

Jungkook is stationed at the grill, frying meat for his friends. His tall and built figure is concealed by his loose black T-shirt and black sweat shorts that you have worn a few times during your extended stay at his place. 

You creep up behind him, swiping away the stray hairs that the wind blew into your face. Tapping him lightly on the back, you coyly skmile at him, a bashful glow illuminating your face. 

Jungkook sensed your presence the moment stepped foot from the house, but still acts like it’s the first time he’s ever seen you. He does a double take, eyes scanning up and down your face and body- you look so lovely and elegant in your little two piece set. “Hey,” Jungkook finally returns your greeting, a little breathless. 

“Can I have some?” you ask, pointing to the grill. 

“Uh yea, I actually made a plate for you a second ago,” Jungkook takes the prepared plate of your favorite meats, but pauses before he hands it to you. He hasn’t a clue if you’re doing this on purpose, but you’re looking at him with the sultriest of eyes, and it drives him crazy. His Adam’s Apple bobs in his throat, and he collects himself before handing you the plate. 

You tilt your head, sending him a look of confusion at his hesitance, but Jungkook sees it as a gateway to talk to you. “Y/N, can we talk? Like now?” Jungkook asks, rubbing at the nape of his neck. 

“Sure, what about?” you solicit, setting the plate on the table.

Jungkook immediately shoves his hands in his pockets, and motions his head towards the beach, obliging you to follow him. “About what you told me at your house..” he trails off, “that one time in the middle of the night,” he adds. 

He perceives the way your features morph into embarrassment, so he decides to take the lead on this conversation. He approaches you, standing beside you momentarily before smoothly lacing his fingers through yours. “Let’s go.”

Unable to conjure a proper response, you follow his footsteps in silence until your bodies appear as distant figures by the ocean. With your toes kissing the water washing up on shore, he turns back to look at you, fingers still intertwined. But you stop him before he can open his mouth. 

“Wait- Jungkook. Let me explain myself first,” you begin, thankful that the night sky conceals the obvious bashful glow on your cheeks. 

Jungkook who is seemingly expressionless nods his head, signaling you to let your words out. 

You gently pull your hand from his, twiddling with your fingers before you can speak. “Firstly, I just wanna apologize.. to you,” you begin, ignoring the way his nose scrunches in confusion, “I feel like you’ve been so good to me- you always take care of me. Your family is the only family I have left,” you continue, bashfully tucking an idle strand of hair behind your ear. 

“So I’m sorry for forcing myself on you, and I’m sorry for mistaking your care towards me as romantic affection,” you continue, subconsciously gesticulating with your hands. “I know you said you don’t like it when girls are clingy but I’ve been nothing but clingy, and you still take care of me and care about me.” Your words are passionate, and they’re true. “Everyone told me that a relationship with you would be inappropriate.. but I was too persistent and too selfish. I’m so sorry Kook. You must’ve been so shocked when I yelled at you and when I.. opened that shower curtain,” you finish, shaking your head in embarrassment. 

When you finally complete the sentiment, you tilt your head upwards to gauge his reaction. His eyebrows pinch in confusion, and his mouth is slightly agape. “What?” he asks breathlessly, eyebrows pinching even further. He runs a tired hand over his face. “Y/N- just- I can’t believe you said that. Y/N, I love you. And I don’t care if you’re clingy, and I don’t care what anybody else thinks of us.”

You gasp at his words, a profound sense of emotion absolutely overwhelming you.

“What I care about is what you think of me, and whether you’re happy,” His fingers find yours, and he holds your hand and looks right into your eyes to properly convey his sincerity. “Y/N, I’m so sorry for not telling you sooner. You were just going through so much shit and I didn’t know if you were in the right headspace or if you were even serious about how you felt for me-”

He stops when you yank your hands away from him, using the back of your hands to wipe the tears streaming down your face. The shapes of his eyes turn into little crescents, petrified at your reactions. He removes your hands from your face, holding your wrists. 

“Y/N, don’t cry. Please say something.”

“Jungkook, it’s too late. I-I don’t think I can do this- with you- I mean,” is all you’re able to say and Jungkook’s chest tightens impossibly.

His heart drops to your stomach, a crestfallen expression morphing onto his handsome features. “I-is that how you really feel?”

Another tear streams down your face and Jungkook itches to wipe it but suppresses that urge.

“I love you Jungkook. I do. I really do!” you cry out, “But I can’t date you, ever. I never want to lose you,” you sob between sniffles. “I’ve made up my mind. I’m sure of it!”

The situation is bitterly ironic. Jungkook spent months tiptoeing around his feelings, your feelings, because he wanted to ensure he was what you wanted. Even when you blatantly threw yourself at him, he made the conscious decision to not pursue you. He spent months deciding your feelings for you- and now you’re telling him you don’t want him and he can’t do anything but accept it. 

“Y/N, you’ll never lose me. I’ll always be here. Even if you change your mind.. I’ll always be here.”

“Jungkook, I lost my whole family. You’re all I have left,” you explain, trailing off a little bit, “If I lose you then I have nobody.”

“No, I swear- Y/N, you’re it for me, and I mean it.”

You sniffle, wiping your cheeks, eyes, and nose once more. “What- hiccup- does that mean?”

“It means… whatever you want it to mean,” he concludes. 

“Jungkook…” you trail off, “Don’t wait for me. If you find a girl you like, then you should go for her. All I want is for you to be happy. It’s what you deserve,” you offer him a soft smile, a direct juxtaposition to your tear stained cheeks.

His chest tightens at that and he shakes his head. “You’ll always be my priority. Me? I’ve dated enough girls, I can be single for the rest of my life.”

You immediately swat his chest at the sentiment. “No, Jungkook. You should be with someone who takes care of you, not someone you have to take care of all the time. I’ll just always be your family friend who had a stupid crush on you in college.” Your attempt to lighten the atmosphere is futile and makes Jungkook’s scowl deepen. 

“You’re more than that to me. You’ll always be.” His hand latches onto yours, and you pull yourself from him. 

“No Jungkook.. I’ve made up my mind. I really don’t think we could ever…” When your voice breaks and more tears accumulate in your waterline, Jungkook stops you, not wanting to cause you any more pain. 

“I got it, Y/N. But just know I’ll always be here… in any way you’ll take me.”

READ PART 2 HERE

taglist: @babycandy111 @jk97bam @bellagrayson-wayne @honeeybunneey (can't be tagged), @talyaaas-blog , @jjeonjjk7 , @lovingkoalaface , @rvck0lover (can't be tagged), @kissyfacekoo , @dontcribuyabag (can't be tagged), @ash07128 , @cinnamonbambii , @jeon-ruby , @starlight-1010 , @hellbornsworld , @dodoneck, @papiibuprofen , @canyon-lwt , @appleh4ad , @screamertannie , @jeonjenny (can't be tagged), @ahgasegotarmy116 , @badaismygf (can't be tagged), @oopscoop , @gabsrecs , @hiii-priestess , @junniesoleilkth (can't be tagged) , @caro134340lina , @ellesalazar

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[crheativity]

Can we get a part three of This with riddle and Ruggie?? Thank you! 💜 it's fine if you can't do it btw!

SUMMARY: Someone's picked a fight with Prefect! But he isn't going to let anyone hurt you anymore. Not on his watch. Part 3! Part 1 w/ Cater and Azul can be found here, and part 2 w/ Vil and Silver can be found here.

WARNING: Riddle calls someone a coward. Also the words idiot and jerk are in his part. People get hurt in Ruggie’s part but it isn’t really gory or anything

COMMENTS: I’m so sorry this took so long, my hands have been in a lot of pain the past couple months and are only starting to get better 🥲 I hope you enjoy it! Ruggie and Riddle were super good ideas for this prompt, this was so much fun to write! Thank you for the request! Also, if anyone has any ideas for more characters they’d like for this series, feel free to send in a request!

It must be raining.

You were just out in a storm. That’s all.

That would explain the crack of thunder that collided with your face and gave you a throbbing headache. The warm liquid blurring your vision and dripping out of your mouth and nose was just the rain, not some unholy mix of blood and tears. The chills that froze you where you stood was just humidity and the cold, not adrenaline and raw fear.

And yet, even with your desperate brain trying to come up with some reasonable explanation, the only thunderstorm you could see in front of you was a student you couldn’t recognise. Not with your head pounding like this. Not with the thunder in your ears.

There was something about the boy that scared you. That wasn’t uncommon - this school was full of terrifyingly promising mages. But the scariest thing wasn’t how he wielded his magical pen with deadly accuracy, or how strong he so evidently was.

It was just how much he seemed to be enjoying the mix of horror and pain, of blood and tears, that must have been so evidently and delicately splashed across your face.

His smile twisted as he raised his pen again, something in those cruel eyes of his setting off alarm signals in your aching head.

“This’ll teach you not to meddle where you don’t belong.”

The pen glowed, pure magic surrounding it as he prepared to shoot. His sadistic eyes were alight with entertainment. He knew what he was about to do. He didn’t care.

You squeeze your eyes shut and braced for the lightning.

“OFF WITH YOUR HEAD!”

Your eyes snapped open just in time to see the lightning, arcing gracefully yet violently through the air.

Aiming straight for your assailant’s neck.

“What the- hey! Get this thing off of me!” The boy snapped, tugging at the heart shaped collar that had just appeared around his neck.

“I most certainly will not!”

Spinning around, you saw two boys making their way towards you. One was tall with short green hair, glasses, and a familiar symbol - a club - painted just below his left eye. He looked worried, his gaze flicking from you, to your assailant, to his companion and back again.

The second boy made your heart skip a beat.

His small frame shook with rage. His face, twisted with anger, had become as red as his hair. He marched straight past you, heading towards your assailant, his magical pen gripped tightly in his hand.

Uh oh.

The moment Riddle Rosehearts decides to get involved, heads roll.

“How dare you?!” He yelled. “Using magic in a fight is a clear violation of the rules! Did you think you could just shamelessly flaunt your rule-breaking and expect me not to see it?! And attacking the magic-less prefect of all people! If you really must break the rules, at least fight someone on an equal footing as you, coward!”

The courtyard was dead silent as Riddle verbally ripped into the student, chewing him out for several rule violations and other discourtesies.

“But the prefect started it-!” Your assailant protested.

“I don’t know what history you and the prefect may have, but in this instance you attacked without provocation and without warning!” Riddle huffed. “And don’t try to lie to me. I saw the whole thing.”

The boy visibly deflated. There was no getting out of this for him.

“I want to see your student ID. Now.” Riddle ordered.

The boy sighed, pulled his ID out of his bag and handed it to Riddle.

“Ah, Pomefiore, hm? Be thankful you’re not in Heartslabyul,” he snapped, handing the ID back to the student. “Although,” he added, “Vil Schoenheit is certainly not the most lenient of housewardens. He will deal with you appropriately.”

You felt a hand rest on your shoulder. Looking up, you realised Trey Clover had stopped next to you.

He gave you a small, strained smile. “Are you alright, Prefect?”

Riddle glanced back over at you, a little startled. It appeared he had forgotten you were here.

“I’m alright… I think.” You managed, sending both the dormleader and vice-dormleader a smile.

Riddle’s face somehow got even redder and he looked away. You would’ve thought it almost funny if the world hadn’t started spinning. You quickly grabbed Trey’s arm to steady yourself.

“Maybe not.” You added.

Trey reached over to support you. “Riddle, you know more first aid than I do. I’ll take him to Pomefiore and explain the situation to Vil, but maybe you should take care of the Prefect or something?”

“Very well.” Riddle made his way over to you, reaching out to support you. He gently led you over to a bench and pulled out a handkerchief.

“Please pardon me, I’m going to administer first aid to you now.” He spoke stiffly. You nodded dazedly, and then felt a pang of regret as your headache tripled in intensity. You focused on breathing steadily as he cleaned the blood from your face and examined your injuries.

“You’ll have a couple of bruises, but nothing serious, thankfully.” He sighed in relief and instructed you to apply pressure to your nose and angle your head downwards to stem the bleeding.

Slowly but surely, the bleeding stopped. Riddle sat with you quietly the entire time, silently supporting you. You got the impression that he didn’t quite know what to say or do, and just how close you both were wasn’t helping matters. That was alright, though. Just having him here was enough.

“Prefect…” Riddle spoke so quietly you weren’t even sure he’d spoken. He was looking away from you, his face a light pink colour. He seemed embarrassed.

“What’s up?”

Riddle took a deep breath, then slowly exhaled. “I… apologise for losing my temper back there. And also for not arriving and stopping him sooner. I’m truly sorry.”

You stared at him for a moment, then cracked a smile. “It’s alright. Although it would’ve been nice not to get hurt in the first place, it’s not your fault at all. You aren’t the idiot who tried to hurt me anyway.”

Riddle flinched at your ‘swear’. “Prefect!”

You grinned mischievously. “Wha-at? There’s no rule against calling someone an idiot, is there? Besides, you called him a coward earlier. If I’m going to get in trouble for calling someone an idiot then you should get in trouble for calling someone a coward.”

Riddle smiled and shook his head, his cheeks slightly pink. “Well then, I suppose I’ll have to watch my tongue. As Heartslabyul dorm leader, I simply must set a good example for my dorm members. Which means I must refrain from calling people… jerks.”

You gasped and clapped your hand over your mouth, trying so hard not to burst out laughing. “Riddle!”

His eyes lit up as you said his name. He looked at you so gently, so lovingly as you struggled not to laugh that you felt your face going warm.

Wouldn’t it be nice to stay like this forever….?

A yell of pain shot through the air, wrenching your eyes open in fear. Stumbling backwards, you drank in the scene in front of you before realising in horror what had happened.

Someone had jumped in front of you.

A beastman, to be more specific.

The boy stood protectively in front of you, breathing hard, hackles raised. He had dirty blond hair and an outfit much too big for him. His right hand was gripped tightly around his magical pen, his left was holding his right shoulder. Blood was beginning to fall at his feet.

Wait, blood?

Scanning him again quickly and you saw them: shards of ice crystals stuck out of his shoulder at every angle. Your stomach twisted and you felt the bile rise in the back of your throat.

“Prefect, go!”

“But-“

The boy turned at you and snarled. “Run!”

You stumbled backwards, stunned. A spell - another gift from your assailant - flew by your ear. Scrambling backwards, you cast your eyes around to find a place to hide.

There!

Sprinting over and sliding into the hiding spot, you peaked your head around and watched.

It was brutal.

The boy who saved you - the boy you now recognise as your crush, Ruggie Bucchi - fought viciously, yet his opponent was not the kind to give up easily. For every spell Ruggie had, this boy somehow managed to dodge or deflect almost every single one of them, and fire off a few of his own.

Come on, Ruggie. You thought. Please be okay.

Ripping your gaze from the fight, you pulled a packet of wipes from your bag and forced yourself to clean your wounds. Anything to distract from what was going on.

After all, there was no way you could help. You were magicless after all, so it was probably best to just leave things to those who could fight, right?

…Right?

A yell of pain forced your attention back on the fight. Both boys were now breathing hard, blood strewn across the courtyard. From the looks of things, neither boy could beat the other. Ruggie couldn’t break a hole in his defence and the other boy could barely hit Ruggie, who was sprinting and dodging like his life depended on it.

“Stay still, mutt!” The boy snapped, firing off spell after spell.

Ruggie didn’t even respond. His concentration remained on dodging and finding a weak point, but your assailant didn’t leave him time to cast a spell.

He just needed an opening.

Steeling yourself, you grabbed a rock and snuck around the two of them. You adjusted your grip on the rock.

Please, don’t let this hit anyone. You prayed, then stepped out into the open.

“HEY DIPSTICK, OVER HERE!” You yelled as loud as you could and then hurled the rock in his direction.

The boy whirled around and deflected the rock with magic in an instant. Seeing you, he seized his chance and prepared to fire off another spell. You squeezed your eyes tight and held your hands in front of your face.

“Laugh with me!”

No spell came. Opening your eyes, you saw the boy in front of you, clearly angry. He walked towards you rigidly, as if he was trying to do anything but that. He pulled his student ID out of his bag and handed it to you.

Then he turned around and walked away. Your eyes followed him as he walked a ways off, then stopped.

The boy whirled around, his magical pen aimed directly at you and began to cast-

And then was immediately knocked off his feet from a blast of wind magic.

Someone grabbed your arm. “C’mon Prefect, now’s when we run-“

Ruggie ran hard, tugging you along with him as you dodged through crowds of people, eventually slowing to a stop in front of some empty classrooms.

You gasped for breath and put your hands on your knees, trying to recover from your sprint. Glancing up, you saw Ruggie leaning against the wall, breathing hard.

He looked awful.

His shoulder looked worse, his uniform was singed and he smelled of smoke. He had countless scratches and scrapes. Yet despite all this, he caught your eye and smiled painfully.

“What… whatcha starin’ at, Prefect?” He panted, clearly exhausted.

“Your shoulder…” you managed. His smile fell and he shrugged - then grimaced.

“‘S fine. Don’t need to worry, shishish-“ he cursed and winced.

You walked over to him and looked him over. His face was ever so slightly pink as he looked away. He shook slightly as you tugged off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves.

Pulling out your packet of wipes, you looked up at him. “This okay?”

He glanced at you briefly, his face still pink, his ears flat against his head. He looked away again. “‘S whatever.” He mumbled.

You gently cleaned up his cuts and scrapes. Looking at his shoulder injury, you sighed. “I can’t do anything about that one. I’m taking you to the nurse’s office.”

“But-“ he protested, but fell silent when you cut him off.

“No buts. That’s serious, Ruggie. I’ll buy you doughnuts if you let me take you.” You added, hoping the bribe would work.

He hesitated, then smiled at you. “Fine. Shishishi, if I didn’t know better, I’d guess you’d care for me or somethin’.”

You simply stared at him.

He went red. “P-prefect-? Got somethin’ you wanna say? Haha…”

“Come on,” you said with a smile and a sigh. “Let’s get you to the infirmary.”

“Okay.”

What a dummy. You thought as you pulled him along. I think I love him.

♥Thank you for reading!! I hope you enjoyed it!!♥

#Rhea’s TWST fics~! #twisted wonderland #Riddle Rosehearts #TWST #TWST x reader #TWST fanfic #riddle rosehearts x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #ruggie bucci x reader #rheasks! #twst fluff #Ruggie bucchi #riddle x reader #Ruggie x reader

[akesdraws-blog]

I love you, but I know you don't love me back

Version: 🐢TMNT 2012🐢

❀Sometimes the problem is usually that the heart does not want to admit something that the mind knows and screams with all its might.❀

Sometimes we need a little bit of a bittersweet taste, cupid doesn't always shoot his arrows at both of us, sometimes he has some missed shots.

💙 Leonardo 💙

As well as a great leader, Leo is also an incredible gentleman.

But he never expected that such chivalry would cause a greater emotion than just kindness.

He will quickly notice some behaviors that were familiar from things he even did.

• Showing off for him

• The attention

• Overprotection

• Taking his side even if it was wrong

Attitudes like this did not go unnoticed.So don't expect a big stage or a rodeo.

He will be direct and just like a bandage on the skin, he will tear it off in one movement.

“If I'm misunderstanding, I apologize, but otherwise, I'd like to set the record straight, I'm only attracted to one person, and she's an amazing kunoichi, not just in combat, but also in my heart.”

That's right, don't expect anything more.

Make things clear and try not to be so rude.

He still hopes that they can remain friends despite everything.

He will accompany you home, and say goodbye as they always have.

But even if you close the window, he will stay in the shadows, listening to the soft sound of your sobbing.

He will hurt deep in your heart, he knows it, but he also knows it is for the best.

If your heart understands the pain sooner, it will take less time to heal.

~“The rain falls because the clouds can no longer support the weight. Tears fall because the heart can no longer bear the pain.”~

💜 Donatello 💜

Our silly genius is always making a new invention for his brothers and his friends.

After all that's your best way to show that someone cares.

Although it is no secret to anyone that Donnie is in love with April.

However, since what happened with Bigfoot, let's say that he now understands more things quickly.

But just as he doesn't usually reciprocate, he understands what you feel.

He may explain everything while you are helping him with an invention or while you play a video game.

“I... Don't take this the wrong way but... You know how I feel about April... And you know how she feels about me... I just want to say... I feel the same about you, as I do, what April feels for me... It sounds weird, I know, but... I hope you understand."

He doesn't try to be rude, he tries to be nice but he gets quite nervous.

He doesn't want his friendship to go down the drain, so if you don't say anything he might get a little chatty.

If you tell him that she's fine and that you just need a moment alone, he'll give it to you.He knows you have to process it.

He will still send you some message, just to know that everything is okay.

He will understand even if you don't appear in the sewer for a while, he will give you the space you need.

~“Love is not blind. Blind are those who run after those who do not love them.”~

~•°~•°~•°~•°~•°~•°~•°~•°~•°~•°~•°~•°~•°~

We arrive with something a little sad, because sometimes we also need a dose of slight sadness. (I apologize in advance for any spelling mistakes) In case you missed it: Mikey/Raph

Tags:

@turtle-babe83. @dilucsflame33. @thelaundrybitch. @scholastic-dragon. @leosgirl82. @tmnt-tychou . @little-bunny-in-space . @happymoonangel. @lazyafgurl. @kikithedreamerwriter. @androidships007.

#tmnt fandom #tmnt x reader #tmnt 2012 #tmnt 2k12 #tmnt donatello #tmnt donnie #tmnt leo #tmnt leo 2012 #tmnt leonardo #teenage mutant ninja turtles #heartbreak #unrequited love #leo tmnt #donnie tmnt #donatello 2012 #leonardo 2012

[reyalvr]

Hi! I've had this idea simmering for a bit - could you possibly do an angsty enemies-to-lovers Aonung x fem Sully reader where they're veryyyy much enemies but during the demon ship battle, either one of reader's close friends/family members (could be neteyam or someone else) is dying and they ask aonung to not let reader look. She's freaking out and losing it and he's just trying to comfort her, hug her, calm her down, etc. Hope this isn't too specific - do with it what you wish :) tysm

ASHES ON FIRE.

୨⎯ in which peace is luxury that you cannot afford.  ⎯୧

genre┊ angst, slight e2l & comfort, one-shot

pairing┊ao’nung x fem-sully!reader (? help), a little (lot) bit of brother!neteyam & fem-sully!reader as well

wordcount┊2.9k

warnings┊major movie spoilers, death 

author’s note┊ finally doing this request! i’ve been wanting to write it for a while now but i was so focused on ITMOIA <//3 hope i did this justice, anon! i had to rewatch the demon ship scene a couple times so i could stay true to the story, so apologies if i messed up a bit on the prompt you gave me T^T.

song recs ┊ na'vi attack, the bug collector.

The sky people say that ignorance is strength. That if you were numb enough to your surroundings, nothing would be able to break you; that nothing would matter so long as you didn’t feel anything. 

They were wrong.

It had all happened so fast – all of you riding out the moment you realized that your siblings were in danger, the war party attacking the RDA the second Payakan had seized the demon ship. Against your father’s orders, you had jumped on your ikran as fast as you could, flying all the way to Three Brother’s Rocks. 

You had no plan, only focused on saving your family. You soared swiftly through the clouds, drawing your bow each time you came in contact with an enemy ship. You had lost count of how many times you had shot something into the sea – it didn’t matter to you anymore. 

Chaos had struck all around you; everywhere you turned, you saw war. The Great Balance wasn’t present here, this was a place of loss. You yelled as you narrowly missed the shots fired from a gunship, and you retaliated by shooting an arrow into its propellers.

You were running on pure adrenaline, your mind clouded with only one thought: save your siblings. It was a recurring voice in the back of your head, and it seemed to jolt you back into focus every time you felt your nerves start to calm down. You hissed as you flew near the water now, aiming for any of the boats that shot at the clan. 

For a split second you were able to catch a glimpse of yourself in the water. You were terrifying. Your eyes had gone completely wide, pupils so constricted to the point where they were almost gone. The sneer on your lips didn’t aid in making you look less terrorizing; you were absolutely feral.

You didn’t linger on your appearance for too long, though,  as you had come in contact with one of the avatars, their bullets slightly grazing your shoulder. You yelped as you banked hard in order to get away from them, your adrenaline the only thing stopping you from feeling any immediate pain. 

It stung, bad, as you drew your bow, aiming directly for their heart. You let go without a moment’s hesitation, watching as the demon slid off of his ikran and into the water. You yelled in fury, your mind still unable to process your recent actions. 

Your ears perked up at the sound of rapid gunfire to your side, your eyes growing even wider as you recognized the electric blue colors of your mother’s ikran. You turned sharply, almost hitting the side of the ship as you willed your banshee to get to your mother’s position. 

“Mom!” You yelled, bow drawn as you aimed for another one of the demons. 

Her head turned instantly at the sound of your voice, her face blanketed in fear and worry. She had no time to scold you for being on the battleground, her attention concentrated on ambushing the sky people. 

You watched as your arrow soared straight into the avatar’s chest, his limp body plunging into the water like bait. The pain in your shoulder had started to make itself known again, yet you pushed forward in battle. You weren’t gonna let a minor injury get in the way of your rescue mission. 

Though, your streak of undefeated shots had to be ended sooner or later. You hadn’t seen the boat from underneath you, and they landed a shot to your ikran’s leg. You heard her screech, and the both of you rapidly barreled into the ocean. 

“[Y/N]!” You heard your mother yell before you were surrounded by water. 

Your ikran, though injured, had been able to pull herself out of the water and fly to safety. You quickly followed, gasping for air as you swam to the surface. You didn’t waste any time in finding land, and you moved fast in order to get cover. 

You were vulnerable now to the enemy’s attacks, no longer having the advantage of being in the air or wielding a bow. You leaned against the rocks, looking out for gunships while simultaneously catching your breath. The weight of fatigue was starting to hit you now, and you feared that your body would soon succumb to the exertion you had put yourself through. 

The battle prayer to Eywa rang in your head, the words of the Great Mother slowly pushing you to move forward. Tirea oeyä maway livu, Ma Eywa. Calm my spirit, Eywa.

You groaned, your eyes closed as you forced yourself to stand. All hope was not lost, as in the distance you spotted the familiar dark blue of your sister’s skin. You called for an ilu and dove quickly, swimming as fast as you could to Kiri and the others. 

“Kiri!” You yelled as you neared them, your heart pounding in relief. 

She turned, her eyes recognizing you as soon as she saw you. “Sister!” 

Your reunion with her would not be now, however, as an ikran had plucked her up right in front of you before you’d even been able to wrap your arms around her. You yelled, your voice nearly going hoarse, and whatever tiredness your body felt was soon melted away by the bubbling rage within you. 

“No!” You screamed, and you moved to chase after her but were stopped by an iron grip around your arm.

You hissed as you turned to face whoever was stopping you from saving your sister. Ao’nung pulled you in, his eyes scanning over your face as he tried to tell you to fall back. You stood now on the remnants of a destroyed boat, though you would much rather be on your way to hunt whoever had stolen your sister from you. 

“Let me go!” You yelled at the Metkayinan boy, your other hand coming up to yank his hold off of you. “I need to get to the demon ship, now!”

“And let you die?” He argued back. “No, I won’t allow it.”

“Who the hell do you think you are?” You spat, your tone as venomous as your stare. “Who are you to decide that for me?”

“That does not matter! I will not let you go in there unarmed!” He fought back, both of his hands now gripping your forearms. 

You hissed at him again, your body on the brink of lashing out. Was he out of his mind? Your siblings were in danger, now more than ever. He could not keep you here, you weren’t going to allow it. You thrashed, exerting yourself to the max as you tried to free yourself from his hold. 

“[Y/N], please,” Rotxo spoke up, his expression filled with concern. “Ao’nung is right, it is too dangerous for you to go in there alone!”

“I do not care!” You roared. “Kiri was just taken, right before our eyes! If I do not get to her now she could die! What don’t you understand about that?”

They flinched at your voice, and that gave you the opportunity to finally free yourself from Ao’nung. Your head whipped in his direction, your glare shooting daggers into his skull. He moved to grab you again, but you were swift in avoiding his movements. You were about to jump back into the water and swim to the demon ship before you caught sight of someone from your peripheral. 

You turned, your breath hitching as you watched your brothers hastily guide an ilu to a desolate island. You didn’t have to say another word before the three of you swam hurriedly to them, your legs burning as you forced yourself to move faster. 

You climbed up the rocks, not caring if your knees and palms were scrapped by the jagged edges. You opened your mouth to call out to them, but stopped as soon as you registered the scene in front of you. Your heart dropped, and you could feel yourself shake as emotion after emotion overwhelmed your body.

On the ground lay Neteyam, his body jerking as he fought to maintain his breath. There was a scarlet wound on his chest, blood continuously leaking out of him as Lo’ak did his best to stop it from flowing any further. You nearly lost balance as you dropped down, holding your brother’s head away from the hard rock and onto your lap.

“What happened?” You demanded, your eyes frantically examining his current state. “What happened?”

“‘Was shot,” Neteyam murmured, the action clearly taking a toll on him. 

“Shut up, damnit,” You hissed at him, your tone fluctuating from anger to concern to fear. “Do not exert yourself for Eywa’s sake!” 

“We went back for Spider,” Lo’ak said to you as he continued to put pressure on your brother’s wound. “Neteyam he- he got,” 

He was panicking now, his breath coming in short. You were trying your best to remain sane, though the situation you were in only aided in making you feel worse. Your sisters were being held hostage by those demons, and now your worst fear had suddenly come to life. 

Your mouth went dry as you tried to focus, your ears ringing from the forced concentration. You couldn’t think straight, and the inconsistent beat of your heart was preventing you from doing anything precisely. Somewhere in the distance you heard your mother and father, their cries of panic suddenly filling the grief-stricken atmosphere. 

You had no time to acknowledge them though, as you were solely focused on Neteyam’s condition. There was blood – so much blood that you started to feel lightheaded from the sight. Your hands had come up behind his back, your palms covering the exit point of his wound. 

The sky above you was grey, the bright blues no longer gracing Awa’atlu. Eclipse was near, and the smoke around you had only added to the lifelessness of the Great Mother’s land. Your brother still struggled to maintain his breath, his pupils dilating more and more the harder he tried to remain conscious. 

You couldn’t think, you couldn’t speak. Your body was operating on auto-pilot, your mind blocking out as many distractions as it could. You hung your head low, feeling hot tears starting to form. You prayed every prayer to Eywa, begging her to spare your brother. It could not be his time yet; it would be too cruel. 

Your father’s hand came up to cup your brother’s face, and you had never seen him more broken in your entire life. Neteyam was begging now, begging to go home. Your real home. Home to the fortress of the Omatikaya, home to the forests of Eywa, home to his family. 

“I know, I know,” You father breathed out, the pain in his heart spreading to his expression. “It’s okay, we’re going home.”

Neteyam looked around him now, his eyes darting from one person to another. His gaze landed on you before he spoke up, his voice so weak that it broke your heart.

“Dad, I,” He finally let out. 

You waited for him to finish his sentence. You waited for what felt like an eternity. You waited and waited and waited. But his reply never came, only the deathly silence of loss filling his being. You didn’t want to believe it. It was not right, this loss. 

You blinked slowly, your breath so slow that it felt like someone had knocked you over. Your mind had registered Neteyam’s death almost instantly, but your heart – oh Eywa, your heart. Your heart was heavy, filled with so much sorrow that it nearly broke you. 

Your world had shifted the moment your brother passed, and it felt wrong. Neteyam’s spirit was with the Great Mother now; you couldn’t battle anyone for his soul back, couldn’t bargain with any Tsahik for more time. He was gone. 

Your mother wailed the moment she realized your brother had passed, and her screams of agony pierced your heart the same way his death had. You felt your shoulder slump, your hands slipping from your brother’s back as you no longer tried to stop the bleeding. 

Your auto-pilot had been switched then, the reality of your world crashing in on you. You felt like you were about to break, like you were about to shatter into a million pieces. Your head was spinning, so much to the point where you nearly fell as you slightly backed away from your brother’s lifeless body. 

Your sweet, beautiful, kind-hearted big brother was gone. You felt like you were a child again, waiting for Neteyam to tell you that this was all just a nightmare. Eclipse had finally set, the world around you going dark as the fires continued to blaze. 

Your family was frantic now, your father trying to get your mother to stay strong, Lo’ak disassociating from the world around him. You cried then, cried like you would never be able to cry again. You placed your forehead against your brother’s cold one, your screams scratching your throat. 

You cried out for Neteyam, cried out for your mighty brother. He was the glue that held your family together, and without him you didn’t know how any of you would be able to live on. The others just watched over you as you sobbed, their eyes so full of pity. 

You didn’t care if they saw you as weak now, you were hurting so badly. May Eywa never let them experience this kind of loss, because you could feel a piece of you dying alongside your brother the longer you continued to cry. You felt a pair of hands come up on your shoulders, and you tried to push them away with whatever might you had left in you. 

“[Y/N],” You heard Ao’nung say, his calloused hands still gentle with you as you continued to break down. “[Y/N] you must rest.”

You lifted your head, finally seeing that your family, as well as Spider, had disappeared. You looked at Tsireya, and the look in her eyes had told you everything you needed to know. Stay here, please, her gaze said. 

You took a deep breath in, and it felt like you were breathing again for the first time. You wanted to go against whatever orders your father had told them to give you, but you knew that acting rashly would only worsen things for you. So you stayed, glued to your brother’s side as you mourned your loss.

Ao’nung had not left your side either, his worriedness for your wellbeing keeping him attentive. You couldn’t tell if he was doing this to help your father or if he was doing this to keep you from going insane, but still it gave you a sense of comfort – however cruel it might be to long for it during this time. 

He didn’t say anything to you, only rubbing your shoulders to keep you grounded and aware. If this had been any other situation, you would have already distanced yourself from him. You and Ao’nung weren’t friends, though you weren’t exactly horrible towards each other either. Either way, you didn’t feel the urge to yell at him to go away; instead his presence soothed you, slowly getting you to calm your nerves. 

You leaned into him, and he took you in with open arms. Though your heart was still heavy, your body had seeked the warmth that it desperately needed. He matched his breathing with yours, aiding to quell the tensenes of your body. 

You watched as Tsireya and Rotxo tried to clean up whatever they could off of your brother’s body, their movements light and gentle. You held his cold hand, your hands coming up to close his eyes. He looked peaceful now, as if he were just resting.

You would have believed so, had it not been for his dried blood on your hands. Your bottom lip quivered, and you closed your eyes once more as you fought to stay composed. 

You felt Ao’nung’s thumb rubbing circles on your arm, his other hand clasped around your free hand. This was an intimate gesture between mated people, you knew, but you didn’t care. His comfort gave you an escape from the harsh realities of life. You felt yourself drifting off, your body too tired to remain awake. 

“Sleep if you want to,” Ao’nung whispered. “You and your brother are safe here.”

You sniffled slightly as you nodded your head, your eyes heavy from crying. “I must pray over him first. I must protect him this one last time.”

He only nodded, still keeping his arms around you as you brought Neteyam’s hand up to your heart. 

“Oel ngati kameie, ma tsmukan, ulte ngaru seiyi irayo. Ngari hu Eywa salew tirea, tokx 'ì'awn slu Na'viyä hapxì.” You said in a hushed tone, the others bowing their heads as you recited the death prayer.

I see you, brother, and I thank you. Your spirit will run with Eywa, while your body will remain and become part of the People.

You leaned back into Ao’nung, your hand finally clasping around his as well. You squeezed his hand, tilting your head slightly to look at him. You closed your eyes, bowing your head to him. 

“I see you.” You whispered. 

He held you closer, his voice the last thing you heard before slumber had taken over your body. “I see you.”

reyalvr © 2023 ... do not repost, alter, or steal my work.

tags┊@chunghaaaa, @kiris-wife, @8resa, @avatarkv, @urlocalkeemawearingartist

#aonung #aounung #ao'nung #ao'nung x you #ao'nung x reader #ao'nung fanfiction #ao'nung x fem!reader #ao'nung angst #ao'nung fluff #ao'nung imagine #avatar ao'nung #avatar the way of water #ao'nung atwow #avatar 2022 #avatar angst #avatar 2 #atwow fanfiction #avatar imagine #neteyam x sister!reader #neteyam angst #netyam sully #neteyam te suli tsyeyk'itan #avatar neteyam #✎ maxi’s works

[twistedwonderlandimaginesblog]

Sebek + Orange Rose please?

Sebek Zigvolt:

Orange Rose - experiencing constant as well as distracting thoughts of the other person.

Sebek was flustered.

He swatted at your caring hands knowing you were the source of his discontent in the first place. Horseback riding had always been a way to clear his head, to set himself straight when his thoughts may wander while he was on duty. Even if it was a challenge to find a horse who could stand his booming voice, he had overcome the obstacle with great pride because nothing could stop him from being who he needed to be (AKA the best bodyguard for Malleus).

Yet how could he overcome an obstacle like you?

He supposed going back in time was unthinkable even with magic, since even the powerful Malleus couldn’t move the hands on a clock backwards. He thought maybe keeping a careful distance might work yet you were insistent on barging into his life, just like you did minutes before as an example.

Sebek had been riding along a quiet path, filled with a decent amount of shade from the plentiful green trees that hung over it in an almost protective gesture. It would allow him to bask in the pleasant outside air, a warm spring day that Sebek had looked forward to all winter. He didn’t choose this of his own accord as he disliked being away from Malleus for long periods of time but his master had disappeared after requesting solitude, leaving him with no choice but to train. He had even considered that he might run into Malleus back here due to how isolated it is and how rarely the path was used, a little daydream he had that unfortunately distracted him.

When you accidentally stepped into the horse’s path, emerging from the woods like a startled deer, Sebek cursed your name as he reared back in a desperate attempt to change direction. Saving you from a painful fate was less of a heroic scenario and more of a treacherous deal sealed with a handshake as he went flying from the horses back instead. He grunted as he landed hard in the brush, thankful that at least fate hadn’t sent him into thorny bushes, too.

“Sebek!” His name leaves your lips in such a frantic tone, one he can’t pin.

Was that from realizing the danger you were in, or for him who was hurt in your stead?

A zap of electricity shoots through him, the tingling in his chest remaining in the aftermath. He opened his mouth to loudly scold you for not paying attention to your surroundings; you couldn’t hear the hooves trampling dirt and rock a mile away? What if it had been some less skilled rider, or even worse, some type of predator set on sinking its teeth into you? He doesn’t know why the concept of you wounded with no one to protect you makes him feel anxious, but decided it’s easier to connect it to his natural protective instincts as a bodyguard.

“Don’t be stubborn!” You huffed as he stood, brushing himself off like he’d simply tripped. “At least let me heal up the little things!”

Sebek thought it’s a waste of both of your time (and your magic) to heal some measly scratches but he’s rendered speechless by you yet again as you removed his gloves with ease to touch the bare skin of his hands. Your magic required skin-on-skin contact and he knew this, so why did he suddenly become so aware of how intimate it felt to hold another’s hand?

A warmth spread from his hands to his entire body, your magic doing its work and perhaps something more. It’s a few blissful moments before you retract your hands, satisfied that he’s in perfect working order. You even smiled as you handed him back his riding gloves, and Sebek had to divert his eyes for a second to concentrate on slowing his rapidly beating heart.

“There you go! I know as Malleus’ bodyguard you wouldn’t want to look messy sooo…” You plucked a twig out of his hair, flicking it to the ground. “There! Handsome as ever!”

Sebek suddenly wished this place was more populated, that there was a chance of interruption as he had no idea what to say next. The polite thing would be to thank you for your help, or perhaps to go back to his original idea of scolding you for not paying attention, but for some reason he remained tongue tied. If he thought about it enough, he could remember the gentle feel of your hands, the way your brow furrowed as you concentrated on healing him quickly and efficiently, the sparkling smile as you admired your handiwork before you called him handsome—

Sebek suddenly felt very resigned to his fate, knowing that as long as you existed you would always invade his thoughts.

#Twisted Wonderland #Disney Twisted Wonderland #TWST #Disney TWST #TWST Imagines #TWST x Reader #Twisted Wonderland x Reader #sebek zigvolt #sebek zigvolt x reader #scenario #flower prompts

[sleepiexx]

Right Under Her Nose

Valeria Garza x fem!Reader + Platonic!John “Soap” Mactavish x fem!Reader

Note: This has been a wip for mooonths dude

Summary: Valeria had expected that her girlfriend just wanted space, albeit not so fond of the idea that she couldn’t respond to a simple text, she’d grant her wish and leave her alone. Oh how wrong she turned out to be.

Warnings: Lots of talk about blood, death, and some gore, kind of graphic but not super detailed, Valeria and Reader fight, and the first half is Valeria-less

Word Count: 3859

The only sound resounding in the near empty room was the dripping of blood, a sick echo of the liquid dripping onto concrete. (Y/N) was so out of it that she had originally assumed there was a leak in the ceiling, but she was wrong. She only realized it was the sound of her own blood when she saw the pool of the red liquid under her rippling in tune with the dripping noise.

She knew she was hurt, of course— how could she forget the rigorous hours of torture she had been subject to? But she didn’t know that a person could bleed this much and survive, it reflected in her physical state heavily. Everything hurt, even thinking.

How did she even end up here?

She led a normal life. She lived off of tips and the wage she earned by waiting tables at a cushy place downtown. After long nights and rush hours, she would return home to her apartment and plants. Along the way, she met a woman who she loved with her entire heart and was lucky enough to call her girlfriend. (Y/N) (L/N) lived as normal as life could get and yet somehow, someway, one of those life choices led to her capture and torture by members of the cartel.

“I don’t know anything!” She’d sobbed for hours as they dismantled her physical and psychological being without relent. Drawn out beatings, cuts, slashes, all blended together in her mind as one heaping pile of pain.

One name stuck out. The one that they had asked her about her connection to over and over again: El Sin Nombre.

She had no clue who El Sin Nombre was. She guessed they were some rival to the men who had been torturing her, but she knew nothing more than that and she certainly didn’t know how she fit into the equation.

She didn’t run with any cartels, or do drugs— hard ones anyway, she couldn’t imagine her marijuana use had anything to do with this. She knew for a fact that her plug didn’t dabble in selling or consuming harder drugs either, so it couldn’t have been him. Besides, who gets tortured for enjoying a blunt every once in a while? She was innocent, why couldn’t they see that?

The door pounded, wood splintering and cracking from the pressure. That wasn’t good. The cartel had been angry throughout her interrogation, that much had been clear with the way they had treated her, yet now they were unable to even keep their cool. What happened? Was she no longer “useful” to them? Had they decided she was better off dead? What made it so urgent that they couldn’t use the key and had to knock the door down?

The door finally caved under the pressure. The big group of men that (Y/N) had been expecting turned out to be just one man. One man with a gun.

Panic shot through her veins, a newfound energy along with it. She thrashed around in her chair, desperate to get away from him, yet the restraints didn’t budge.

He stomped towards her, a blank face as he held the gun in a position that suggested he was ready to lift and shoot at the drop of a hat.

She would do anything to survive, grasping at straws for a chance at life, “Hey- hey, wait wait wait- I thought- you need me, you need the information I have.” She didn’t have any information, she knew that, and it seemed so did he.

“Your information is not important.” He huffed, a deep glare etched into his eyes, “Something’s come up, I have to tie up the loose ends.”

His gun raised, aiming straight for her forehead. Tears fell from her eyes, with nothing to lose now she had no qualms crying to her heart’s content. All shame she felt dissipated as she sobbed and begged— begged for her life.

“Please- Please, I’m sorry. I don’t know what I did please, please don’t kill me.”

Her throat felt raw as her sobs bordered on screams. She saw his finger wrap around the trigger and she closed her eyes as she heard a loud bang, waiting to feel the pain and then nothing at all.

But it never came.

She felt a spray of hot liquid splashing on her face, which she suspected was her own blood, but confusion consumed her as she still felt very much alive.

Reluctantly, she opened her eyes. The man who nearly killed her was on the ground, resting in a puddle of his own blood.

“What the fuck?” She whispered, eyes wide. She looked up, met with the sight of a man. He wore a uniform, army, and he had stubble and a Mohawk. He looked like any average soldier and yet after hours of unrelenting torture, you could never be too cautious.

She struggled against her restraints once more but it only proved to be a harder task now that her adrenaline levels were fading and exhaustion was taking over.

“Hey, Hey!” He called out to her, trying to calm her down, “it’s okay, love, it’s over. I’m gonna get you out of here.”

She calmed at the thought, staring at him with hopeful eyes. “Please.” She begged. At this point, she didn’t even know what she was begging for.

He stepped forward carefully, “I’m Soap, I’m going to try and untie your restraints. Is tha’ okay?”

She didn’t like how he treated her like a scared animal but she appreciated him narrating everything he was doing. It made things predictable, less scary that way. She nodded.

Despite getting the go ahead, he continued at a slow pace, in fear of startling her or triggering something. With the state of her blood-stained body, he could only imagine the horrors she had went through in however long she had been there.

She felt nervous as he had to stand behind her to untie her wrists. Out of her line of vision, he was unpredictable. But as a seasoned soldier, he knew that, knew exactly how she was feeling, and he would do anything in his power to alleviate some of the pain.

“The ropes aren’t budging, I’m going to use a knife to cut them off, so I need you to stay real still, okay?”

She nodded.

He sawed the ropes until they fell off with a wet plop onto the soaked floor. She pulled her hands forward, shoulders aching from having been kept in that position for so long. She stared down at the red lines that followed her wrists where the ropes had been. She had struggled so much that she rubbed her wrists raw and bloody.

He walked around to the front of the chair, where he squatted down and did the same to the restraints on her ankles.

Completely unrestrained, she got slightly overzealous and attempted to stand. Her legs were weak, though, having only stood few times in the past however long when the cartel felt gracious enough to let her go to the bathroom. She nearly instantly collapsed and likely would have fallen right on top of the dead man had the soldier not been there to catch her.

“Hey, easy, easy. Don’ think you should be walkin’ on your own just yet.” He looked down at her, trying to help her stand on her own but it was proving impossible in her state, “alright, I’m going to pick you up.”

One of his hands snaked down from where they were on her sides to the pit of her knees, picking her up in a bridal carry. She groaned at the movement, open wounds aching and sending shooting pains throughout her body.

“Steamin’ Jesus, what did they do to you?” He wondered aloud, concerned at the whines and pained moans leaving her mouth.

She didn’t respond, too emotionally and physically exhausted to have a deep conversation. As he carried her throughout the compound, her eyes began to shut, almost succumbing to darkness. Soap instantly took notice.

“Hey, you can’t go dying on me now, love. Gotta stay awake. Talk to me.” He hoped she would start rambling so he could gauge the state she was in without having to take his focus off of the compound in front of him, but she just blinked at him. It was a hard task to ask of a girl who had just been through hell. But Soap was witty, and he had no problem finding another way for her to talk, “What’s your name, hen?”

“(Y/N),” it came out like a whisper, but before this she hadn’t talked to him at all so it was progress.

“(Y/N)? I like it. What’s your favorite color, (Y/N)?”

“Blue,” she murmured.

He smiled, “nice color, I like green.”

“Green? Is your full name Irish Spring?” Her voice was weak, and wavering, so it was hard to get across a tone to match the joke she had made.

He shook his head, not understanding that she was joking, “I’m Scottish actually.”

“Irish Spring, like the green soap.”

He looked down at her and smirked, “I did not think you were capable of makin’ quips like that.”

She looked away, feeling some of the effects of the blood loss hitting her. Loopy-ness being the main one, she found herself unable to control her words, “What kind of name is Soap anyway?”

“It’s not a name.” He said, kicking down a door that stood in their way. Quickly checking if the coast was clear before finishing his statement, “It’s a callsign. My real name is John.”

“John,” she mumbled, “that doesn’t really suit you.”

“You can call me Johnny if ya like-“

Just as Soap thought he was making progress, keeping the hostage’s thoughts on other things, he was met with the sound of more cartel.

“Fuck.” He muttered, mind racing through all of his options.

(Y/N) could tell they were coming, her eyes were wide and her heart rate picked up. Fear consumed her once more. Especially as the soldier set her down on the ground.

“I’m going to deal with this, you stay right here.” He explained, not giving her room to speak as he b lined it out of the door, towards the gaggle of cartel members.

All she heard were gunshots, gunshots and screaming. She made an attempt at self soothing by rocking back and forth but it didn’t help that she was wounded to shit, making her movements jagged and painful.

What if Johnny died out there? What if her only hope at escape from this awful place was shot and killed defending her?

She didn’t know if there were more soldiers, or if it was just him, all she knew was that she needed him, desperately.

God, how she wanted to peek so bad, especially when the room went silent. But she knew she couldn’t disobey the soldier. Not when it was his judgement that had gotten them this far.

Like an answered prayer, he appeared right in the doorway.

“Hey, hen.” He smiled at her, trying to cheer her up, but it faltered when he saw just how harshly she had reverted to the nervous state he had found her in.

He walked up towards her, picking her up once more. “I’ve gotcha,” he coo’d, hoping to calm her down slightly. He knew he had to get her out of there, fast, so he sped up his pace.

It went like that for a while, until they finally made it to the evac point.

Soap could see the confusion portrayed by each of his team members as he carried the wounded woman towards them. She was covered in blood and limp, to the team she looked like a corpse, yet Soap could see her eyes staring at any and everything, they still had life behind them.

The masked man spoke first, “what’s this?” His critical eyes analyzing her.

Soap could tell that his teammate’s imposing presence scared the girl, so he nodded him off to the side, “This, Ghost, is (Y/N), the cartel was holding her hostage.”

Shortly after, he turned to (Y/N), not wanting to talk about her with them right in front of her, “this is my team, Ghost, Gaz, and Captain Price.”

The man he had referred to as Captain Price stood at attention as their evac helicopter came inbound. “Plenty of time for introductions on the chopper, Soap.”

He nodded and hopped in the second the aircraft landed. In the short time it took to load everyone in, he called out to the crew who had already been in the chopper, “can I get a medic?” He yelled, gesturing towards the blood coated woman.

Thankfully, of the small crew they’d taken with them, a medic was amongst their ranks. They took to the girl, packing her bigger wounds with gauze as she groaned in pain.

“Oh, fuck!” She called out, face twisting into a grimace.

“What did the cartel want from you?” Price prodded.

Soap went to get onto him for questioning her as she writhed in pain, but Gaz beat him to it, “Jesus, Captain, the poor thing’s gettin’ treated for extensive wounds and now is when you want to question her?”

The men stared at each other, but (Y/N) relented. “I- I don’t know. They kept bringing up some guy in a rival cartel but I don’t- I don’t know anything about it.”

A loud whine left her lips as a particularly deep gash was treated. She couldn’t stop the tear that fell down her cheek from the pain.

Soap frowned, trying to stay positive, “we’re gonna get you home, alright hen?”

And she nodded, reluctant but hopeful.

The rest of the ride was a blur, at some point she passed out, she only woke up days later in a bright hospital room. To her surprise, the Scottish soldier was by her side.

“Johnny?” She mumbled, voice raw and cracking from a lack of use.

His head shot up, staring at the girl who had been asleep for nearly four days. “(Y/N), hey! How are you feeling?”

She groaned, body sore, “like I’ve been hit by a bus.”

He chuckled slightly, “yeah, you look it too. But the doc says you’ll be back to your old self in no time, whatever that is.”

“So nothing too serious?” She asked.

His lips flattened, not liking the way her words discredited what she went through. “You took quite the beating, hen. Nothing deadly or physically altering, but you broke a few ribs, got a couple of deep gashes, and you suffered so much blood loss they had to drug you up until you were fixed.”

She sighed, taking in his words, “fuck, man.”

“But the doctor only let up on the drugs now because everything’s sorted, as long as you follow the doctors orders and get one last physical, you’re good to go home until the next checkup.”

Her expression didn’t change at the good news, “I- I don’t even know where I am. Or how to get home.”

Soap grabbed her hand, “Don’t worry about that, I’ll get you where you need to be.”

She gulped anxiously, but nodded nonetheless.

By the end of the day, Johnny fulfilled his promise. She was discharged from the hospital and he himself drove her back home. He even went as far as to walk her into her house and give her his number, should she ever need him.

She stared at the ground, never good at goodbye’s but still wanting to say her thanks, “Thank you, for everything.”

He pulled her into a hug, “No need to thank me, hen, you get some rest.” And just like that he was out the door.

Unbeknownst to the two, their goodbye had been watched.

Mere minutes after Soaps departure, frantic knocking sounded at (Y/N)’s door. Recent trauma still fresh on her mind, she panicked. A million possibilities flashed through her head, all ending with the cartel knocking down her door and taking her away once more.

That idea was shattered as (Y/N) heard her girlfriend yelling behind the door, “I know you’re home, (Y/N)!”

She hesitantly stepped towards the door, unlocking and cracking it open before Valeria pushed her way into the apartment with anger written all over her face.

Valeria slammed the front door shut, fuming words spewing out of her mouth before (Y/N) could even form a sentence, “Where have you been? I’ve been calling you like crazy for two weeks and you’ve just been gone. No voicemail, no text, not even a note.”

“Val I-“

“How could you just disappear like that? I care about you (Y/N), it really fucking hurts when you can’t seem to tell me you’re going somewhere.”

(Y/N) knew she was pissed. Valeria never talked about her emotions, ever, and here she was baring her wounds to (Y/N). Sure she was regularly angry, but (Y/N) knew her better. She knew that this was worse than any superficial fight they had ever had.

“Valeria-“

“And who was that man you were with, huh? Are you doing something behind my back?”

To (Y/N), this meant cheating, but to Valeria who had met Soap before, she had feared a full betrayal. She only fell short in her words as tears fell from her girlfriend’s eyes.

“No! No, I wouldn’t do that!” (Y/N) sobbed, “I was kidnapped, I barely made it out alive. He saved me!”

“Kidnapped?” Valeria whispered to herself, but (Y/N) heard it.

“I know, I know it sounds crazy- fuck, I feel crazy,” (Y/N) cut herself off, breathing out the last part, “but yeah, I was taken by the cartel because- because they thought I had ties to their rivals but I don’t, Valeria, I swear I don’t.”

Valeria’s face shifted to an expression (Y/N) couldn’t read. Some mix of pity, sadness, and almost… guilt?

She placed her hands on either of (Y/N)’s shoulders, “(Y/N), baby, do you remember who they were asking you about specifically?”

(Y/N) sniffled, “I don’t know, it was something like El Sin Hombre— no, Nombre? I don’t know, one of those. Why?”

Valeria’s face darkened. Her eyebrows knit together and the guilty look deepened. Her glare burnt a hole into the floor.

“You do have a connection to El Sin Nombre.” She muttered.

There was a beat of silence before (Y/N) spoke.

“What?” (Y/N) asked, confusion evident, only making her more distraught.

Valeria’s eyes slowly lifted to meet her girlfriend‘s, “(Y/N), I am El Sin Nombre.”

“No.” (Y/N) mumbled, ever so slightly raising her voice, “No, you can’t be.”

She tried to squirm away from Valeria, but the grip on her shoulders was too tight. Eventually she gave up trying to get away and allowed herself to collapse into her lover’s hold, sobbing into the crook of her neck.

“Please, no.” She cried, “it hurt, Valeria, it hurt. Please god no.”

Valeria pet her hair, tears quietly streaming down her face. The sound of her lover’s pain rang out like rusted church bells, raw screaming echoing off the living room walls.

Knowing that all this was her fault— that all of (Y/N)’s pain was caused by her— it hurt more than any bullet or shrapnel that Valeria had ever felt buried beneath her skin.

“They hurt me so bad. Please, Valeria.” And, god, (Y/N) had no clue what she was begging for but all she could do in this moment was plead— for respite, for love, for an end to her pain. She was reduced to this residual ache, physically, mentally, everything hurt. She hadn’t prayed in years and yet now she found herself yearning for divine intervention.

She choked on her words, yet Valeria heard her loud and clear.

The statement made Valeria shake not only in sorrow, but in a cacophony of despair and rage.

“I’ll kill them.” Valeria’s voice carried a malevolent undertone, laced with venom and spite.

(Y/N) stilled, her eyes trailing to slightly meet Valeria’s despite the way the rest of her face was hidden behind Valeria’s shirt, “What?”

Valeria pulled her from her chest, cupping her hands around (Y/N)‘s cheeks. It was in this moment that she finally saw how bruised and swollen (Y/N)’s face was, the full extent at which those men had hurt her. A rage bubbled beneath Valeria’s skin. “I will kill each and every one of them, (Y/N).”

And it wasn’t perfect. Everything still hurt. (Y/N) still felt like she was splayed out on the floor with her guts ripped open. And yet, it was enough. The promise of healing— of fixing things, however violently things needed to be fixed. And so they sat like that, Valeria holding her lover as she sobbed, for the rest of the night, and many nights after that, as long as it took to heal.

Months later, Soap was working late at the base, filling out paperwork from a recent mission. It was likely he was the only one working this late in this part of the building. That’s why it surprised him to hear a voice from behind him.

“Working hard, soldier?”

He knew the voice, but he thought he had imagined it. He was shocked as he turned around and confirmed his suspicions. She was leaning on the desk behind him, arms crossed.

“Valeria,” he looked the woman up and down, scanning her for weapons, “Why are you here?”

She sat up from the table, uncrossing her arms, “I came to thank you.”

“Thank me? For what? I got you arrested.”

She raised an eyebrow, staring into his soul, “I know that. I’m talking about something different.”

His brows furrowed, “go on.”

“A few months ago you saved a woman who was being tortured for information.”

“(Y/N),” he confirmed.

She nodded, “(Y/N) is my girlfriend.”

His jaw nearly dropped at the statement. “She told me she didn’t have any connection to the cartel,” he frowned, slight betrayal ebbing at him.

Valeria shook her head, guilt coming back as she remembered (Y/N) sobbing the same thing to her, “She didn’t know, I hadn’t told her.”

That made him feel better, but he was still confused, “I still don’t understand why you’re here.”

Valeria’s tough attitude seemed to falter, “I just- Thank you. Thank you for saving her. I didn’t even know she was taken, I fear for what would have happened had she been there any longer.”

He nodded, “She’s a good person, never hurt her.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” And with that, Valeria walked right out of the military base— presumably the way she came in. Soap knew he should follow her, should track her down and capture her so she could be arrested. But when he thought back to (Y/N), he knew he could never do that to the poor girl. So he let her go.

#call of duty fanfic #valeria garza x reader #valeria garza x fem!reader #valeria x reader #valeria garza #valeria cod #valeria garza cod #call of duty valeria #valeria x fem!reader #call of duty x reader #platonic! soap x reader #platonic!141 x reader

[hitlikehammers]

stupid superpower

rating: teen tags: humor, brotherly ribbing, Dustin has a ✨stupid superpower✨, Dustin continues to have issues with his tone ✨for @slashify at my BIRTHDAY MONTH PROMPT FEST for the prompt: Character Has Powers (requested to be Dustin)

“Look, see!” Dustin points at the mat he’s laid out on the coffee table in Steve’s living room. “This is why Dart was so easy, it makes so much sense now.”

He turns to them with the biggest grin that’s getting a little less gummy by the week, now, but…he looks so proud, is the thing.

And it is painful. The pride. What it’s for.

The way they’re gonna have to probably dash it.

“I,” Steve squints at the setup, start to finish, empty cans framing the perimeter before he sighs: “I am not seeing anything, man.”

“No,” Dustin’s voice goes pitchy, really, he should have outgrown that by now, s’looking like it’s a permanent trait, yeesh; “look.”

And he points with such…some superiority, such imperiousness, like…okay, so maybe it’s the least painful of the list, when they have to dash all that pride. Kid’s gotta fucking learn some humility, man. Like, sooner rather than later.

“I told you I could communicate with them!” Dustin pulls off his cap and throws it to the couch, triumphant. Steve watches the mat for a few more seconds before he straights up, cocks his hip and crosses his arms.

“You’re telling me,” he says slowly; “that you talk to slugs.”

Because that…that certainly appears to be what the argument has been. They’d kinda thought Dustin has been joking, in previous passing mention. Eddie, at least, definitely thought he was just being an annoying little prick for how many times he asked if either of them felt particularly chiropteran, muttering about traits from interactions, close encounters, bites would obviously count.

Like, it was Dustin, if they took all the crap he said to heart, weighed it seriously, they’d never do anything else.

Like: ever.

“Interspecial gastropodic extracommunicational phenomena,” Dustin rattles off, a little defensive, if Eddie’s gonna be honest; and it wasn’t exactly called for. Steve just asked a question.

Eddie, on the other hand…

“So slugs and snails,” Eddie confirms, droll as fuck by intention, because Eddie is actually very aware of his tone in most situations, thank you very much; “the shell doesn’t deter you.”

“No, I think it’s the whole at least the whole class, maybe the whole phylum,” and he’s so excited, but, he’s also being a fucking know-it-all about it and there is a part of Eddie that doesn’t want to squash Dustin’s enthusiasm but the bigger part of Eddie, but fucking far, knows for a goddamn fact no one could possible squash Dustin’s enthusiasm, or self-confidence, like, Dustin would happily go toe-to-toe with like, Stephen fucking Hawking, and brag afterward that the intellectual stimulation was lacking.

So Eddie doesn’t actually feel bad about any of this and Dustin rambles on.

“But I think if I got my hands on a limpet, or an abalone—“

And when he looks up he must catch something, like he must be able to tell, to read something despite Eddie being very fucking careful to keep a helluva poker face right now—and Eddie’s kinda proud, because maybe the little shithead can be taught.

“You’re joking,” Dustin concludes, dry as fuck and with the audacity to sound…disappointed? Like in a how-could-you-be-so-juvenile-as-to-stoop-to-this-level kind of way which. Which.

“Not at all,” Eddie clutches his non-existent pearls in mock offense, and Dustin’s eyes just narrow.

“I was right.”

“Might not want to say that too loud, Dusty-Buns,” Eddie shoots right back and Steve coughs unconvincingly to cover a laugh and Eddie bites his bottom lip to stop his own smile, less because of Dustin’s reaction and more just because…Stevie. Being adorable.

Steve being his Stevie.

“Yeah, that feels like slander,” Steve adds in thoughtfully, stroking his chin and everything before he turns to Eddie, considering.

“Can you slander yourself, if you’re embarrassing enough?”

And oh, oh: Eddie adores it when his boyfriend’s bitchy side comes out. He adores it so much.

“‘Course you can, big boy,” Eddie can’t help himself as he leans over and pecks at Steve’s cheek; Dustin scowls at them and Eddie can’t help himself, so he licks up Steve’s cheek for the disgusted grown from Dustin and the half-assed shove from Steve that doesn’t move him further away at all.

“You’re just jealous that I have a superpower,” Dustin ultimately shoots back which: okay, Eddie knows he’s capable of better than that, he’s kind of disappointed, that was so weak.

“It’s a stupid superpower,” Steve points out, plain and simple and Eddie wants to clap his hands. He. Loves. His. Bitchy. Boyfriend.

So. Much.

“Or is it a superpower for stupid?” Eddie asks, turning back to Steve like it’s a genuine question, a worthy debate.

“Naw,” Steve shakes his head, almost regretful; “he is pretty fuckin’ smart.”

“More than one kind of stupid, Stevie,” Eddie notes with due gravitas.

“Envy,” Dustin sniffs, so goddamn superior. “Green’s really not your fucking color,” and ooo, there’s a little snarl, a little sneer on his lips; “either of you.”

“I look good in green,” Steve points out, not even petulant, just factual.

“For example,” Eddie picks up and talks over Dustin’s comment like he never made one, leveling the little asshole with a pointed look:

“Some people are stupid about their tone.”

Steve doesn’t even try to cover his snort that time.

“You look good in everything, sweetheart,” Eddie takes the opportunity to comment, to sneak another kiss to the corner of Steve’s mouth as he purrs; “and out.”

“Disgusting,” Dustin gags and Eddie turns to glare as he bites out:

“Tone!”

Like, way to prove Eddie’s fucking point for him, wow, the lack of self-preservation is overwhelming here.

“I’m gonna go find El,” Dustin announces, like he thinks it’s an airport; “she will be thrilled to have someone like her around—“

“Remember what I said?” Eddie turns to Steve, exaggerates the knowing look he gives; “types of dumb,” then he turns again to Dustin, and knows his look is pitying, because he fucking means for it to be.

“Telekinesis and slug-speak aren’t even in the same universe, man,” and Jesus H., Dustin looks offended at the suggestion, which.

Which.

“The overlap of telepathic—“

“Slugs, Dustin,” Steve butts in, cuts him off; “I drown those fuckers in little bowls of beer in the yard. They go in willingly,” and oh. Oh, Eddie loves his boyfriend.

Eddie loves his boyfriend so goddamn much.

Because he hadn’t even noticed the set up, the slight of hand, because Steve had overturned the can of PBR he hadn’t finished, that had gone warm anyway, and dumped it into the shallow little bowl that used to have pretzel sticks inside, low enough to, to—

“Well they won’t anymore,” Dustin declares, fucking haughty with it; “because I will tell them—“

“Yet behold, special super slug-whisperer,” Eddie gasps and gestures wide to the mat where the slug demonstration had originally taken place: “whatever do we have here?”

What they have there is the little bowl of beer, set on the slug mat.

With slugs already drowned inside.

“Probably maybe you should be smarter about where you stick your attention if you really want to save your precious children from their hoppy graves,” Eddie shrugs, and infuses his words with as much fake fucking concern as he can fit into them because slug-whispering.

Fucking honestly.

Dustin only wastes a few seconds gaping at the scene, mouth working around something—comprehension, maybe, or just some degree of shock—before he turns his eyes up and glares at them both.

“You’re evil,” he says definitively, pointing; “both of you.”

“Go see El, Super Slug,” Eddie smiles indulgently; “she’s absolutely trembling with anticipation at the arrival of an equal, I’m sure of it.”

“After all, didn’t you say,” Steve shrugs and folds his arms over his chest, looks Dustin up and down before delivering the final blow:

“You were right.”

And Dustin scowls, and Eddie cackles, because that’s his brother, that’s their brother.

“Fucking assholes,” Dustin mutters, and leaves his slug mat and the beer-bowl behind as he stomps out the door: these children really need to learn about cleaning up after themselves, even if they leave in a stompy little huff like a goddamn toddler, fucking hell: but still.

Dustin’s their brother.

Like they were ever going to let him get away with bragging about slug powers.

permanent tag list (comment to be added/removed): @pearynice @hbyrde36 @slashify @finntheehumaneater @wxrmland @dreamwatch @perseus-notjackson @estrellami-1 @bookworm0690 

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #henderfam #humor #fluff #established relationship #featuring brotherly banter with one mr. problematic *TONE*: dustin henderson #dustin has superpowers #(but just one really and it's very stupid) #dustin henderson #hitlikehammers' hobbit-birthday prompt fest #stranger things #gift fic #slashify

[dazzlinghazefics]

Derek Hale x Reader : Hale and Mikaelson.

(part 1)

guess this is gonna be a series.

Derek Hale x Reader ( fem!mikaelson, Elijah's daughter)

Part 1! ~

Being an Original's daughter, and a witch with little control on powers had a lot of perks, so it was no surprise that Y/N Mikaelson, the miracle child of Elijah Mikaelson had to be under strict observation of her father and huge af family, especially her Hybrid uncle, Nik.

Y/N came into existence due to a procreation spell done on her mother, the love of Elijah's life, who had died at childbirth.

If anything that she inherited from her mother, was her witch powers ( a lil bit from her grandma Esther too lol ) and sense of humor ( well, her Uncle Kol says she has the humor from him) and rest is all from her father ( expect sense of fashion, thankfully. Who the heck wears suits in the summer heat?)

Elijah taught her values and virtues and literature, Klaus taught her art and how to kick someone's ass, Freya did her best to help with magic, Kol would often help her pull pranks, sneak around and have her share of fun, Rebekah would doll her up in the latest fashion and Marcel helped her to get relief from the family drama.

Beacon Hills. It's where her father decided to keep her safe. Throughout their existence, the Originals have made numerous enemies. And he couldn't afford to lose his child, his baby, to them.

And she fell in love.

With none other than her father's old ally, Talia Hale's son, the current Alpha of the renowned wolf family, Derek Samuel Hale.

Elijah, for the first time had found her interested in something other than books, music and magic, so was lenient in letting her meet him and letting him court her (much to Klaus's annoyance and possessiveness) .

But he absolutely hated it when his little one would sneak out and run into dangers just to help the pack. He couldn't stop her though, because she was fiercely loyal and stubborn and knew how to save herself.

Elijah knew Derek's the one for his princess, for his young one. His ample knowledge on the supernatural had told him his daughter and Derek had been destined to be together.

She had triggered her magic in the Beacon Hills preserve, while playing with Derek, as a child and one look of Talia had told him everything.

Derek Hale is her trigger and anchor, both.

She gained control on her magic while helping the werewolf in a faceoff with Gerard Argent, the one whom all the supernaturals loathe.

Elijah had to leave this daughter back in BH, for the safety and run to NOLA for handling his family's stupidity, warning her ( read literally pleading her ) to not get in trouble.

But things are never normal in Beacon Hills too.

That f*cking protection broke and here she is, pregnant. At 21, thankfully ( or her father and uncles would have straight ripped out Derek's heart, instead of going for a slightly less painful way)

" Derek Samuel Hale, istg, am gonna castrate you and then kill (pls, their baby is not going to grow up without their father.)"

" Calm down, sweetheart! We'll go through this together."

" Don't sweetheart me, Derek! We're going to be parents fgs!"

" I love you, and I love our child too."

" I know and I love you too, Der, but am scared."

" Our child had the Mikaelson-Hale gene. And we won't let anything happen to our child. Come here."

Later, they both visited the hospital for a checkup, completely unaware that they were being watched upon.

" Y/N, love, I think we owe an explanation of your presence at the hospital earlier today with your boyfriend."

Shoot. Her whole family.

Klaus's voice boomed in the house as soon as Y/N had stepped in, followed by Derek, who immediately felt he is in front of the hungry lion lions.

Elijah, Klaus, Kol, Marcel.

Guess he won't live to see the next day.

" What's wrong, princess? Are you sick?" Elijah asked worried and panicked, walking toward her.

" Uhm..ermm..."

Derek didn't know from were he got the courage, but he did.

Softly taking his girl's fingers in his, he said, as calmly as he could, "We're expecting a child. Y/N's pregnant."

The room was silent until Derek was shoved against the wall both by Elijah and Klaus.

"Dad! Uncle Nik!" Y/N cried out, dread and panic filling her face, as Kol hugged her, to calm her.

"Leave him, Dad!"

Kol humored, " It takes two to have a baby, brothers."

Klaus and Elijah's glare shut him up though.

"Dad, leave Derek please!"

Derek was coughing due to the choking.

All of a sudden, Elijah loosened his grip and started laughing.

Marcel rolled his eyes, " The news has sent him into a shock I think."

"Brother?"

"Dad?"

" Mr. Mikaelson?"

Rest were left shocked.

PART TWO?

sometime later if there's response on this one, (joking lol).

#derek hale #derek hale imagine #teen wolf #teen wolf imagines #derek hale x reader #derek hale imagines #derek hale x you #elijahmikaelson x daughter

[nataliasquote]

Promises | n romanoff

Summary: Natasha and Anastasia didn’t know love… not until they found it in each other. But the Red Room was cold, in more ways than one

Warnings: Red Room, death, blood, shooting

Pairings: young!natasha x young!OC

wc: 2.6k

Notes: this one hurts but I’m proud of it. Another oldie again

- ⧗ -

30 pairs of pointe shoes became 20.

20 filled beds because 10.

10 black leotards became 5.

30 terrified girls became 5 ruthless ones, eyes trained... emotionless killers.

Their dainty arms capable of a swifter death than a gun. Slim fingers able to twirl a knife like someone would spin a pen.

Sleep not filled with dreams of puppies and ponies, but the haunting features of their victims. The screams, the looks of pain and anguish on their faces that each girl took in only moments before each life was ended.

Each life less important than the last.

The air was cold. No signs of love. No comfort. Just stone cold harsh reality that they had grown accustomed to. Freezing their young hearts to not feel pain.

Teaching them to crave the feeling. The satisfaction of a clean kill. A bullet straight through the heart. A silent knife slice to the throat, lodged in the stomach of an unsuspecting victim.

Somehow, the inside of the ice covered building was colder than the outside. The only sounds were barking orders and screams of pain. Each gut wrenching noise not affecting the 5 girls who remained.

Their faces were cold, no expressions as they fought through the day. No words of conversation passed between roommates, no cheers of congratulations as sparring matches were won.

These girls weren't friends. They were competitors. And losing to someone else meant death.

But there was an anomaly within. A flicker of light in the endless pool of darkness. A spark.

Hope.

Natasha Romanoff. The girl most likely to succeed. She was the top girl. Loved by all the trainers, she was the favourite. Her ruthlessness, her seductive ways were well beyond her years. So much strength in a tiny 15 year old body.

Yet she risked throwing it all away. For a girl.

Anastasia Vladimenkova.

The dark haired girl who was an incredibly skilled dancer and knife thrower. Her accuracy was unbeatable, but her sparring was not up to the same standard.

Somehow, the tiny piece of Natasha's heart that still remained took pity on her and trained her secretly at night, so she wouldn't be killed off in the next ceremony.

The girls formed an odd friendship, if you want to call it that. They didn't know love, but somehow found it in each other. And suppressed feeling spiralled quickly, so the friends turned into lovers quickly.

They would sneak out at night for stolen kisses and private moments, hands just roaming each other's bodies, trying to hold on to the last moments they got with each other. No one knew when their last day would be.

But the ceremony was looming over their shoulder, knowing their group of 5 would become 4 by tomorrow evening.

It was 2am and Natasha had taken Anastasia to the shower room, as the barred window let the moonlight shine down onto the cracked tiled floor, lighting their faces slightly.

Their bodies were pushed into the corner, Natasha's back against the cold stone as Anastasia laid her head on her chest. The atmosphere was different, they could both feel it.

"I don't want tomorrow to come." the brunette whispered,  breathing in Nat's scent as she spoke.

"I know. I don't either. Especially not if it means I lose you."

Anastasia swivelled round and sat opposite Nat, her hand on her cheek. "You're not gonna lose me. You know they don't put us against each other. We're too valuable to them."

Natasha sighed, the moonlight in the small bathroom window catching her eyes. The moon and stars looked so free, something the redhead craved more than ever. "I don't want to be an object anymore. I want to run away. With you." She turned her head back to Stasia and pulled her closer, their faces inches away from each other.

Green eyes stared into chocolate brown ones, fear dancing across their pupils. They could be as hopeful as a child on christmas, but it wouldn't stop the brutal ceremony from tearing them apart tomorrow. No one could predict the outcome, and it was something Natasha hated.

"I don't want to lose you. I cant lose you." The redhead whispered, her eyes glinting as tears filled up to her waterline.

"You have me right now. And I love you."

That was enough for the teenagers to gently press  their lips together, eyes closed in the blissful moment. It wasn't passionate or lust filled like it should have been, because the girls had never been exposed to that. The kiss was light and sweet, their lips moving together but nothing more.

"Natty." Stasia mumbled against her lover's lips. "We can escape. Tomorrow night. All we need to do is get through the ceremony. And then we go." The brunette pulled away and sat back on Nat's thighs, her legs hooked around the redhead's waist. "We can do it. We can make it work."

Nat shook her head. "How Stas? You know the guards; they're everywhere. We're small, but not that small. We can't slip past them without being seen."

"We can Nat. Please, we need to try."

Anastasia’s voice had raised slightly, which wouldn't have been an issue if everyone in their dorm room was asleep. But one blonde girl in the bed closest to the bathroom was laying awake, the sound of muffled voices sparking her curiosity.

Saskia crept out of her bed, her stealth skills coming in handy as she padded across the stone floor. Sticking to the shadows, she tiptoed across the room, hiding by the doorframe as she finally got a look at the girls who were hiding.

The red hair was an instant giveaway, and the girl she was lip locked with on her lap wasn't difficult to make out either. Natasha and Anastasia. The top girls in the class. The Madame's favourite girls.

As they spoke, Nat suddenly shushed Stasia, feeling a presence in the room. Saskia pressed herself closer to the wall, holding her breath. But Anastasia just giggled and pulled Nat's face back to her, joking about her being paranoid, which Nat accepted with a kiss.

Saskia smirked to herself, knowing how she instantly had an advantage the day before the fighting ceremony. She hovered for 10 more minutes, her smile growing wider as Anastasia’s excited voice muttered over their escape plan. It layer out perfectly in the blonde's palm and she scurried back to bed, finally able to sleep peacefully.

- ⧗ -

5 teenagers sat on the head table, tactical suits on their bodies, hair braided and pulled back out of their faces. Porridge filled their bowls, but none of them wanted to eat, the fear filling their empty stomachs, taking the space of any food that would give them energy to fight.

Saskia wandered in late, a smug expression on her stark features. She glanced at Stasia and Natasha, who were sat on the other end of the table, her eyebrow quirking up. Her plan was working.

As the girls lined up at the edge of the sparring mats, Nat reached out and linked her pinky finger with Stasia’s, their little promise ritual they performed before every fight. It was small and subtle, but it gave them a small promise and it had worked in every single fight they had done. Their promise to be there for each other. To not leave, to not betray and to not die.

Madam walked into the sparring area, her hands clasped as tightly behind her back as her hair was pulled up in a bun. She scanned the teenagers in front of her, eyes lingering on the redhead and brunette for a split second longer.

"As you all aware, today is your final sparring ceremony. The girls who survive will go on to become the greatest assassins the world has ever known. The KGB will be grateful for your services."

Anastasia gulped, her heart rate picking up. She always hated sparring; it wasn't where her skill set lay. If this was a knife throwing competition she would win by a mile. Her accuracy was unmatched.

"Natasha Romanoff." Madam's heavily accented voice called out, her eagle eyed gaze locking firmly on the redhead. Nat walked forward, wanting nothing more than to hug Stasia, but knowing it would get her killed.

"And your opponent will be... Anastasia Vladimenkova."

The girls' hearts dropped to their stomachs. No. This couldn't be happening. This wasn't part of the plan. Not at all.

With shaking hands clenched tightly into fists, Anastasia walked onto the mats, her head held high. She couldn't show her emotions right now, as much as she wanted to burst into tears. She was supposed to be made of marble, they both were, and so couldn't show weakness when put against each other. They were nothing more than sparring partners, fighting for their life.

They waited for the signal before starting to circle, fists raised in defence in front of their faces, eyes locked on each other. Natasha wished she had telepathic abilities so she could talk to Stasia, trying to form a plan in her head.

They were pulling their brunches as they fought, not wanting to cause serious injury, but causing the odd bruise here and there so it didn't look too suspicious.

But after 15 minutes, Madam called out for them to stop. She called 2 guards over and they grabbed Nat by the arms, causing the redhead to instinctively lash out, kicking and punching at her attackers.

"Nat!" Anastasia cried, running forwards before she too was dragged back. She didn't care that Madam was watching her. She didn't know where they were gonna take Natasha and terror flooded her body.

But she stopped fighting as Nat was forced into a chair, her face still as stone like and straight as ever. Not a single emotion flashed behind her eyes. Not when her wrists were tired. Not when Madam grabbed her face. Not when Anastasia had a gun forced into her hands, guards aiming their own guns at the back of the brunette's head.

"Love is for children. Are you a child Natasha?" Madam spat, her russian accent thick.

"No Ma'am."

She turned to Anastasia. "Are you a child Anastasia?"

The brunette's hands shook around the gun that was clasped between her fingers, aimed at Natasha who was sat straight on the chair. "No Ma'am."

"Weakness." She growled, her ice cold palm slapping Natasha across the face. "You are to be made of marble. Not wasting your time making faces at things like that!" Her bony finger pointed in Anastasia’s direction, seeing the weaker girl flinch under her gaze. All of Stasia’s training had gone out of the window, pure panic flooding her veins as she saw Natasha sat before her.

"Yes Ma'am." Nat's voice was emotionless, the sparkle Stasia was used to seeing completely distinguished.

"Natasha Romanoff you would have been the top student. I had high expectations for you, and you've thrown it all away. Thank you Saskia, for showing me that you're not truly cut out to take your place in the world."

"I have no place in the world." Natasha mumbled, her eyeline dropping to the floor.

"You're right. You don't." Madam turned back to Anastasia, who had dropped the gun to her side. "Anastasia. Shoot her."

"I- what?" Stasia’s eyes went wide, but there was no  hint of a joke in her instructor's eyes.

"You heard my words Vladimenkova. Kill her. You will not have any weaknesses."

Anastasia gulped but raised the gun, eyes locked with Natasha. Sweat trickled down her brow and she gulped, feeling a tear slip down her cheek.

"Nat." She whispered, trying to get a reaction from her.

"It's okay Stas. Do it. I'm with you baby. I'm always with you." Nat pushed down all of her fear. The sight of the gun brought relief, which was twisted. She was 15 years old, a gun should spark fear. Not be a source of comfort to end her pain. In her mind, if she couldn't have Stasia then she didn't want to live. And the Academy wouldn't allow her to have both.

"Nat no. I can't." She dropped the gun.

Big mistake.

The moment the metal clanged against the tiled floor, Natasha knew it was over. The guards' reflexes were fast. Too fast. The girl's pale fingers dropped the weapon and a shot was fired into her skull at the same second.

Nat had wiggled her way out of the rope, so the moment Anastasia’s body dropped to the floor, she leaped out of her chair and raced across the floor, screaming out as blood stained the old tiles. Anastasia’s body was limp as Nat got there, her eyes dull as she stared up at the ceiling.

"No!" The redhead yelled out, startling the giles standing on the opposite side of the room. She looked up at them, scanning and analysing each and every one of them. They were all scared, showing the same expression.

Except one.

Saskia had an guilty essence about her and Nat saw it straight away. She saw red and glared at her, breathing heavily through her nose. The snake. The reason her love was sprawled on the floor, a bullet hole in her skull.

Natasha's fingers curled around Stasia’s, their pinkies locking together like they'd done less than an hour before. Her tears dropped onto the brunette’ chest and she cried out before anger took over again.

Still clutching Stasia, she lifted her head again and locked eyes with Saskia, her bottom lip trembling. "YOU!"

But her rage was never taken out as 2 guards surged forwards, grabbing her arms and pulling her away. Nat's stone cold facade had dropped away and she screamed out for Anastasia, her gaze fixed on her best friend, her lover, the light in her dark life, her body laying abandoned on the floor like she was garbage.

"Stasia!! Stas no!" She kicked and screamed, fighting with all her might to get away from the guards. But her tiny 15 year old, malnourished body was no match for the 6 foot guards built of pure muscle. Not in her hysterical state. Assassin Natasha could take these guys out with 2 moves, but her body and mind weren't working as one.

She screamed and cried the whole way down the corridors, not even taking in her surroundings. She didn't know where she was until she was thrown into a cell, hearing the barred doors clang shut. But she didn't move. Her body landed in a heap on the stone floor and she stayed and wept, clawing at her chest and arms in pain as she wailed. She passed out hours later, her hands clasped together...

Her pinkies linked together.

Like the ghost of Anastasia was with her, watching over her and looking out for her, like they had always promised.

#fanfic #marvel #natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #red room #natalia romanova #black widow #oc #natasha romanoff oneshot #natasha romanoff angst #wlw

[callmeyoursblog]

extra angst :)

uhhhh just random stuff cuz im procrastinating on my biology lab so don't mind my little rambles and possible errors

warnings: death, grief

-captain reader, grief after simon's death, revenge and closure <3

-

he died in your arms. on the field. gunshot wound to the head. his brain matter and blood spilling onto your pants and over your hands as you patched him up, screaming his name. all you remember next is shooting. shooting anyone and everyone that wore a uniform that you didn’t recognize. at least 10 people dead. none of their deaths amounting to the pain that simon’s caused. you’d never had a more accurate hand in your life. it was a habit that began that second. something switched. you weren’t protecting. you were out for revenge. the silence after your 10 consecutive gunshots was different than any other silence you’d experienced. you sat next to ghost’s body. knowing you’d never be the same. unable to find the tears in your body to even attempt to cry.

your hands desperately grabbed at the sheets to find simon’s body. tangled in his hoodie and your sheets from the nightmare you just had.

the one where he died.

the nightmare that was really a flashback.

and as you woke up in a panic, a knock fell upon your door. someone yelling your name. your mind so clouded that - maybe - in a universe much less cruel, simon would be standing outside of it with open arms. you ran towards the door, pulling it open. you didn’t even look at who it was. you knew it was soap. knew there was no chance of it ever being ghost. no matter how much you pretended. you opened the door to see the familiar scot standing outside your door in his tshirt and sweatpants.

"you need to get sleep, love." he'd remind you. a reminder you didn't need. a reminder that you could take a near-harmful dosage of sleeping medications and still get ten minutes of sleep, just reliving the worst moment of your life.

"this happens every night." he'd remind you. a reminder you didn't need. his voice almost grated against your eardrums, hearing him scold you the same way every night. it was a never-ending, vicious cycle. awake for what seemed like weeks on end.

you shut the door after soap forced his way in. pulling you onto your bed to try and hold you and make you get some sleep. truly, he wanted to help you. but he was damn tired of getting woken up by his grieving captain.

the next morning, unsure if you'd slept or just spaced out by staring at the wall, soap stood up from your bed and walked out of your room. you put your clothes on for your run. the habit you'd picked up after simon convinced you to run with him.

price caught you as you walked out of your room. hood up, headphones in, laser focus on getting to your running path.

"we need to talk."

your heart dropped. you were getting put on leave, surely. or getting a psych eval, that you could definitely cheat on, but certainly still fail. he pulled you into his office and shut the door.

"considering that you have worked the hours equivalent to your hours of bereavement for a spouse... i am not requiring you to leave. you have time off, you can take it. clean up your place. clean up his." he paused, seeing tears in your eyes. "i know you're strong. my best asset. i know that this is getting to you pretty badly-"

"i'm getting better."

"y/n, soap comes to your room at the same time every night to try and get you to sleep. you haven't been sleeping. i'm giving you a week." your face dropped. "get better sleep. finish those reports on your desk. we're going back in one week. me and you. i have a way to get into shepherd's office. and i have this." he told you, setting a gun with a silencer attached on his desk. you let out a small smile.

"you trust me to kill shepherd?"

"more than anyone else." he smiled at you. that comforting smile gave you every ounce of confidence that you needed.

-

you trained every day. to be prepared for the moment you got your revenge. every day for a week straight. running, shooting, and spending almost every hour in the gym. you got marginally better sleep. still awake much of the time, yet still waking up from your nightmares. soap still came into your room to help you sleep, but you were finally able to fall asleep in his arms most nights. price could see you were more energized. ready. working better. he was proud of you, and expressed that as you stood outside of the government building.

"you're just going to go in there, tell them kate laswell sent you. they'll know the name. don't say your name. don't say anything else. kate laswell sent you. his office is the top floor. long ass hallway and to the right. no security besides a key pad on the door. the code is 6163. his birth year and his wife's. i'm proud of you, kid. i'll be here when you leave." he patted your back. you smiled at him and strutted into the building with confidence you'd never had before.

"kate laswell sent me." you told the man at the desk. his face fell as he rushed you to the elevator. you pressed the button for the top floor. the ride up felt like the longest elevator ride of your life. overwhelming anxiety and nausea taking over your stomach until the doors opened, and regaining your confidence. the long hallway lead you to a door, exactly how price had described. you typed in the key code. having a seat in the corner of his office until he entered. mere minutes until his entry.

you sat. and you waited.

he came in, slowly walking into the office to look out the window. he took a breath, sitting in his desk chair and turning on the small desk lamp. enough light to illuminate your figure.

"general."

"captain."

"it must be nice. being able to use your wife's birthday as your keycode, yeah? must be nice not having a dead spouse."

"i didn't kill simon riley."

"it was your orders. so yes, sir, you did kill him."

"you've got a body count of your own. it'll come back to haunt you." he warned you. you let out a dry laugh.

"i hope to god it haunts you." you raised the gun at his head.

"i'm not going to beg for my life. not from you, or anybody else, y/n."

"not gonna do you any damn good." you pulled the trigger, your shot not hitting where you expected. the burning pain through your abdomen giving you a possible explanation. you were left gasping for air on the ground quicker than you could comprehend. shepherd stood over you. the shot in his shoulder not nearly fatal. he kicked price's gun from your hand. not expecting you to reach into your jacket and pull out your own gun as he looked away. a shot landing directly in his neck. he died quicker than you.

it was a blur. people rushing in and out of the room. your vision fading in and out. you wondered if simon saw anything as he died or if the bullet killed him instantly. wondered if he thought about you. wondered if he regretted not giving you the ring you found in his barracks. the warmth that washed over your body was reminiscent of simon, when he would lay on top of you. smiling as you bled out on the floor.

i'm coming home, my love.

a/n i might make a follow up of the boys after your death bc i meant to write about prices reaction outside of the building but i forgot it’s too late for this 😓

#simon riley #cod #call of duty #john price #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #general shepherd

[pastramiace]

- Sanji is upset or hurt and luffy tries to “fix” him by giving Sanji food, but not just any food…luffy’s food.

Sanji hung a cold towel over the back of his neck, wincing a little at the cold temperature before letting out a small sigh. Sweat plastered his forehead and his button up clung to his back with an unflattering feeling. Warm would be an understatement for how the kitchen felt. To Sanji, it felt as if the mid-day sun was burning a hole straight through the wooden ceiling.

Opening the small window above the sink had done little except invite more humid air into the kitchen. A short huff came from the cook as he dejectedly sat down. He raised his arms above his head, a couple of pops sounding shortly after and granting a bit of reprieve to his aching body.

The crew’s latest battle at Alabasta had done more than a number on them and Sanji was definitely feeling that residual pain. It didn’t help that it was certainly hot enough to get off with minimal reprimand from Chopper if you happen to take off your bandages. The swordsman had definitely taken advantage of that.

So, bandage-less and sweaty, Sanji rested his forehead against the table’s surface in front of him and closed his eyes, tired eyelids relishing in the action.

He hadn’t even noticed he had fallen asleep until something soft poked at his cheek, Sanji frowning but still keeping his eyes closed, hoping that whatever or whoever it was would leave him alone. Another poke, this time followed by a whine that had Sanji peeling his eyes open in disappointment.

“Sanji~” Luffy’s face was right in front of his, the captain’s breath puffing over his nose as the younger pouted, eyes twinkling when they met Sanji’s. “Sanji~ I’m hungry.” Luffy’s hands gripped his stomach in faux agony…or many it was real agony, Sanji was never sure when it came to his captain.

Sanji’s dry lips stuck together a little bit before breaking apart, his head throbbing as he lifted it up to confront the problem at hand. “There’s food in the fridge,” he mumbled, hand pressing against his throbbing head as he tried to gather his thoughts.

“Sanji, you never leave the fridge unlocked for me,” Luffy’s pout grew and Sanji groaned in displeasure as the younger threw his stretchy arms around him, Luffy sticking himself to Sanji before letting out an amused sound. “Eww Sanji’s sticky.”

“Cause it’s hot captain,” Sanji brought his hands up, trying to push or pry Luffy from his body, missing the confused look in Luffy’s face, “Seriously it’s too hot, leggo of me.” Sanji huffed and Luffy’s eyebrows drew together, lips forming a small line as he puffed his cheeks out.

“It’s not hot, it’s like regular,” Luffy protested and Sanji rolled his eyes, finally managing to push Luffy off of him.

Hand pushing against the table’s surface, Sanji pushed himself upwards, grimacing as his whole body protested. He made his way over to the fridge, making sure to hide the lock combination as he opened it. Surprisingly enough, Luffy didn’t seem much interested as he sat cross-legged on the floor, head resting on his fist in an inquisitive position.

Only ten minutes had passed before Sanji was putting the final pieces of Luffy’s meal together, his favorite combination of meat, rice, and veggies - Sanji convinced him they weren’t veggies - that were formed into balls. Luffy had moved himself from the floor and was now rolling himself back and forth on the bench as he waited impatiently for his meal, shooting up with stars in his eyes as Sanji placed down the food in front of him.

Sanji didn’t bother to tell his captain that they were still hot from the stove. Nothing could stop Luffy from food in front of him and Sanji let out an amused huff as Luffy’s hands moved at lightening speed. The cook put together a couple more rice balls.

“Mfph Mm Umfh,” Luffy’s inaudible words caught Sanji's attention, the cook turning to see Luffy with cheeks stuffed and stretched out with food, a sight that always warmed his heart. Sanji gestured to the rice balls he just finished making as he turned the sink on, running his hands under cold water -- a refreshing feeling after standing by the stove in the smoldering room.

"There's some more right there," Sanji answered what he could only assume Luffy was mumbling with his mouth full of food, "I don't wanna hear from Chopper later about an upset stomach, eat those slower."

"MPFH," Luffy protested, and Sanji turned off the water, taking the towel off his shoulder as he dried his hands. Turning around, Sanji raised an eyebrow in question, looking between Luffy and a single rice ball that had managed to survive the massacre.

"Is there something wrong with it?" Sanji panicked a little, taking a couple of steps towards Luffy wondering what could possibly be wrong with the captain's food that would prevent him from eating it. Luffy held his hand up, Sanji stopping before getting a closer look at the food.

Luffy beckoned him closer and grabbed the rice ball in his free hand, the other gripping onto the bottom of Sanji's shirt. Before the cook could react, Luffy's hand was shooting towards his face, rice ball in hand which was soon stuffed into Sanji's mouth along with a certain captain's hand. Sanji choked a little as he tried to chew the food, Luffy's hand retracting with a proud smile on his face.

Sanji didn't even want to think about the last time Luffy washed his hands or what grime might have been covering them as he carefully chewed and swallowed the rice ball, Luffy doing the same with his accumulation of rice balls. They both swallowed.

"What the f-"

"I fixed you!" Luffy's voice cheered over Sanji's polite question, Luffy jumping up onto the bench and punching his fist into the air. "You should be feeling better now that you've had some yummy food, no more sickness."

"Sickness?" Sanji protested, meeting Luffy's eyes as the captain leaned down so they were eye-to-eye with each other, "Luffy I'm not sick." A puzzled expression arose on the younger's face, his head quirking to the side.

"Yeah you are," Luffy declared with a matter-of-fact tone, "You're all red and saying it's hot when it's not and you got injured in Alabasta which Chopper and Robin explained to me that injured can cause illness sometimes so I should always go to Chopper." Luffy's pinkie finger somehow found its way into his nose halfway through his explanation.

Placing his hand on the back of his sweaty neck, Sanji paused for a second, deciding to hear Luffy out which should have been the final reason to accept that he was ill. He had been feeling hot and achy since Alabasta but he had just chalked it up to the weather and post-battle injuries. Not that it wasn't, but being sick could also be contributing to it.

A sigh. "Alright Luffy, I'll go talk to Chopper, but you can't just put your hands in other people's mouths," Sanji reprimanded as Luffy beamed, his arm stretching behind Sanji and bringing back the final amount of rice balls. But, instead of shoving them into his mouth, Luffy grabbed Sanji's hands and dumped the remaining food into them.

"Chopper can fix you," Luffy stated as Sanji stared at him in surprise, even more shocked that the other had given up more than one of his pieces of food, "But your food makes me feel all better too so you should have some."

Another smile stretched across his captain's face before he plucked one of the rice balls out of Sanji's hands and shoved it in his own mouth, pulling himself out of the kitchen with a familiar laugh. A snort left Sanji's mouth and he looked down at the pieces of food in his hands. His heart swelled with pride and happiness that Luffy had not just shared his food but had done so with the prenotion that it would heal him.

The cook popped another one of the rice balls into his mouth, smiling a bit as he left the kitchen in search of Chopper. It never hurt to get checked out by their own personal doctor.

#one piece #monkey d. luffy #vinsmoke sanji #lusan #luffy #Chopper #one piece writing #one piece fanfic #one piece fanfiction #one piece fluff #sanji x luffy #sanlu #black leg sanji

[amaterasuomikamisblog]

The Day I Met You Again

Summary:You died thats what you remember but whats this? Your alive and your cheating of a bastard of a husband is right infront of you smiling gently but he isn't your Miguel..

Warning: Mentioned Death, Mentioned cheating, Mentioned car crash,oc Miguel?

Author Notes: @friedturtlewhispers heres a part two of the Miguel O'Hara fic you wanted!@instantpeachpeace i really loved your idea so maybe i would make that as like a second alternative part two! Have fun with this one!

And then the darkness engulfed me, I didn't know how long the darkness engulfed me at all, But i know is that Am dead well thats what i thought at first.

My eyes slowly opened,i held my head it was in a aching pain, The light penetrated my sight i yelped in pain and suddenly i felt a very warm embrace, i slowly looked at who it was my eyes widen as i saw who it was. My heart was pounding i never felt something like this "Mi-miguel?" I looked at him shocked it was my husband but something wasn't right for me, He was wearing a dark Blue suit with a red spider in his chest  with some red strips around the blue suit, He looks up to me gently,he smiled at me, he sat up straight and put a hand into my cheek he carressed my cheek as he sweetly whispered "mi vida..." He smiled as i suddenly remember everything "wheres estella?" I looked at him as i looked like am gonna breakdown as miguel slowly tilt his head in confusion "estella? What do you mean my dear?" I looked at him angrily as i felt wet tears fall down my face "MIGUEL WHERES THE KIDS!?" I looked at Miguel angrily as i sobbed at the same time

As Miguel slowly pulled me into a hug "mi vida..do mean the baby?"Miguel put his finger in my chin tilting it up for me look at me"don't worry our baby safe..am happy that you both.. survived the car crashed.." Miguel smiled "what do you mean?" I looked at him confused as i felt his palm in my cheek wiping my tears "mi amor..you were in car crash remember?...we had an argument because of me..spending less time with you...am so sorry.." Miguel hugged me tight then i realized something he wasn't my cheating bastard of a husband hes definitely a variant of him.

I looked around at the building it was filled with spider people, i thought i will never see this many spidermen or spiderwomen in my life, i was scared and nervous i then felt Miguel hands interwined with mine as he smiled at me reassuringly then i heard a familiar voice that i never thought i will hear again "Oh hey Miguel! Am so happy that your wife recovered!" It was Jessica she approaches us as she waves her hand while her other hand ontop of her stomach "...." I didn't greet Jessica back as i look at Miguel as doubt started to enter my mind "hnm? Whats wrong dear?.." Miguel looked at me worriedly as i look at him and shrugging my shoulders pretending I don't know Jessica at all "oh..well shes Jessica Drew my dear! And shes from another universe" Miguel smiled at me as he rub the lower of my back gently as i nod

"Oh hey!" A guy with brown hair with a baby carrier on said as he approaches me and Miguel in his office "oh peter.." Miguel looks at him up and down "are you here to piss me off again?" Miguel said as he rubs the bridge of his nose and sighed "NO NOT AT ALL!" Peter smiled and chuckles as then a web was shooted onto my pregnancy bump and a little girl follows towards it before the little girl clashed onto my stomach Miguel gently caught the kid "Peter how about you take care of your daughter before she hurts my wife?" Miguel said as i look at girl she was adorable as she looks at me and babbles happily i gently tapped Miguels shoulder before he can give the little girl to "Peter" "Can i hold her?" I asked Miguel gently as his eyes soften and nodded he gave me a slight smile that Only me that i can notice "sure my love here.." Miguel saif as he handed me the little girl,Now that i held the little girl in my arms i giggled and kissed her forehead "whats her name?" I asked Miguel as i looked at him and Peter "Mayday!" Peter said while smiling as then Peter went to Miguels side as they watch y/n playing with Mayday "Hey did your wife forgot us?.."Peter whispered to Miguel as Miguel sighed and crossed his arms around his chest "She seems like she forgotten most of you but the only thing she remembers is Lyla ,me and Jessica... it's seems like...she had a memory loss.." Miguel said to Peter quietly but enough for Peter to hear.

Everything For Miguel O'Hara Is Tiring and Exhausting,But his Darling wife Y/n is there for him!,He loves her for coming into his life and Giving him a home to go to after his missions as a Spiderman,But then his works started to get tiring and harder to finish quickly this days to the point he couldn't come back home to the loving arms of his darling wife.

Miguel sighed as he went home his wife is there waiting for him,He smiled gently as he saw her and her pregnant figure,His darling wife was pregnant with their Ffirst born child, "Ah my dear why are you waiting for me? Come here! I've missed you!"Miguel said to his wife as he spreads his arms out to his wife but she didn't embraced him like she always does,"Miguel i know that your busy about being the leader of the Spider Society and as The Spiderman here in our universe..but..you started to spend less time with me.." Y/n said to Miguel monochromely as her arms is wrapped around her pregnant stomach gently "Dear..i.i.am sorry..its just those people wouldn't listened to what i ordered them!,If only they did what i told them properly my job would be more easier!..." Miguel said as he approached his wife who sighed at his explaination "Miguelito..still it doesn't excuse that the fact your arent here for 1 month! And am pregnant too with our baby! And i was so lonely too! I was 3 months pregnant when you left and now am 4 months pregnant! I feel like you.. might missed the birth of our child..."Y/n said to Miguel as she looks away, Miguel looked at her utter shocked "Is that how you view me? Someone that Ignores their love ones?.." Miguel said to Y/n His voice getting upset,What made him so upset to the point he stormed away and went back to the Headquarters is Y/n nodding her head and saying to him "Yes thats what am feeling right now i felt like i dont even have a husband..." A few days went by, Miguel continues to ignore his wife offended of what she told him, One Afternoon Miguel was checking some video files of other anomaly of another universe, Suddenly the video file froze making Miguel growl angrily and barks Lyla's name thinking shes doing a silly prank on him, "Lyla!! What the hell did you do!??? Do you think this is funny!???" Miguel said angrily calling his ai assistants name while his hand are at his temple "Miguel.." Lyla appeared but she didn't have her smug smirk on her face instead it was pity she looks at Miguel pityful "Miguel...your wife..shes in the hospital...she was.. involved in a car crash accident...this afternoon..shes in a coma..her and the baby survived miraclely and.. your needed to be her side right away.."Lyla said to Miguel with pity as Miguel looks at Lyla shocked at scared.

Miguel ran through the hospital corridors to see his darling wife,As then Miguel finally stopped infront of his wifes hospital room he was breathing heavily, Miguel opens the door and was greeted by his wifes bruised up and beaten form, Miguel sat next to his wife as he looks at her with regret,guilt, and sadness,He cups his wifes cheek as he sighed heavily he knows this wouldn't happen if he didn't ignored his darling wife, A few hours passed and the Miguel saw his wifes eyes flutters as then she slowly opened her eyes...

Authors note:I really enjoyed writing Miguel i made this part two around like the beginning of this month or around like last month but since i was graduating i decided to take a pause because i really need to memorize my speech for my sixth grade graduation! Hoped you guys enjoyed it!

#miguel x reader #miguel spiderverse #atsv miguel #miguel o'hara x pregnant reader #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara angst #miguel o'hara smut #miguel o'hara #miguel spiderman #peter b parker #atsv #mayday parker #jessica drew

[witchersmistress]

Heads You Lose

Hello my darlings!! here is part two to Tails you win. https://www.tumblr.com/witchersmistress/716840196299276288/tails-you-win?source=share

Ive linked part 1 for those who have missed it or havent read it.

Warning: Blood, violence, death and gun shot wounds.

Word count: 9.8k

my usual warning, you do not have my permission to copy or use my work in anyway, if you do ill haunt you for the rest of your days!!

Propbably gramatical errors and typos but i type to fast for my own good lol

Name pronounciatuion for the FMC : her given name is Saorise, Sheer-sha, in Irish-Gaelic means freedom

Her nickname, gifted to her at a young age by Syverson: Louhi, Lo-hee, Finnish origin, she is the goddess of Death and Disease.

“People like you and me don’t get to love…” 

Those are the words that play on repeat inside my head as I stagger to my feet, blood seeping from the bullet wound just below my right shoulder and mixing with the drying blood already covering my body. I don’t feel the pain from it. On the contrary, I’m numb to everything bar Saoirse’s words. People like you and me…

Don’t get to love… 

Don’t. Get. To. Love…

 She’s right in a way, but not entirely. It’s true that the likes of us don’t get to love without fear. When you mix with the people we do, you gain enemies. Even the friends you think you have can turn against you on a penny if the price is right. Look at the King - he was ‘friends’ with Carter, but he took the opportunity to take him out the moment it was offered.

I took out my boss without a second thought.

 Granted it was to protect the woman I love from her very own dad, but she doesn’t know that, and I can’t tell her. 

Not yet, anyway. But one thing I do know with absolute certainty is that I do get to love. And I never thought that was possible for me. Yeah, it’s dangerous to love when it can be held against you, but it doesn’t make it any less true. If I know anything about myself, it’s this: I won’t give up on our love. I refuse to, because what the fuck kind of man would I be to turn my back on something so fundamental to my very existence? A fucking pussy, that’s what, and if there’s one thing I’m not, it’s a pussy.

 I won’t give up on our love. Not now, not ever.

Lifting my head, I meet Saoirse’s hard stare with that promise burning in my veins. But right now, no matter what I say, I know it won’t make a difference. Saoirse might love me, but Louhi has to make a stand. We both know that. Shooting me was her only choice given the circumstances. Closing herself off, shutting down, was her only option. I don’t fight it, I can’t fight it, but most importantly, I won’t. “Get. Out!” she snarls, the slightest flicker of regret in her eyes the only sign that beneath the pain, betrayal and disappointment, she still cares for me. 

That Saoirse is still there inside of Louhi, who stands before me now. “I said, get the fuck out!” I ignore Rodriguez’s laugh. I ignore the King’s smirk. I ignore Dom asking Saoirse to reconsider. Instead, I lower my head in acquiesce. I raise my hand and place it over my heart, over the tattoo of her handprint embedded in my skin and vow to myself that I will find a way to protect her from afar, no matter what. With one last look at Saoirse that I hope conveys all the love and affection I feel for her, I twist on my feet and stagger towards the exit, my gaze falling to Dom as I reach the door.

“Take care of her,” I bite out through gritted teeth, fighting the darkness that’s threatening to drag me under. He nods. “You can count on me, Sy.” 

*Hours later*

“Fuck me sideways!” Connall exclaims as I blink back the heavy fog of sleep and try to get my bearings. “Where am I?” I ask, groaning as I try to sit up. Bright white light pricks my eyes like a bullet straight to my brain, and I lift my hand to my head, feeling my scalp where Derby whacked me, hissing when I feel the tender skin and the stitches there.

 “Joey’s place. He’s fixed you up. Got you on a drip as soon as we arrived and gave you a couple pints of blood. There was a moment I thought we’d lose you.” “I’m hard to lose,” I reply, giving him a weak smile. “But man, do I feel like shit.” “You look like shit too,” Joey says, stepping into his makeshift operating theater and giving me a toothy grin, antiseptic and the scent of car oil following him into the room. The amount of times I’ve been in the back of his garage getting fixed up is crazy, though to be fair, he keeps this room spotless. I mean, I haven’t died of my injuries or a nasty infection yet. That’s got to count for something, right? Thank god for old ranger buddies. “Thanks, old man,” I reply, easing myself upright on the gurney. It creaks under my weight, and I feel every single bit of pain now that the adrenaline has worn off.

 Damn, I could up chuck. Swallowing back the queasiness, I wait for the room to stop spinning. “What’s the damage?” Connall asks, frowning as he stares at me. I have a vague recollection of calling him for help, but other than that I remember nothing after stepping outside of the club. He’s a good man, one I can count on.

The fucking best. “Couple broken ribs, lots of bruising,” Joey says, drawing some clear liquid from a vial into a needle. He pulls it free, presses the plunger to get rid of any air bubbles, then stabs me in the bicep with it, dispensing the liquid. “I fucking hope that’s painkillers,” I say, trying to laugh but failing. He nods, pulling the needle free before throwing it in the medical waste bin. “I got you, pal.” “What else?” Connall urges impatiently.

 “The gash to his head was pretty fucking deep. I’ve sewn it up but you’ll need to keep an eye on him over the next few days. He was concussed pretty badly, and there’s always a danger of bleeding into the skull or swelling on the brain, but I think we’re good where that’s concerned.”

 Connall swipes a hand through his hair. “You think?” “Well, short of getting Sy into the hospital for a CT scan, I can’t say any better than that.”

 “No hospitals,” I say firmly. “Don’t need the law on my ass for offing Carter-fucking-Davidson.” 

“You what?!” Connall exclaims, looking from me to Joey. “Did you know about this?” “First I’ve heard,” Joey says, casting a look my way. He knows I had my suspicions about Carter and his relationship with the King, so I imagine he’s putting two and two together and coming up with a pretty good assumption about what went down. “Jesus fuck, Syverson! What the hell happened last night?” “Last night?” I have a question. “How long have I been out?” “Ten hours, but stop avoiding the fucking question. Spill. I need to know so that I can give the family a head’s up. If a war is coming, they’ll want to back you.” “There’ll be no war. We’re leaving.”

“You and Louhi?” Joey asks, even though I’m pretty fucking sure it’s a trick question given she ain’t here and he’s not fucking stupid. “No.” I shake my head, ignoring the pain in my chest that isn’t coming from my bullet wound, but is most definitely coming from my heart. I look at Connall. “When I said we, I was kind of hoping you’d come with me.” “Me? Go where, exactly? And what about Louhi?” “Saoirse was the one who shot me,” I explained, leaning my head back against the gurney. Joey whistles and Connall’s mouth drops open in shock. “Wait, back the fuck up a minute,” he says scraping a hand over his face. “You killed Carter Davidson and Louhi shot you for it?”

 “Pretty much,” I replied.

 “But she’s in love with you,” he counters.

 “He’s her dad, Connall.”

 “And clearly a prick given you killed him. You don’t need to tell me what he’s done for me to know you’d only ever off your boss because he’s done something unforgivable. So, I’ll ask again. Why would Louhi shoot you when we all know that girl is head over heels in love with you?”

 I heave out a sigh. “I wish I could say that was still true.” “Are you still in love with her?” Joey asks me pointedly.

“Yes.”

 “Jesus, Mary and Joseph! She shot you, Logan. Are you gone in the head?” Connall yells, shaking his head in frustration. “You know what, don’t fucking answer that.” “So you’re running?” Joey asks, moving the conversation along. “It’s complicated.” “So UN-complicate it for us because as much as I like Louhi, I don’t like the fact she nearly killed you and you’re leaving like a beat-down dog.” “Number fucking one, I’m not a beat-down dog!

 Number fucking two, if she wanted me dead, I’d be dead. We were five feet apart, there is no way she would’ve missed from that distance. No fucking way,” I say, pointing to my bandaged shoulder. “He’s right. Even if she wasn’t a trained markswoman, which I understand that she is, there’d be no missing. So do you want to tell us why you killed Carter?” Joey asks. “Because the cunt was going to use her to pay off his debts to the King.” “The fuck you say?!” Connall yells. “You heard me. Carter got into a lot of trouble fucking his way around the escorts at The Crib Club, not to mention racking up a substantial gambling debt. I found out about his plans and made the King a better offer.” 

Drawing in a deep breath to fend off the queasiness, I continue, “I would kill Carter if he backed the fuck off from Saoirse. He agreed, providing I stay quiet about his involvement, and he could remain a silent partner in the club.”

 “The conniving bastard. Why didn’t you just kill the cunt as well?” Connall asks. “Because, as you well know, he’s powerful. Much more powerful than me on my jack jones and far more powerful than one woman with a dead dad. She needs him… For now.” “And you’re okay with that?” Joey asks this time. “Of course I’m not, but equally she’s backed into a corner. The King has a forty-eight percent share in the club, he has a big army behind him and lots of fucking connections. 

She can’t go up against him. This way she keeps his protection and a share in the club whilst she establishes herself, and we find a way out of this mess.” “And you believe he won’t go back on his word the minute you're gone, and take her for himself?” “I know he won’t. Saoirse shooting me proved she’s tough enough to run the club. Besides, the King doesn’t want a woman who’ll fucking shoot him when he tries to raise a hand to her. Saoirse is too much of a handful, and one he ain’t willing to mess with, thank fuck.”

“So let me get this straight,” Connall tries to rationalize, pacing up and down as he gets all the information straight in his head. “Carter was in debt so he goes to the King for a loan, the payment of which is his own fucking daughter and a share in the club.” “Yes,” I say, the pain in my head, shoulder and ribs easing a little now the medication is doing its job. Doesn’t stop the ache in my heart though, or the constant feeling of nausea when I’m reminded of how Saoirse had looked at me as though I’d broken her heart as surely as her banishing me had broken mine. She had to do it, I don’t fucking blame her for it, but it still fucking hurts.

 “You find out and cut another deal with the King,” Connall continues, “You kill Carter and the King backs off from Louhi, acting as what, a silent partner in the club?” “Precisely, he’s also got connections with some of the best clubs in the world. He can bring in the fighters. She’s smart, she’ll grow the business, and won’t throw it down the drain alongside whisky and stripper cum like her dad did.” Connall raises his brow at that. We both know Carter wasn’t the type of man who cared about a woman’s pleasure over his own. “Turn of phrase,” I mumble.

“So the King gets to sit back and reap the benefits whilst you take the blame for killing Carter, am I close?” “I don’t know about that part. That all depends on what happens now, but I’m not sticking around to find out whether Saoirse grasses on me. Though I wouldn’t fucking blame her if she did.” “She won’t,” Joey says, sounding far more certain than I feel. “And you know how?” Connall asks. “As you well know, there are rules we all live by, unspoken ones, but ones we all obey. No fucking police. However Louhi chooses to deal with this is up to her, but that girl has grown up in this life and she won’t be pulling the police in unless they’re bent and she’s using them to cover her back.” 

 “Fair point,” Connall concedes, leaning back against the counter as he regards me. “And your big plan is to slope off with your tail between your legs, heart fucking broken, whilst there are a fuck load of snakes and sharks out there who are more than willing to take a bite out of your woman?” 

“I’m not sloping off,” I growl, “And I’m not willing to let anyone do any such thing. I trust Dom to keep an eye on her, and I believe the King will have her back whilst it suits him. Right now keeping her safe, and more importantly the business safe, is in his best interests.”

“So what’s the plan, and why do you want me tagging along for the ride?” Connall asks. “For your charm and wit, of course,” I reply, deadly fucking serious. He laughs. I don’t. “Okay spill.” “I’m gonna find her an army of the best men and women money, charm and connections can buy, and you’re going to help me.” “Well, when you put it like that, how can a man say no?” Connalls replies, grinning. “And what do you need me to do?” Joey asks. “Keep your ear to the ground and let me know the second you hear anything about the King that should concern me. Better still, ingratiate yourself with Louhi. Get in on the business. She’ll need someone to fix up her men after they’ve been in the cage. Make sure that man is you.” Joey nods.

 “You got it.” “So where to go first?” Connall asks me as my eyes begin to drift shut. “Italy. Romeo Ricci, remember that crazy bastard, he has some contacts out there I’d like to explore…” “Italy it is,” Connall replies, with a shake of his head as exhaustion and a heavy dose of painkiller pull me under.

*2 years later*

Sy’s POV

It’s been almost two years since I left. Two long motherfucking years where I’ve watched over Saoirse from afar. My Princess. My woman. My heart. She turns twenty in a week. And I’m back to tell her the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, so help me fucking God.

I owe her an explanation, my apologies and my love. But more than that, I owe her my life. Saoirse isn’t a crap shot, and no one misses major organs when they’re firing a bullet from a few feet away without purposefully intending to miss. She shot me that night in the cage, banishing me from her life and sending out a message to the criminal underworld. No one fucks with Louhi. Not even the ones she loves. It was her saving grace, because when she pulled the trigger she proved herself a Davidson more than worthy of standing in Carter’s shoes, and she’s been proving herself ever since, building a business and an army that she can be proud of. Unofficially she’s been running the club from the moment Carter was murdered by yours truly, officially just a few short weeks since his will was read and her name replaced his as the owner of the club. Either way, she’s gained respect and a reputation. 

According to Dom, who’s been my inside man this whole time, despite the King still having involvement in the club, he’s backed off and allowed her to make a name for herself whilst he reaped the benefits. It won’t be long before she buys him out, or better yet kills the cunt, but all in good time. For now, she’s running the most lucrative fight club in all of Europe. Two months after the refurbishment, the old club mysteriously burnt to the ground and she moved premises to a larger, more discrete site where the club has also become more commonly known as Louhi’s Fight Club. As it should be. She’s a badass, and I’m so fucking proud of her. Two weeks ago, Dom called me to let me know that Carter’s will had finally been read, after his funeral took place a couple weeks before that.

 A funeral that, by all accounts, was attended by every fucking lowlife criminal you could think of. None of them were there for Carter, and even less to pay their respects to Saoirse. Like vultures around a rotting carcass, they wanted to see what they could get out of the situation because up until three months ago, Carter was deemed a missing person. And a missing person is still a threat, but a dead man? Not so much. What they hadn’t counted on was the woman they met at the funeral. A woman who, according to Dom, single-handedly laid out three men and shot a fourth in the kneecap for even trying to disrespect her. They also hadn’t counted on the soldiers she’s acquired or the loyalty of mercenaries with a big enough reputation to scare even the most hardened criminal off. Like I said, she’s been building an army. It’s also common knowledge that the remains of Carter’s skull was found in a shallow grave in Hampstead Heath, and that he was identified by his teeth.

It’s not common knowledge that the police were tipped-off with where to find Carter’s remains, or the fact that the rest of his body was fed to pigs who have long since been butchered too. Both calculated decisions that were made by Saoirse herself. Of course, speculation had been rife in the criminal underworld, and according to Dom, Saoirse endured weeks of police interrogations, interviews and accusations. But she never wavered from her story, and she never once ratted me out. Carter’s cause of death was deemed suspicious, but given there was very little left of Carter’s body and no other evidence to be found given the old club is now nothing but a pile of ash, the case ran cold.

 Though I’m more than fucking positive that there was a handout to the police chief and a few people higher up the chain of command to nip any further investigations in the bud. Like I said, Saoirse has come into her own. Or should I say Louhi has come into her own, because there isn’t one person now who’ll call her Saoirse. She won’t allow it. The last person who tried was beaten by her men so badly that he can’t even remember his own name, let alone hers, or so I’m told. Saoirse has well and truly shredded her skin and stepped into the role of Louhi completely. It’s a heavy burden to know that I’m part of the reason for that.

That my actions, my half-truths and my lies to keep her safe, forced her into a persona she couldn’t escape from. Honestly, I’m not certain she would even want to now. But I’m not back to change her in any way, I’m back because I can’t stay away a moment longer. There’s so much I need to fix and I’m not self-centred enough to believe I’ll be successful, but I’ve got to fucking try. I blow out a steady breath, swiping at the mist covering the mirror from the shower I’ve just taken, and stare at my reflection. I look much the same as I did when I left.

 I’m still a bulky fucker, probably bigger than I was given I’ve spent a lot of my time training in gyms around the world, but it didn’t matter where I was, there was no sunshine without her. My happiness wasn’t a focus, her safety was, still is. I haven’t been complacent in my time away. I’ve made alliances, acquaintances and friends with powerful men and women. And I’ve done it all for Saoirse, for Louhi. I’ve been standing by her side this whole fucking time we’ve been apart. I never stopped working to build her army. Never stopped loving her. Never stopped dreaming about her every fucking night, and thinking about her every minute of every day. I’m surprised my dick hasn’t dropped off from the amount of times I’ve abused it whilst thinking of her. 

That night in her bedroom where she’d spread herself for me and finger-fucked herself so perfectly has been on repeat in my head for the last two years. Even now, after all this time, thoughts of her make me hard. That won’t ever change. Scraping a hand over my face, I mentally psych myself up, because if I was nervous about telling Saoirse about my feelings back in my tattoo shop two years ago, that’s nothing to how I’m feeling now. I ain’t shitting a brick. I’m shitting a goddamn mountain. Dom has made it perfectly clear that she’s not the same person I left behind, but then again neither am I. Truth be known, being away has changed me. I was never a spiritual man, and I won’t pretend that I am now, but a few months back I accompanied Connall on a trip to Ireland to visit his family and met a lad who has this uncanny ability to uncover a man’s secrets and capitalize on them. The little fucker got me talking about personal shit that I would never share with anyone. I can’t even blame my loose mouth on the pints of Guinness I knocked back, given I only had two. Pretty sure he pulled some voodoo shit on me. All I know is if anyone has the heart of a criminal, the soul of a thief and the mind of a genius, it’s Arden Dálaigh, and I have no doubts we’ll meet again when he’s grown a few more chest hairs. But that’s a concern for another day. 

With a shake of my head, my gaze falls to Saoirse’s handprint tattooed on my chest, the outline of which is now completely filled with black ink. From there my eyes track across to the puckered scar that sits just beneath my right collar bone where Saoirse shot me. Both are a prominent reminder of the woman I love, and I will wear them with pride until the day I fucking die. “Are you sure you’re ready for this?” Connall asks, the second I slide into the passenger seat beside him. I gave him a look. “Not in the fucking slightest, but it’s time.” “She might actually kill you this time.” “She might, but it’s a risk I’m willing to take,” I reply, drumming my fingers against my knee in agitation. 

The fucker of course notices. He’s been a good friend to me and I owe him so much more than I could ever repay. Connall has been my right-hand man through all of my travels around the world. “Listen, mate, I love you, you know that right?” I laugh. “If you’re about to tell me to run away with you—”

“We’ve been there, done that already,” he cuts in with a smirk, breaking sharply and swearing at a kid that suddenly dashes out into the road in front of us. She slams her fist against the bonnet, before giving us the middle finger. Beneath her hood I can see bright blue hair and a scowl that would rival the many Saoirse has given me in the past. “Watch where you’re going, asswipe!” she yells, then pelts it across the street chucking a spray can at the car for good measure.

 “The little fucker!” Connall exclaims as we both watch her leg it down the street and disappear down an alleyway a little further up. “That one’s gonna cause someone a heap of shit in a few years.” “Looks like she’s already causing a heap of shit,” I remark, as Connall puts the car in drive and moves on. We both laugh, the tension easing a little. Ten minutes later Connall pulls up outside a gated industrial estate, manned by a security guard who looks very familiar.

 Mark.

 The last time I saw him, he was in the crowd at the club whilst I was getting the shit kicked out of me by Derby. Connall gives me a look. “Is he gonna give us trouble?” “I guess you’d better roll your window down so we can find out.”

Mark steps out of the little hut he’s sitting in and strolls over to the car, ducking down to look through the now open window. It takes him less than a second to lock eyes with me. “Well, fuck! Dom said you were back, but I didn’t believe it. Syverson, as I live and breathe. How are you, mate?” Not quite the reception I was expecting, but okay. I grin. “I’m good, you?” “Head of security here these days,” he says with a wink, tapping on the walkie-talkie attached to his chest. “That uniform looks good on you,” Connall says, jerking his chin towards Mark’s outfit. He looks like a cross between a copper and a bouncer in his deep blue shirt and trousers. 

The fact he’s got a handgun strapped to his hip and a knife slotted next to it just adds to the whole don’t fuck with me vibe he’s got going on. “Louhi likes her soldiers dressing smart. Things have changed around here since…” His voice trails off and neither of us fill in the silence. Mark was at the club the night I fought Derby, but he wasn’t there when I killed Carter. I found out later he was dragging a fuming Hudson Freed home. 

Though he couldn’t keep him away according to Dom, who’s been my inside man this whole time. Hudson came back an hour after I left and is as deep in this pile of shit as the rest of us in attendance that night. Honestly, I expected to hear that Saoirse and him had got together after I’d gone, but to my surprise they’re still just friends and have remained close. I guess I owe him a thank you for looking out for my girl too, even if it pisses me off that he got to spend time with her and I didn’t. I should be grateful, I am grateful, but it doesn’t stop me from wanting to beat the shit out of him for having her time and attention though.

 Never thought I’d be a jealous man, but here we are. “Sy is here to see Louhi. Is that gonna be a problem?” Connall asks, before I’m able to even clear my head enough to do the same. For a beat Mark looks between us, his expression serious. We were friends once, and the thought of having to knock the fucker out so I can get inside the gates doesn’t sit well with me, but I’ll do it if I have to. “A few weeks back I would’ve seen you on your way,” he admits with a wry grin. “And today?” I ask, my stomach churning at the thought that just on the other side of this gate is the woman I love. “Today you’re allowed in.” Connall grins. “Excellent, want to get the gate open then?”

Mark’s smile drops. “Sorry, Connall. Sy goes in alone. Orders of the Boss.” Connall looks affronted, glancing at me. “Why is she pissed at me? I ain’t done nothing wrong. Surely, she has missed my Irish charm?” I laugh, and Mark grins. “Couldn’t tell you. All I’ve been told is if Logan  turns up he comes in alone.” “Not a problem,” I say, unclipping my seat belt. “Follow me then,” Mark replies, bumping fists with a put-out Connall, before striding back to the gate. “Seriously, Sy, are you sure you wanna do this? We both know that Louhi has quite the reputation these days.” “I’m sure. Go home. I’ll call you later.” Connall nods, blowing out a breath.

 “Well, don’t let me tell you I told you so when you end up in the coroner's office with a bullet in your brain.” “Pretty sure I’ll be incapable of listening or responding at that point,” I say with a laugh, before jumping out of the car and striding through the open gate.

Two minutes later I’m pushing open the door into the warehouse Mark pointed me towards, and stepping into a cornered off wire cage with wrap around curtains and a locked door opposite. In the corner of the space is a table and a sign that says:

 Remove all weapons or entry will be denied.

I grin. Saoirse is way smarter than her father. Security is clearly a priority, as it should be. Glancing around the space, my attention is caught by a tiny red light flashing in the top right hand corner of the cage. I stare up at the camera and wait, a smile pulling up my lips. “Weapons on the table,” a familiar female voice barks through the intercom. It’s been a long time since I heard her voice and for a moment I’m taken aback. Struck fucking dumb, actually, though my dick doesn’t seem to have the same problem. It jerks at her voice, standing to fucking attention. “Jesus fuck,” I mutter. “Weapons on the table, Syverson. You’ll get them back when you leave.” 

Syverson. Call me a fool, call me whatever the fuck you like, but the sheer fact she’s addressing me by my real name is a good fucking sign. I hear the sass buried deep beneath the coolness, and it fires my fucking blood like nothing else. Maybe there’s hope. “I have no weapons. I come in peace,” I reply, grinning, unable to help myself.

For long moments there’s just silence, then the intercom makes a clicking noise and her voice follows shortly after. “Prove it. Strip.” “Sure thing, Princess,” I reply without hesitation, more than happy to oblige. I hear the sound of the intercom clicking once more and wait, but there’s nothing but static. Maybe it’s too early to be calling her Princess again so I follow my reply up with a statement that I hope she takes as truthfully as it’s meant. “Ain’t nothing I wouldn’t do for you.” Her scoff comes through the intercom clear as fuck then. “Just get on with it.” I stare up at the camera and nod. If she wants me naked, then I’ll get naked.

 She can see how my cock is growing for her too. I don’t fucking care. She can take her fill. Removing my jacket and boots first, I throw the former onto the table and kick the latter across the concrete floor. There isn’t one moment when my gaze isn’t focussed on the camera, and I’m hoping she can feel the intensity of my stare, because I sure as fuck can feel hers. Next, my t-shirt, jeans and socks come off and I stand in my boxers with a raging hard on that would rival any of those other fuckers that she might’ve invited into her bed. I sure hope I get the chance to erase any bastard cock that has had the pleasure of her attention these past couple years. It fucking kills

I know that someone else has taken what was always supposed to be mine, but I can’t blame her for it. I won’t do that. Doesn’t mean it doesn’t fucking gut me though, or that I won’t off the fucker who took it from me. Just saying. “Do you need me to remove my boxers too, because you know I will, Princess,” I say unabashedly. This wasn’t exactly how I pictured our reunion, but I get the psychology behind it. She wants to show me who’s boss, what she doesn’t realize is that I never wanted to be hers.

 Every action I took came from a place of love, and the need to protect her. “Is that a gun in your pants or are you just glad to see me?” a familiar male voice says, followed by a burst of laughter that has my cock deflating quicker than you can say gonorrhea. Across the other side of the space the curtain surrounding the cage is pulled back and Dom is smiling at me. “Fucking hell, Syverson, I can see that cock of yours is still a lethal weapon.” I bark out a laugh, shaking my head. “You prick!” 

“Nope, you’re definitely the prick.”

“Good to see you, Dom,” I reply, my smile fading as I give him a look that I hope he interprets as gratefulness. Without him keeping an eye on Saoirse, and letting me know how she’s been doing, I would’ve been even more of a fucking mess. “Get dressed. Louie's waiting for you in her office,” he gives me a knowing look, then punches a number into a keypad on his side of the cage and pulls the door open. He waits for me to put my clothes back on, and with one last glance at the camera, I follow Dom into the lioness’s den.

Saoirse’s POV

I stare at the screen, at the man who stole my heart and made me an orphan. He looks the same as I remember and different in a way that’s difficult to pinpoint. There are lines around his eyes, and a tightness around his mouth that I have the sudden urge to soothe. He’s more muscular, if that’s even possible. His hair is a little longer on top and he’s clean shaven. If I weren’t already sitting down, I’d need to.

There’s no doubt that he’s grown even more handsome, and despite my head telling me not to get drawn in, my foolish heart is beating wildly. Don’t even ask me about my pussy because she’s already forgiven him and is about ready to throw herself at his cock and beg for oblivion. “Fuck!” I swear, my gaze roving over every inch of his face as he stares up at the camera.

 This was a bad fucking idea. I can’t be weak for this man, I can’t. Flicking my gaze to my phone, I consider calling Mark to come get his arse and chuck him out, but  I hesitate. My stomach churns with anxiety, and I grab my packet of cigarettes from the table, lighting one and dragging in a deep lungful. The tip sizzles, and when I blow out a stream of blue-grey smoke, some of the anxiety lifts. Narrowing my eyes at him I make a decision, then lean back in my chair and press the intercom button. “Weapons on the table,” I say, keeping my voice steady, cold. He stiffens, his muscles locking tight as he blinks back up at the camera. He wasn’t expecting to hear my voice. Good, let him feel as fucked in the head as I do. I take another drag of my cigarette, enjoying the power shift as he chews on his lip. There’s no doubt that he’s nervous. Well that makes two of us.

“Weapons on the table, Syverson. You’ll get them back when you leave.” I can’t help but grin at the surprise in his eyes when I call him by his real name. Before, when I used to call him Syverson, it was to wind him up, to get a rise out of him. Now, I just want to remind him that I can call him whatever the fuck I want and he can’t do a damn thing about it. It takes him a beat to reply, but when he does he gives me a grin that almost makes me forget what he did. Almost. “I have no weapons. I come in peace,” he says. I take another pull of my cigarette. 

There’s nothing about his body language that tells me he’s being anything other than truthful, and despite everything, I believe he isn’t carrying. Not that it would matter if he was, because my soldiers would have him disarmed and on his knees with a gun cocked at his head before he could even blink. Syverson might be the best fighter in the cage, but he’s no match for the combined force of the mercenaries I’ve gathered over the two years since he’s been gone. Every single one of them walked into the club as a fighter and stayed as my soldier, and I took full advantage of the universe bringing them to me.

 We eyeball each other through the screen, and deciding that he needs to be knocked down a peg, or five thousand, I test his willingness to follow my orders because there is no way I’ll even entertain talking to him if he thinks he can just waltz back in here and pick up where we left off. I don’t care how fucking sexy he is, or how much he still makes my legs go weak and my pussy wet. “Prove it. Strip,” I demand, smirking as I lean back in my chair and wait. I don’t have to wait for long. “Sure thing, Princess,” he replies then begins to remove his clothes. I press down on the intercom about ready to tell him to fuck off for calling me Princess, but then he says something else that stills my heart and immediately puts me back in the headspace of the girl who was utterly in love with him. “Ain’t nothing I wouldn’t do for you.” I blink at the screen, at his sincerity. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck! Swallowing hard and pushing those feelings deep down, I scoff, then say; “Just get on with it.” 

Then I click off the intercom so that I don’t do something fucking stupid like ask him to do everything I’ve dreamed of in the privacy of my bedroom these past couple years since he’s been gone. Dragging in another hit of my cigarette, I watch him undress, my mouth dropping open as I stare at the screen, transfixed. He strips right down to his boxers and there’s no denying that his almost naked form is as stunningly attractive as it ever was, but it isn’t his defined muscles or his broad shoulders

and strong thighs that leave me breathless. It isn’t even the intimidating size of his erection. It’s my handprint that’s completely filled in and resting over his heart in a permanent tattoo that sucks all the oxygen from the room and has my own heart pounding so loud that I barely hear my phone ringing. “Shit! Fuck!” I exclaim, picking it up. “What?” I snap into the mouthpiece. “He’s about to take his fucking pants off. Are you still convinced he’s packing?” Dom asks me, undeniable laughter in his voice. He’s certainly packing, I think, my gaze trailing to his boxers and the bulge there.

 “Bring him to me,” I ordered. “Sure thing… And boss?” “Yes?” “He’s a good guy.” I snort. “Tell that to Carter.” By the time Dom knocks on my door five minutes later, I’ve shrugged off the girl who was in love with Syverson and firmly stepped into the role of Louhi. I promised myself I would listen to him, and I will, but that doesn’t mean I’m just going to take him back no matter what he has to say. “Come in,” I called out, arms folded across my chest in defense mode that I quickly uncrossed because letting him know I’m feeling out of sorts by his sudden appearance today isn’t what Louhi would do. She is strong, unfazed by anyone, and it’s her grit I funnel as  Dom opens the door and Syverson steps past him into my office.

 I glance at Syverson quickly, willing my heart to stop racing and ignoring the very real need to just go to him, then give a tight smile to Dom. “Need me to stay?” he asks. “No. Get home to Nancy. I’ll see you back here tomorrow night for Ziggy’s fight.” “Sure thing.” He nods once, flicks his gaze to the back of Syverson’s head and smirks, shutting the door behind him. “I should shoot you dead now,” I state, my fingers running over the Glock resting on my desk, internally wincing at the opposing emotions fucking with my head. I just want to go to him, wrap my arms around him, but I can’t. I fucking can’t. “I wouldn’t stop you,” he replies evenly. “Do you have a death wish?” I ask, genuinely interested, and trying hard to focus on being Louhi and not the girl who’s still in love with him. He holds his hands out, palms up. “The only wish I have is for the chance to talk. That’s it. That’s all.” We stare at each other for long moments, and I’d be a liar if I didn’t want to throw caution to the wind and forgive him instantly for everything. But I can’t do that.

I won’t do that. “Drink?” I ask instead, if only because I need something to do with my hands. Without waiting for him to reply, I push back from the table and stride over to the drinks cabinet in the corner of the room, pouring us both a three-fingered shot of bourbon. I take my time, letting him get his fill of my fitted shirt, tight leather skirt, bare legs, and stiletto ankle boots. I know for a fact my knee-length skirt hugs my arse, and the slit at the back gives glimpses of my thighs. He’s not the only one who’s kept themselves fit these past couple years. I spar three times a week with Dom and Mark and train with Cleveland, one of the mercenaries, twice a week too. I keep up with pole dancing as much as I can with Nancy and Matty as well. Exercise has helped to keep my mind focused, sharp. What no one knows is that on my nights off I indulge in copious amounts of junk food to ease the pain in my chest whilst sitting in my threadbare pyjamas, feeling lonely as fuck. There has to be balance, right? With his eyes on me, I grab the drinks and return to my seat, sliding one across the table to him. “Sit.” Syverson nods, watching me carefully as he pulls out the chair and takes a seat opposite me. I will my cheeks not to flush at the intense way he stares at me,but rather than looking away I stare right back, not willing to let him see how affected I am by him. Taking a sip of the bourbon, I wait. 

“Saoirse…” Syverson begins, his Texan accent causing a sharp pang in my chest,  “Louhi,” I retort firmly. “Louhi,” he corrects, leaning forward and clasping his hands together on the table, completely ignoring the glass of bourbon. My gaze trails over his thick fingers and the veins protruding on the back of his hands before I slowly lift my eyes to meet his. I’m pretty sure he was just checking out my tits too. Can’t say I blame him, they’ve filled out some since he left. I guess I’m what you call a late bloomer. “You’ve got five minutes. Speak,” I demand, so fucking grateful my voice remains steady. “You look good,” he remarks, the sound of lust in his voice like a wet dream come true. There’s no denying the need in his eyes and for a second I allow myself to bask in it. To let his words wash over me like a sweet caress. Then I pull my shit together.

“If you’re just here to compliment me on my looks then you can get your arse up out of that chair and fuck right off. I don’t need your compliments, Syverson. I get enough of them as it is.” His eyes flash with possession, and a whole dose of jealousy, but he shuts both down and nods, clearing his throat. “I’m sure you do.” We fall silent again, and I pick up another cigarette, lighting it. He looks surprised but instead of questioning why I’ve taken up smoking, he nods towards the cigarette packet. “May I?” “You may,” I say, inwardly smiling at the way he seems to shift uncomfortably in his seat. I wonder if he still has a boner. The sheer fact he got hard because he knew I was watching him strip makes me feel all kinds of ways. 

Mostly horny, but also wanted, desired. Yeah, I’ve had plenty men want to fuck me, but the way Syverson is looking at me now, it’s different. It’s more. As he leans forward and reaches across the table, his loose fitting, v-neck shirt gapes a little, revealing the top of the handprint tattoo. Now it’s me who’s staring as I remember the day he took me to his tattoo shop and stole my breath with his actions and his promises.

“I like what you’ve done with the club,” he interrupts my reminiscing. I rip my gaze upwards and watch him place a cigarette between his lips before lighting it.

 “You’ve been busy building quite an empire since I’ve been gone.”

 “You sound surprised.” 

“No. I never doubted you.”

 Blue-grey smoke curls up out of his mouth as he speaks and I can’t help but notice the note of pride in his voice. I don’t need a man’s validation, but surprisingly getting this recognition from Syverson means more to me than it probably should. “Yeah, you’re right. I have been building an empire since I banished you,” I reply, forcing all those warm feelings I have no business entertaining deep into the pit of my stomach. Anger is by far a safer emotion right now, and I’m clinging onto it with everything I have. “I’ll rephrase that. You’ve been building quite an empire since you banished me.” There’s a hint of a smile in his eyes that warms a part of me that turned cold a long time ago, and it’s that feeling and not his flirty smile that has me reacting the way I do.

 I. Can’t. Let. Him. In.

 I Can’t.

“Get out!” I snap. Stubbing out my cigarette, I push up from my desk and stride towards the door. “Now!” He twists in his seat, frowning as he watches me yank open the door . “What?” “I said, get the fuck out!” My voice is low, dripping with fury. “Woah, Louhi,” he retorts, stubbing his own cigarette into the ashtray before getting to his feet.

 “Calm down darlin.”

 “Calm down? Calm-fucking-down! No. You don’t get to patronize me.”

 “I wasn’t! Shit! Fuck, that’s not what I was doing!”

 I bark out a laugh, feeling a lot less Louhi and way more Saoirse than I have in a very long time. Saoirse is the one who flies off the handle at the drop of a hat, who’s emotional. Louhi is nothing like that and a large part of me resents that he still has the ability to pull her out of me.

 “Did you honestly think you could waltz in here, flash me a smile, give me flirty fuck-me eyes and think I would fall at your feet like some lovesick teenager?”

 “Well, I—” he smiles again in that infuriating way that makes my heart squeeze. “Don’t you dare!”

 I hiss, slamming the door shut in anger instead of slamming my fist into his cocky face. “Don’t make this into a fucking joke.”

“I’m sorry, let me start again,” he begins, scraping a hand over his face. 

“Fuck, I knew I’d balls this up.”

 “I’m not that girl anymore. I’m not someone you can flirt with and charm, who begs for your attention. I won’t just roll over and forgive you for everything just because you’re back.”

 “I don’t expect you to do any of that,” he replies earnestly as he steps towards me. “I misjudged the situation. I guess I thought—I hoped—that because you hadn’t already shot me dead that we were on better terms than we actually are. I was wrong. I apologize.”

 “The only terms we’re on is me giving you a chance to shoot your shot before I decide whether to shoot you dead for good this time!” I bite back.

 “That’s fair,” he replies, holding his hands aloft as he approaches me guardedly. “I’m just asking you to listen to what I have to say. Will you?”

 “So now you want my obedience?” I shake my head. “Nothing’s changed there then.” 

“You were never obedient,” he retorts, moving closer still. “As I recall, you did nothing but cause me shit. I’ve missed that.” 

This time his smile isn’t flirty, it’s pitted with regret and the barely stitched together wounds in my chest rip open at that. He missed me. God, I missed him too. So fucking much. But I don’t admit it.

“And you were nothing but a tease and a heartbreaker!” I retort, hating the fact that I’m losing my cool so spectacularly, that somehow I’ve moved towards him instead of putting more space between us. “I’m sorry it felt that way.”

 “Are you?”

 “Saoirse,” he says, then slams his mouth shut when I give him a glare that ordinarily would end in someone getting kneecapped. 

“Louhi,” he repeats, still stepping towards me.

 “I never meant to hurt you.”

 “But you did. And that girl you made an orphan? She’s gone now.”

 “I understand,” he acknowledges, stopping a few inches from me.

 “You don’t understand though,” I reply. “You don’t understand anything.”

 “Then explain it to me. What’s going on in your head, Princess?”

 I look up at him unable, or perhaps unwilling, to drag my gaze away. I don’t even pull him up for calling me Princess again because, fuck, I’ve missed him so much. I ache to step into his arms. It’s physically painful to keep this distance between us, but I have a reputation to uphold and letting him back in would ruin mine. No one knows for certain that he killed Carter, but speculation has been rife since his body, or what was left of it, was found. The fact Syverson disappeared the same night my dad did but has turned up alive and well two years later is a big fucking red flag.

Not to mention that he did actually kill my dad. It’s just as well I’ve got the police chief in my pocket, otherwise Sy would’ve been pulled in for questioning the second he stepped back in town. He knows that just as much as I do. “You lost the right to ask those kinds of questions two years ago, Syverson.”

 “You’re right, I did, and it guts me to know that.” He sighs, tracing my features with his gaze. “There’s so much I need to say to you, but all I can think about right now is taking you in my arms and loving you until you understand that I’m sorry.”

 “Syverson,” I warn, but he ignores me and brushes his knuckles against my cheek, and just for a moment I’m caught in his pull, in the chemistry and the attraction we’ve always shared. It’s as strong as it ever was. It’s intoxicating. 

“Fuck, Louhi. Fuck,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing over my lips.

 “Syverson,” I say, trying and failing not to lean into his hold as his palm presses against my cheek and his fingers massage the shaven hair behind my ear. I can feel myself giving in, feel my heart calling out to his whilst my brain screams at me to stop, to think, to step the fuck away from him. “We belong together, you and me,” he murmurs as I struggle internally, wanting to let him in, knowing that I shouldn’t.

He lowers his head slowly towards mine, and in the short time it takes for him to lean closer, Louhi comes back fighting. I shove at his chest, taking a step back and putting space between us. “I don’t belong to anyone, Syverson. I don’t need to be loved by you. I do just fine without that bullshit in my life!” I lie, my chest heaving as we stare at one another. “We both know that isn’t true, because this thing we have, this connection, it ain’t going away. We’re inevitable, you and me…” And he’s right. We are. A part of me, a desperately needy, lonely part that has missed him, has yearned for him, wants him to take charge and pull me into his arms and kiss me stupid. The other part sighs in relief when he backs up. 

“But right now we can’t explore ourselves until you know the truth, and I’m here to give it to you.” “And what truth is that?” I ask, feeling the hair on the back of my neck stand. The look in his eyes is enough to make me withdraw emotionally, locking my feelings down, hardening up. Whatever he’s about to say isn’t going to be good. “That I killed Carter not because he wanted me dead for loving you, although that’s reason enough in my book, but because he drew up a contract with the King selling you to that asshole in exchange for paying off his debts.”

 Stunned doesn’t even begin to cover what I’m feeling. I’m fucking stupified, a sudden ringing in my ear drowning out every other sound. It takes me a few moments to gather my thoughts and I have to blink back my shock. “What?” I eventually choke out, the floor tipping beneath my feet as I try to make sense of what he’s just said. “That’s a fucking lie!”

  “I wish it was.” Sy  blows out a sharp breath, my reaction to the truth hurting him as much as the truth hurts me. “I made a new deal with the King as soon as I found out what your dad had planned. I would kill Carter and the King would back off from you, remaining a silent partner in the club. I did it so that I could give you time to build an army so that one day, when the time was right, you could take out the motherfucker yourself.”

 “He was going to sell me to the King?” I ask, disbelief quickly dissolving into rage that fires my blood and makes me wish Carter was still alive so that I could drive the motherfucking knife into his back, just like Sy did that night. “Yeah, he was,” Sy confirms, giving me a look of such deep sorrow that I almost, almost stepped into his arms. Instead, I tip up my chin, straighten my spine and funnel some Louhi energy. Maybe my dad had a hand in bringing her to life, but it was always Logan who fuelled her strength. “Tell me why I should believe you?” I ask, not because I don’t believe him—the truth is, I do—but because I need a moment to gather my thoughts. To figure out what the fuck I should do now.

 “You don’t have to believe me, but if you want to corroborate my story you just need to check the accounts at The Crib Club,” Sy says. “And how do you propose I do that?” “You managed to shut down the case investigating Carter’s murder. I’m sure you’ll find a way,” he says, knowingly. “Yeah,” I retort, already knowing exactly who to go to for help in that department. “Carter was a bastard, and he deserved to die,” he continues, “And what’s more, I’d do it all again to keep you safe.”

 I swallow hard, trying to form the words that just won’t come, because even though I believe him, I have to know for sure he’s telling the truth. When I don’t respond, he swipes a hand through his hair then says: “The only mistake I made was not telling you everything at the time. You weren’t wrong when you said that you didn’t need a man to make decisions for you. I can see just how capable you are, have always been. I’m proud of you. I’m proud of what you’ve built and I’m truly sorry for not giving you the respect you deserved and coming to you with what I found out.” My chest swells with conflicting emotions and it takes a great deal of strength not to fucking buckle, but I stand my ground and remain calm on the surface, even though beneath it all I’m struggling to make sense of everything. I stare at him for a long long time, my throat dry, my pulse racing, my stomach churning and my heart trying its very best to punch a hole through my chest. But I have to keep my head. First I need to check out his story, and then I need to decide what I do with that information. Eventually, I swallow hard and nod. 

“I appreciate you coming here and telling me.” “It’s the least you deserve.” “I have a lot to think about,” I admit. “Yeah, I imagine you do,” he acknowledges. “What are you going to do about the King?” “I don’t know yet.” “Well, when you figure that out, I’ve got your back, no strings attached,” he says, giving me a tight smile before heading towards the door and pulling it open. “Syverson!” I call out before I can stop myself, swallowing back the fucking neediness in my voice. He stills, glancing over his shoulder at me, his eyes flickering with hope.

 “Yeah?” “Are you still fighting?” “Not since I fought against Derby, why?”  “Next weekend I’m holding a contest at the club to celebrate my birthday. Anyone can fight.” “Is that an invitation?” “The winner gets to become one of my soldiers. Are you still a beast, Syverson?” I ask, picking up the glass of bourbon I poured for him and knocking it back in one gulp, relishing the burn. We both know that this is a test, but it’s also an olive branch. The question is, will he take it? “I’ll be here,” he replies, then steps out into the hallway and leaves.

#henry cavill imagine #henry cavill #captain syverson fanfiction #captain syverson #henry cavill thirst #henrycavill smut

[friendly-books]

Small Favor live blog

Small favor live blog 

Happy Holidays! 

Content warning: mind rape

Aw snowball fight with the Carpenters 

I love this training 

“The memory of my first shielding lesson under Justin DuMorne wasn’t a particularly sentimental one. “Baseballs” 

“Mercifully God” Charity said, shaking her head. “How old were you?” 

“Thirteen” I shrugged my shoulders. “Pain’s a good motivator. I learned fast.” pg. 15 That’s straight up child abuse 

“Then Charity, standing behind me, dumped a double handfuls of snow down mother neck of my coat” pg. 18 Ha

“They weren’t terribly tall, maybe five-foot-six” pg. 19 I’m 5’6 thanks Harry maybe you’re just freakishly tall

Charity with a nail gun so cool

“They contacted me through Paranet, and I showed them how to  give Fido the bum’s rush out of town.” pg. 31 Oh yay this is the thing Harry and Elaine were making.

“You look like a raccoon” pg. 35 Ha 

Denarians in town or the rogue denarian from Proven Guilty.

Yes Marcone in this book! It’s always a good surprise when Marcone is in a book

Aw Toot-toot grown!

Pizza guard!

“Leave the doughnut!” pg. 67 Oh no 

Mab make an entrance 

Oh no Marcone got kidnapped. How did someone kidnap Marcone? Where are they keeping him? Why would someone kidnap him?

“Unless you should agree to take up the mantle of Winter Knight” pg. 81 Not yet Mab 

“But I do know a little about horses, having taken care of my second mentor Ebenezar McCoy’s riding horses on his little farm in Missouri” pg. 89 Harry’s a horse girl

All this talk about Harry and the Winter Knight foreshadowing is foreboding 

“The driver’s side-window rolled down and revealed a young man whom father of teenage girls would shoot on sight” pg. 104 Ha

“If they’re following the beacon, they’ll be running all over town” pg. 125 Ha 

“I’m not terribly well motivated to bend over backwards to save John Marcone’s Armani-clad ass” pg. 127 Well Harry might not want to save Marcone but I can’t wait 

No Harry bring Mouse 

“He didn’t actually thank me, but it was his voice. I pretended that I hadn’t heard it there, which was what he expected me to do.

It’s a guy thing” pg. 138 That’s stupid 

“Especially with the raccoon face I’ve got going on here.” pg. 143 Ha

Hendricks! 

“I want to help your boss” pg. 152 It’s not lame. I love it

Oh no Gard :( 

“Second, that a standard electrical pug was attached to the other end” pg. 161 The chain is like Elaine’s chain 

“Without a word he set aside his shotgun and took the woman from me. I saw his eyes as he did, touched with worry and fear-and not for himself.” pg. 165 Hendricks/Gard ship let’s go I’ve made ships with less to go on

“Forzane” pg. 170 A force spell not a fire spell? Eh? 

Thomas! Put the coin down

“Because,” I said, “maybe they went to recruit him.” pg. 184 Well Nick did offer Marcone a job back in Death Mask. 

“Fu-“ I started to swear, but I glanced at Michael and changed it to “Fudgesiscles” pg. 189 Ha

“One of the most dangerous men I’ve ever known is about to have involuntary access to the knowledge and power of a Fallen angel, which would give the Denarians access to major influence within the United States. Not to mention the serious consequences for me if they succeed in making it happen” pg. 187 Interesting that this is Harry’s thoughts about Marcone taking up a coin. I wonder if he still thinks that now that Marcone’s taken up a coin. 

“Michael caught Sayna’s hand on the way up, and pushed it gently back down” pg. 187 Ha

“This isn’t a democracy, Harry. We serve a king” pg. 187 Eh? I’m pretty sure this is a democracy Michael 

“Transition: Don’t start another war, Harry” pg. 192 Ha and it’s only one war 

“So instead you have placed your own life in jeopardy in order to protect his beliefs. You risk your body to preserve his heart.”

“I suppose he considers it a particularly messianic act.”

“That’s not why I did it” I said 

“Of course it isn’t. He knows that. It isn’t easy for him. Usually he’s the one protecting another, willing to pay the price if he must” pg. 196 What’s some light treason to help your friends? And Harry is a good friend.

“We will watch over your criminals for you” pg. 202 Ha

So cool that Murph stood up to Tiny.

“War council?” Molly asked, wide-eyed. “Are we going to start another war?” pg. 226 Ha

“We might find a trail that leads back to the Nickelheads” pg. 232 Ha Nickelheads 

“Someone highly placed enough to know the location of the safe house, and who will profit by Marcone’s absence” pg. 232 Helen maybe 

“Nothing’s ever a convenient with you” pg. 234 Ha

“Hell’s bells. Do I really look like that? Maybe I needed a makeover or something” pg. 236 Aw Harry I’m sure you look nice, black eyes aside.

“I’m betting Marcone left her a sample of his hair to use to track him down, for just such an occasion as this” pg. 237 Smart

“I missed my staff. I missed my duster” pg. 243 No blasting rod? Eh?

“This isn’t over,” he said, a harsh edge in his voice. “We’ll discuss it after” pg. 262 Aw Michael and Harry are fighting :( 

“Stop,” I said “Occam time” pg. 266 Ha

“I swear, by my own power, that I will abide by those restrictions” pg. 273 Oh Harry swore an oath to help Marcone.

“Can’t-get-a-date-itis. He’s supposed to be some kind of catalyst or conversion starter. Or failing that a consolation prize” pg. 276 Ha

“Grew up hard in the war, though that didn’t give them enough brains to keep from looking  up to me.” pg. 279 Aw poor Harry :(

“The station’s lights went out. All of them. At exactly the same time.” pg. 280 Oh no

“Granted, He doesn’t always answer quite this quickly” pg. 289 Ha

“When things had gone dark and scary she had somehow rounded them up and gotten them into a room. That took a lot more moxie than most people had. I also noted that she had been kneeling between the customer and the doorway. I liked her already.” pg. 289 I also like Carol. I like that this shows that ordinary people can and do help others.

“I held up my right hand and with a murmur called a tiny sphere of flame. The spell sputtered and coughed before it coalesced, and even that the light was barely brighter than a candle” pg. 295 Something is up with Harry. He doesn’t mention his blasting rod and he doesn’t use any fire spells. It could be because Jim is using The Law of Conservation of Details but I don’t think so. Mind magic maybe? So that he doesn’t remember his fire or blasting rod. Like with Lea and Susan back in Grave Peril. But by who? Not a human practitioner or else the Wardens would come. Not Molly, she hasn’t shown up yet and she wouldn’t do that to Harry. Hmm Mab maybe but why would she do that? She’s not a human practitioner and she’s powerful enough to do it. I think she’s more powerful than Lea. But again why would she do that? She had time to do it when she was talking to Harry. But I’m stuck on the motive as to why Mab would do that when Harry is helping her. Wild guessing as there really aren’t any other suspects but Mab. 

“You rush a miracle worker, you get lousy miracles!” pg. 298 Ha

So cool that Harry used the sprinkler system to wash away the Myrk.

“I don’t call him Fist of God as a pet name, folks” pg. 302 Ha

“Stupid, Harry. Stupid, Stupid” pg. 309 Stop being so self critical Harry. You need some more self confidence. Go read a self help book or something. 

So cool that Harry used Gard’s locker to fight.

“Mercy? From a Winterbound?” pg. 312 Yep Harry’s cool like that.

“I’m not bound” I snapped “This is purely  temp work” pg. 312 More foreshadowing for Harry.

Kincaid and Ivy! This book got better! 

“Maybe it was just my imagination that it took Michael a second longer to answer than in the past” pg. 320 Aw :( I don’t like that Harry and Michael are fighting. 

“But was prevented from going father by Kincaid hand” pg. 332 Let Ivy pet Mouse 

Just Luccio taking a bath by the fire in someone else’s house as you do. 

“The last thing I noticed, before I dropped off, was that under all the blankets I was entirely undressed.

And I was clean” pg. 335 Who undressed Harry and cleaned him? Luccio?

“Thomas gave me a look of his own. Then he thwapped me gently upside the head” pg. 339 Ha

“What does a woman need to do, Harry? Rip her clothes off, throw herself on top of you, and shimmy while screaming ‘Do me Baby!’?” pg. 340 Ha and knowing Harry it could help but more likely Harry would think that the woman would be cursed. 

In defense of Harry I also didn’t know that Luccio was flirting with Harry. And Luccio needs to be more direct with Harry. He’s oblivious and dense. Susan was the one to ask Harry out back in Storm Front. 

“I’ve never been hit on by a woman a hundred and fifty years older than me” pg. 340 Ha and what about Lara? 

“Moran. Thank God Nicodemus is a man” pg. 341 Ha and with my reading of Bi Harry I won’t be too relieved there.

“Tiny” Sanya rumbled to Michael, clenching a demonstration fist “But fierce” pg. 346 Ha

Part 2

“The wind caught my coat and the cloak both, and almost knocked me over until I gathered in close to my body again and under control. Hendricks, solid and huge in his dark, sensible London Fog winter coat, went by me with a small smile on his face.” pg. 353 Ha and glad even Hendricks is amused by Harry.

“She can’t be here” pg. 355 I thought things ended well between Kincaid and Murphy back in Hawaii? 

“She was watching two otters chase each other around the habitat, and smiling.” pg. 357 Aw :)

“Kincaid stopped in his tracks when he saw that. Just to see what he’d do, I tried to step past him. He shot me a look like he’d murder me if I tried to interrupt her, and my opinion of him went up a notch.” pg. 357 Aw :)

“He had a good voice, mellow and surprisingly deep” pg. 361 Bi Harry 29 I think I mean I hope not because it’s Nicodemus and Harry would have horrible taste in men. 

“Archive guarantee his neutrality” pg. 362 Wow Nicky just assumes the police officer is a man. That’s a bit sexist. First Nicky was racist now sexist get with the times man. 

“He was a man of medium height and build, his features handsome, strong, his eyes dark and intelligent.” pg. 363 Bi Harry 30 Harry what did I just say? Absolutely  terrible taste in men. I see he and his mother have similar tastes. Harry has a type ie older scary men with silvery hair. Silver fox if you will. 

“Sans demolition, if you think you can refrain.” pg. 363 Ha and no Harry can’t refrain from causing property damage.

“Nicodemus let out another quiet, charming laugh.” pg. 365 Bi Harry 31 

“And you offer such insolence regardless?”

“Habit,” I said “It doesn’t make you special or anything, believe me” pg. 367 Ha 

“Nicodemus.

Blinked.” pg. 369 Oh Nicodemus didn’t know. We have a rogue Denarius on our hands 

“I glared up at him and debated slamming him through one of those Corinthian columns by way of objecting to be manhandled. But I decided that I didn’t want to piss him off.” pg. 369 Ha 

“At least it has some survival instincts” pg. 370 Ha and Harry has no survival instincts 

“Kincaid, get the kid out of here!” I screamed. “They’re coming for Ivy” pg. 373 Oh no if they hurt Ivy I demand there blood 

“I guess it came down to a single question: whether or not I was the kind of man who walks away when he knows a little kid is in danger” pg. 378 No Harry isn’t that kind of man

“The thorny Denarian” Thorned Namshied 

“…and he just ate my spell.” pg. 380 Ha and I wonder if Marcone can do that now?

I’m worried about the animals they can’t run away

“While the Archive would know that the proper decision would be to allow Kincaid to die in order to protect the sanctity of the Archive, Ivy wouldn’t be making the decision with the same detached calm. Kincaid was the closest thing she had to family. She wouldn’t. She couldn’t.” pg. 396 Aw and Harry she cares about you too. You Named her and I think she considers you a friend. 

“I wish I knew,” I panted. “That way I could exercise free will while telling you to go fuck yourself” pg. 401 Ha

“I hadn’t extended my line of thinking beyond Kincaid. But of all the people who had dealt with the Archive, I’d been one of the only ones  to take any interest in her as anything but a font of knowledge. I’d been the one to inquire after her personality. I’d been the one to give her a name. Sad but true, I was the closest thing that little girl had to a friend. 

She couldn’t have let anything happen to me, either.” pg. 403 While I love that Ivy considers Harry a friend this isn’t a great time for this.

“I could use charts to make it easier for you to understand. And color them in with crayons. I enjoy crayons.” pg. 405 Aw baby’s first attempt at sassing the enemy 

“I wasn’t certain but it sounded like the kid was trying to give the bad guys some gruff on my behalf. She needed to work on her technique, but it was the thought that counted. If I could have breathe, I might have gotten a little choked up.” pg. 406 Aw :) I’m so proud of Ivy. I’m glad she has a friend in Harry. 

Oh no they took Ivy :(

“Michael had some serious pecs.” pg. 423 Bi Harry 32

“Never mind Michael’s pecs. Sanya made us both look like we needed to eat more wheat germ” pg. 424 Bi Harry 33

“Jared. Huh.” pg. 424 Kincaid first name is Jared really?

“She doesn’t have anybody else. No one” pg. 424 Aw :(

“And we fought them. That war could end. It could all be over” pg. 428 No unfortunately not 

“Molly once burned my egg. My boiled egg. I don’t know how.” pg. 432 Ha

“You’re a creature of habit, Harry. You don’t like change” pg. 435 Yep

“So how they gonna get that creepy little girl a coin? Or one for the boss?” pg. 436 Good idea Cujo but rude for calling Ivy a creepy little girl. 

“Molly was committing dinner by that time, aided and abetted by Sanya, who was taking who seemed to take some kind of Russian delight in watching the train wrecks in progress.” pg. 439 Ha

“Ivy,

You are not alone.

Kincaid is alive. I’m all right. We’re coming after you.

Don’t listen to them. Hang on.

We’re coming. 

You are not alone. 

Harry” pg. 444 Aw I love this bit so much. 

“You know me, Michael. I’m always careful.” pg. 447 Ha 

“What” he said in a low, deadly tone, “is that?” pg. 449 Oh Nicky is scared of Mouse 

“It’s been a little while since anyone was quite that insolvent to my face.” pg. 450 I’m pretty sure the last person was also Harry back in Death Mask. 

“Do you always retreat into insouciance when you are frightened, Dresden?” pg. 450 Ha and yes he does 

Nicky is a terrible boss. He doesn’t even remember Rasmussen. 

“After all those years of baseless suspicion and hostility from your own Council, that must be a  painful realization.” pg. 453 Aw :( 

“The Council doesn’t need my help to be a bunch of tools.” pg. 454 Ha 

Harry being incredibly melodramatic with Michael. 

“Look at me when I’m talking to you!” pg. 462 Aw :( 

“I don’t share everything with you,” I retorted. “I don’t share everything with anyone. That’s nothing new.” pg. 462 Harry you should talk to your friends.

“Because in thousand years, no one has rid themselves of the shadow of one of the Fallen” pg. 463 So cool that Harry was the first person to rid themselves of a shadow of the Fallen. Sad that it meant that Lash died. 

“Have I suddenly gone crazy on you?”

He arched an eyebrow 

“More so than usual” pg. 465 Ha

“Harry,” he said quietly, “what happened to your blasting rod?” pg. 465 Oh good someone else is worried about Harry and his blasting rod

“Someone had been in my head

Someone had been in my head 

Oh God” pg. 466 Oh no this is just like when Murphy was mind raped back in Grave Peril with the Nightmare. 

Harry isn’t having a good time. 

So Molly looked around in Harry’s head

“You aren’t the sort of person to do things by halves, Harry. Grand gestures included.” pg. 469 Ha 

“In the event that you haven’t figured it out, I’m not the kind of person to be casually involved in much of anything” pg. 473 Yep

“Dresden, it seems to me that you’d lock yourself up pretty tight if someone took a regular bullet for you with a regular body. Much less if you were under psychic attack and this imaginary friend died right inside your own brain. Something like that happens, shouldn’t you have expected to be a basket case, at least for a little while.” pg. 476 Yep Harry loves his friends and having someone die for you will leave a mark.

“You remember when Karvos struck his fingers in my brain?” pg. 475 I see Murphy is drawing parallels away from well.

Not the biggest fan of this Luccio/Harry ship aren’t they subordinate and boss? 

“You might be able to empower such a circle for half an hour, Dresden.” pg. 483 I’m glad Luccio knows that Harry is powerful 

“I was going to put the dinosaur back,” I said. “But I was unconscious” pg. 485 Ha

They have Ivy at Deamonreach? How’d they get there and not get booted off? 

“You couldn’t spot a pop culture reference if it  skittered up and implanted an embryo down your esophagus.” pg. 503 Ha and is this why Harry makes so many pop culture shout outs? 

“The creepy part was that it felt familiar.” pg. 515 Creepy maybe the island knew that Harry was going to be the next warden of the island.

Poor Ivy :( 

Why doesn’t Ivy have clothes? Never mind, I don't want to know. 

“I’d made that mistake once already, on a stormy night much like this one” pg. 522 Yep Grave Peril parallels 

“Gentleman Johnnie Marcone” pg. 525 Is this a spelling error or is Harry being Harry? 

“Something had ripped off the top half of his left ear.” pg. 525 That makes a very cool picture of Marcone

“Insufferable, arrogant little monkey,” Namshiel hissed. “Playing with the fires of creation. Binding your soul to it, as if you were one of us. How dare you so presume. How dare you wield soulfire against me. I, who was there when your pathetic kind was hewn from the muck.” pg. 533 I take it Namshiel isn’t happy that Harry has soulfire.

“I glared at him. He returned the glare with a faint, knowing smile.” pg. 536 Ha

“Ride of the Valkyries” pg. 541 Yay Gard to the rescue. 

“He shook his head and pointed his fingers at Ivy” pg. 542 Yay

Part 3

Oh no Michael 

“A bar of blue-white fire so dense that it was nearly a solid object lashed across the distance from me and Tessa and slammed into her like an enormous spear.” pg. 547 So cool. Don’t mess with Harry’s friends 

“I find myself largely clueless about why mortal women do what they do. It will take a wiser man than me to understand what’s in a fae women’s mind.” pg. 557 Ha

“They tell children stories about you guys, you know,” I said. 

“Still?” He said

I nodded” pg. 558 Aw :) 

“We hear tales of thee, young wizard.”

I blinked. “You, uh?” 

“We too like stories about…” His eyes searched his memory for a moment before he smiled, pleased. The gesture looked pleasantly nonviolent on his face. 

“Underdogs” pg. 558 So cool that the fae tell stories of Harry.

“I want you,” I said “to get me a doughnut. A real, genuine, Chicago doughnut. Not some glamorous doughnut. An actual one. Freshly made.” 

“Nay, but prithee, with sprinkles ‘pon it instead,” I said solemnly “and frosting of white.” pg. 560 Ha

“Harry Dresden speechless,” Nicodemus said. “I can’t imagine this happens every day.” pg. 564 Ha

“It’s gone!” pg. 565 Oh no the coins are gone. 

“Deceitful bitches” pg. 565 :0 I was not expecting that kind of language from Nicodemus. 

“Please. No one so obstreperous has been corrupted by anything other than his own pure muleheadedess.” pg. 567 Ha 

“Lasciel’s shadow,” I told him, “doesn’t live here anymore, The Fallen have no power over me. And neither do you” pg. 568 So cool

“In fact, I squeezed harder” pg. 570 Good

Drat Nicodemus is still alive. Better luck next time. Third time the charm.

“I was wearing fresh clothing too. Thomas. He didn’t say anything about it, and neither did I. It’s a brother thing.” pg. 582 Aw :) Yay!

“His heart. They hurt his hurt.” pg. 586 Aw :( Poor Molly

“Families stay, Harry” pg. 587 Aw :)

“Given what he’d been saved from, it would be consistent with his character for Marcone to repay the people who bailed him out with whatever aid he could render in turn. It irked me that Marcone could ever be in a position to offer significant aid to Michael, regardless of circumstances.” pg. 590 Yep Marcone is cool like that 

So Harry meets Uriel. I think God likes Harry despite Harry’s thoughts.

“You will not. I do not belong to you-“ pg. 598 Not yet 

What made Mab so mad?

I take it the White Council would be mad if they find out and Bob.

“I get it,” I said. “You don’t think I should get close to her. Unless you’re worried about what’s going to happen when you wake her up and she’s really scared and confused.” pg. 608 Hypocritical much

“They did things to me,” she said 

 “I know,” I said quietly “Been there. But I was all right after a while. You’re going to be alright. It’s over.” pg. 609 Don’t like those implications with Harry and Ivy experiencing the same thing and using the same words. Add to it that Ivy was naked upon rescue doesn’t help.

“Couldn’t find its heart if it had a copy of Gray’s Anatomy, X-ray vision, and a stethoscope,” I said “No. They can lay down the law about magic. But they aren’t telling me who I’m allowed to befriend.” pg. 609 That’s a little cult like. The White Council can’t tell people who they can or can’t befriend.

“Morgan told them you’d say that. So did McCoy and Listen-to-Wind. The Merlin wouldn’t hear it.” pg. 609 Morgan! He knows enough about Harry to know that Harry wouldn’t go for it.

I’m glad Harry hugged Ivy and that she got his letter. Ivy needs a support system. 

“He has a teddy Glock.” pg. 610 Ha

I’m glad Murph is also concerned about Luccio and Harry. 

“Marcone. I’ll look into it.” pg. 614 Harry knew already that Marcone took the coin?

“I don’t have it,” Marcone said.” pg. 616 Either Marcone is lying outright or using exact words. Hmmm

“The child” Marcone said “Is she well?” pg. 617 Aw :) I hope Ivy and Marcone talk to each other after this. 

“Then you should get some rest,” Marcone said. “You look”-his mouth twitched up at the connors-”like a raccoon. Who has been run over by a locomotive.” pg. 617 Ha 

“A lot of men talk to the women they sleep with,” I said “That’s always been true. And it would give you a really good reason to get close to him” 

“He’s like a lot of men,” pg. 618 I can’t picture Marcone doing this. Also I can’t believe I was right about Helen being the leak. 

“Oh that.” Anastasia said. “Your Sight’s coming in. That’s all.” pg. 622 Oh cool!

Final thoughts 

As always I liked the fights and thought the book was funny. Bi Harry moments up to 33. I question Harry’s taste in men. What I’d like to see is Ivy and Harry interacting more. Maybe play dates with Ivy and Maggie. I think it’s cool that Harry got Soulfire. I’m glad Harry and Michael are friends again. I wish we got more Marcone in this book. I’m surprised I was right about mind magic and Mab. And with Helen and the safe house. Not a fan of this Harry/Luccio ship. The White Council continues to be the absolute worst. They can’t tell their members who they can and can’t befriend that ridiculous. The fact that Harry and Thomas have to pretend not to be brothers and not interact much because the White Council will use them is terrible. It’s also a little cult-like. They do similar things to them and I could probably use the Bite model to show that they’re cult-like. Nicodemus is definitely scared of Harry now that Harry’s strangled him twice now. As for Executive Priority Health, why would Marcone buy the old Velvet place? As for Harry I wouldn’t want to be within 100 yards of the place but Harry seems ok? With going in. 

Mind rape

Now onto Harry and the mind rape. As with Murphy back in Grave Peril this is essentially rape. Harry’s reaction is full on breakdown. While it’s similar to his reaction in Grave Peril it’s different in that Micheal is there to help and he isn’t in a laundry room. I wonder if Harry will have similar actions to paranoia and insomnia. I continue to wish Harry gets therapy. Maybe one of the small practitioners in the Paranet is a therapist. There was some parallels to Death Mask in this book with the mind rape and sacrad hospitality. Could Jim stop hurting Harry please. 

Marcone

Now I know Marcone has the coin. Whether he accepted the coin yet is another. I can’t imagine what he went through with torture and hurting Ivy. Do you think he was reminded of Amanda and that’s why he took the coin. Surly Gard told him about the Fallen. He wouldn’t pick up the coin unless he knew what he was doing. I can’t picture him saying anything about his safe house to Helen. And I don’t see Marcone killing Helen. That would make Amanda an orphan. Maybe the guilt is making him do things he wouldn’t normally do. 

Onto the next book!

#dresden files #harry dresden is bi #Small favor #battle ground spoilers