#He deserves to get to do a little treason

[hazellum]

AU where post-florpus the navigator defects and joins the resisty

[funeralsgrey]

SUDDEN DESIRE.

about: all zuko had to do was capture you, interrogate you, and let you go. so why does he relish being the reason behind your begs and prayers? (a bit of dark!zuko)

a/n: wrote this with natla!zuko in mind. zuko is meant to have the same age as dallas (22). this is also a little blurb to practice my zuko writing skills.

MDNI 18+ CONTENT AHEAD.

It wasn’t meant to end up like this. 

Zuko has been ordered to hunt down one of the earthbenders that were helping the Avatar and his stupid friends escape. He had to fight to get his honor back, and getting hold of an unimportant earth-bending girl was meant to be easy, right?

Well, it fucking wasn’t. 

Everything was easy at first, he managed to catch you while you were trying to run away from him and your bending wasn’t good enough to fight against him. He made the guards handcuff you and throw you into a cell for treason against your nature—treason against your superiors. How dare you try and betray the Fire Nation? 

Your alliance with the Avatar was unnatural, that kid didn’t deserve an earthbender like you on his pathetic little team. It’s not like you were an amazing earthbender or had the same abilities as Toph to metal bend, but fuck did you have good stamina and a beautiful face whenever you panted and were sweating.

The view under him was the biggest proof of that.

It had been two weeks of this routine. Zuko would allegedly interrogate you, and you’d play dumb by acting as if you had no idea the avatar was back and stronger than ever. 

The only way to get you to stop playing dumb was by fucking you dumb. And you seemed eager every time Zuko walked into your guarded quarters to ask you questions while he kissed all over your body and pounded into you without any kind of restraint. 

Zuko’s lips left behind a trail of fire on your neck. The flames danced on your skin and entangled themselves with the heat you felt in between your legs as you let out a small gasp. He wasn’t a firebender for nothing. 

He kept thrusting his cock into you as he stared into your eyes. The wet sounds coming from the connection of your pussy and his member were the only sounds that could be heard inside your quarters, apart from the small moans and whimpers you’d let out. Your beautiful sounds were always met with hushes from the exiled prince. 

“You don’t want them to know that the Avatar’s precious friend is getting fucked by a Fire Nation prince, right baby?” He’d whisper before connecting his lips to yours. 

All you could do was nod your pathetic little head and arch your back as the exiled prince hit the spongy spot inside you. “Right, Zuko.” 

[fluffyfantasticducky]

Focus on the Good

☆ Pairing: Loki x Reader

☆ Synopsis: Loki is overwhelmed dealing with being accused as a traitor, although this time he's innocent. But this time, he is not the man he used to be, and he has you by his side.

☆ Word Count: 5,110

☆ Notes: The relatively awaited part two of Smile for me. Sorry I took so long to post this, I had a creative block and had trouble deciding what to focus on. The traitor plot twist is anticlimatic but I chose to focus more on Loki and his feelings.

☆ Warnings: Loki dealing with self hatred, insinuations and caresses that aren't spicy per se but are a bit more intimate and flirty but it's all sfw.

Frustrating. How else could he call it?

His first mission as a leader was a complete disaster. You had gotten hurt due to his own incompetence. And add some insult to this pathetic situation, now he was being investigated for treason to S.H.I.E.L.D. despite that he was completely innocent.

It must have been some sick twisted joke of fate. He spent years playing with Asgard like a fiddle, getting away with so much, to the point that where he committed treason everyone realized only when it was too late. And now that he had a reason to make things right, be transparent and honest, now he was investigated as if he was some traitor.

The most offensive thing of those implications was that it suggested that Loki was either using you or lying to you. When in reality he would die for you, he’d walk through fire if you asked him. Or that you were complicit of his ‘crimes.’ You, you who were the kindest, sweetest, most righteous person he had ever met.

Every day or two days at most they come to either interrogate you, him, or inspect your shared room which always left them a mess to clean up.

At least the people he cared about knew he was innocent. Thor was constantly arguing with Fury, going over and over about how this was nonsensical and even offering Loki to flee to New Asgard for a few days until things calmed down. Valkyrie had offered him an extra room if he needed. Bruce, while he wasn’t as passionate about defending Loki, agreed that it made very little sense that Loki would betray them now with all he had accomplished. Even the great Tony Stark agreed between sarcastic jokes that he would’ve believed if he hadn’t seen how down bad, he was for you.

You… what would he do without you? You not only got into mad arguments and made abundantly clear your distaste for this decision, but you were his biggest source of support and peace after all the draining routine he was being put through during the suspension from missions. You were a risk taker by disobeying direct orders from Fury by asking Thor, Bruce, Nat, Clint to trade with you during missions as to make a strike until they decided to reintegrate Loki to his normal duties. And for the first week of interrogations, whenever it was your turn… Norns, he felt a bit bad for the director. You were quite loud and fierce when you wanted to be.

But most importantly, all the support he got from you after all the interrogations and room inspections that hurt him more than he’d ever admit.

“I’m sorry…” he sighed, resting his head on your lap.

In between the inspections to your shared bedroom one of the agents had broken a little figurine you collected.

“It’s just a toy, I’ll get another one…” you assured him.

Loki could sense a lie. But he also remembered how excited you had been when you got it, saying it was rare and it had taken you a huge effort to get it.

“You darling prince…” you spoke softly, running your fingers through his hair. “It’s okay. We know you’re innocent, soon all of S.H.I.E.L.D. will see it too. Everything else doesn’t matter.”

“What did I do so right to deserve such a pretty angel such as you?” he chuckled. “You are unfairly good to me.”

“You keep saying that baby.” You spoke gently, tucking a few strands of hair behind his ear. “You sound like a broken record.”

“I might be one” he shrugged, closing his eyes.

“Yeah?” you giggled. “Then I’ll just have to fix you.”

“I thought you said the I can fix him was a toxic mentality in romance” he said cheekily.

“Oh, now you remember my movie rants” you laughed. “But the I can fix him trope is toxic when—”

“…It is used by the abuser who manipulates them into staying as a rehabilitation center. A partner should be part of your support group but never the responsible to fix you, but a motivation and helping hand while you fix yourself.” He opened his eyes to look up at you as he finished repeating your old rant word by word. “I always remember the things you say.”

“Is that so? When is our anniversary?”

“June 9” Loki smiled and noticed you opening your mouth to retort. “And our 1,000 days together is on March 5th year. And yes, I knew you were going to ask that.”

“Smart pants” you smiled.

“You love me like that.”

“I do” you smiled and kissed his lips softly. “Guess you don’t need fixing after all.”

“Glad we agree, I am the most perfect man” he grinned, relishing the way you cringed and smiled at the silly joke.

“I don’t know about that.” You smiled, “But you are perfect for me.”

You pecked his lips and made him smile.

“I don’t deserve you…” he smiled.

“Oh, that’s it!” you laughed and soon your hands where all over his sides.

And sooner than that Loki was laughing his head off.

“Hehe- hey!” he protested between laughs.

You had an annoying charm. Tickling him silly as a pseudo-punishment. It was your shared secret how much Loki enjoyed being tickled. You stopped soon enough, smiling at him, caressing your thumb across his cheek.

“It’ll pass before you notice…” you whisper. “They will see exactly what you truly are. Just like I do.”

Loki chuckled softly.

“I hope not, you are a handful already” he smirked at the offended look on your face due to his comment.

“Oh, you want to talk about a handful…” you growled as you flipped to straddle him. “Let’s see how much of a handful I can be…”

Loki gulped, unable to fight a smile.

“Ahah…” he huffed, “darling, d-don’t… d-dohohohon’t!”

But your hands were already attacking his sides, your fingers skillfully scribbling along his skin, prodding his ribs, drilling along each crevice in the most maddening way.

“Is that enough handful for you, huh?” you asked in a faux anger. “Eh? Is it?”

“Thihihihihihis is cruel!” Loki protested. “And thahahahat doesn’t mahahake sehehense!”

“Mmm, it might have just been excuse to get my hands on this hot bod of yours” you smiled.

Being tickled was already a vulnerable moment for Loki. To the point where only you could tickle him without any resistance. Anyone else would need to overpower him physically or just restrain him. You, on the other side, he would barely fight back. He’d simply squirm in his place, rolling over to the side or on his stomach. Which it gave you more of a sensation that he just wanted you to focus on other spots. Not that he'd ever admit… you had tried.

“Ehehehe! You ahahahaha— wait no!” he protested as your fingers reached his stomach, giving it little pinches and pokes. “Lohohohove, stop!”

“Alright, alright.” You smiled and kissed his forehead as you stopped the tickling. “Is your mood better?”

“Ihi— if I say yes will you stop torturing my stomach?” he smiled at you, holding onto your hips. “You know I can’t take it there.”

The way you leaned against his chest to kiss his lips never failed to drive him wild. And this wasn’t the exception.

“I am aware” you hummed against his lips. “That’s why it’s my favorite spot to tickle.”

“I am, unfortunately, also aware of that” he chuckled.

“If you really minded it, you’d actually do something to stop me instead of just laughing your heart out.”

“I love it when a beautiful mortal has their hands all over me, is that something to be ashamed about?” he grinned cheekily at you.

You rolled your eyes and smiled. “It wouldn’t be if you were still single. But you are stuck with me now and forgive me if I’m not good at sharing my boyfriend. Unless you’d share me with others.”

“That is out of the question. You are mine, and mine alone.” He said solemnly as he held you in his arms. You lifted your eyebrows, expectantly as he felt his cheeks warm up under your gaze. “As… I am yours; I suppose.”

“Was that so hard to say?” you smiled.

“Terribly so” Loki smiled. But then, his face adopted a serious, melancholic expression. “I’m sorry… I should not be dragging you into this disaster. You deserve better, and I fear you will realize that. It would be best for you, but… I don’t know what I would do without you.”

“Lucky for you, that’s not something you have to worry about” you assured him, pressing a soft kiss on his cheek. “I’m not going anywhere. I am perfectly happy with you.”

One thing that Loki loved about your relationship was that despite knowing you said stuff to made him feel better, it never came off as dishonest, as if those two concepts weren’t mutually exclusive. You said the kindest, most loving things, and he could tell you honestly felt every single one.

It made his heart soar. That honest and kind heart of yours was exactly what he had been craving for. You were what he had been looking for.

It made him want to open his heart to you. You were kind and listened to him without judging or thinking the worst of him.

“What am I going to do?” he sighed. “If I can’t go on missions, soon I will not be allowed to go outside, and then I will be going back to being a high-class prisoner.”

“Actually… you can’t leave the building given you’re under investigation” you said apologetically. “Sorry.”

“Lovely…” he groaned, throwing his head back, rubbing his face with his palms. “I am back to being a prisoner. Might as well get inside a cell.”

“Yes, we could tie you up, and torture you until you confess” you purred, trailing kisses along his jawline, as your hands made their way to play with his hair.

“You’re making it sound appealing” he hummed, relishing the feeling of your lips against his skin. “Mmm~ Keep touching me like that and I’ll do anything you ask.”

“Mm, what a good boy” you giggled, kissing his lips.

He laughed along with you, but mostly because your hands had found his ears and were tickling behind them.

“W-Whahahat are you doing? T-That tickles!” he laughed.

“I told you I would torture an answer out of you” you giggled, tickling the back of his ears. “Now confess, you war criminal!”

“Nohohoho, stohop it!” he squirmed underneath you. “How is thahahat spot so bahahad?”

“Right?” you chuckled, pressing loving kisses along his face. “I found out the other day while we were kissing.”

He grabbed your wrists. “Oh really?” he smirked, and trapped your wrists in one of his hands as he began tickling your ear shell and behind it. It took absolutely nothing to have you giggling like a kid.

“Ehehehe! L-Loki!” you giggled. “Hehehe! I-It tickles!”

“It does, does it not?” he chuckled.

He traced along the outline of your ear. He relished the way you laughed against him, you never tried to get away nor asked him to stop. You loved that closeness as much as Loki did.

“Mmm, that laugh of yours is so lovely~” he hummed as he stopped, tucking a few streaks of hair behind your ear. “It’s my favorite sound in the whole world, you make me so happy.”

“Cheesy” you chuckled, kissing his lips.

“I mean that, darling” he smiled. “Without you I would have gone mad by now. Or worse, I would be a prisoner.”

“You can’t believe that…” you spoke softly.

“What else am I supposed to believe?” he sighed, “what I did to New York is unforgivable. I should be locked up for life, I was going to be… It’s what I deserve. It took me too long to understand it.”

It broke your heart to hear him talk like that. It was a shame that he still punished himself so badly. You appreciated that he recognized his error, but the fact that it haunted him was painful to watch. He was already working on getting better.

“Loki… Your beef with Earth had its particular and complicated circumstances, it wasn’t 100% your fault.” You assured him. “But even if that was, there are other ways to atone for your mistakes… Punishing yourself but you were helping Earth, compensation is another way of redemption. Being an Avenger is a way to redeem yourself.”

“How do you do it?” he chuckled, “How do you manage to look at all the awful things I have done and still somehow see the best in me?”

“Because I’ve also seen how much you regret it, and I’ve seen you trying to prove to everyone, prove to yourself that you are doing better.” you spoke lovingly. “That means a lot, to me, to Thor, to everyone.”

“But why?” he asked. “What I did is…”

“Fucked up, yes. Tony and Bruce created a genocidal robot, Clint was an international criminal prisoner and retook as an assassin, Steve and Natasha were literal war criminals, your brother before you nearly started a war—”

“That I provoked him into.”

“Would you do it again?” you asked.

“For the sake of entertainment—” Loki pondered.

“Loki!” you giggled.

“I’m jesting, love!” he laughed. “Earth is no good in wars like Asgard, we fight to settle disagreements, make alliances, or get respect. But never to destroy.”

“We’re not so bad…” you smiled.

“Not all of you, no.” Loki agreed. “You for once are a wonderful mor— human. Smart, beautiful, funny, kind… It’s the people on the higher power that worry me.”

“It’s as they say, absolute power corrupts absolutely” you shrugged. “That’s what we fight for. For those without power, and against those who abuse it.”

“You say that as I remain locked in here, simply training and withering away” Loki sighed.

“Well… we can find something interesting to keep you occupied—”

“Reindeer games, out now!” Tony banged on the door.

“Not now Stark!” Loki called annoyed.

“You’ll want to see this.” Tony spoke through the other side of the door.

You stood up and Loki followed right after. Everyone was headed to the meeting room so that’s where you went to.

Bruce and Thor had one of the younger cadets, Philip. He was struggling against the two. His blonde hair was a mess and he looked like he had lost a fight.

“We found our traitor, brother.” Thor said firmly, even a bit prideful. “The little rat sabotaged our missions.”

“A double agent?” Steve asked.

“Self-sabotage” Bruce clarified. “He informed the base you were going. Who and when. And exactly how to take down a god. We found a report of the mission sent to an unknown address.”

“I found it.” Natasha stated.

“You?” Clint raised an eyebrow.

“We” she corrected herself.

“With my technology, that is.” Tony added. “In case anyone was wondering.”

“No one was wondering that, Tony” Steve smiled lightly, amused by the genius’ ego.

“But why? You were the only non-Avenger agent Loki chose personally” Thor asked. “My brother trusted you. And it was a wonderful opportunity for you.”

Fury looked… well, furious.

“Philip Crowe, you’re immediately and effectively removed from all S.H.I.E.L.D. work and installations, permanently for treason, espionage, and sabotage to an elite strike agent.” Fury said firmly.

“Elite?! He’s a monster!” the young man protested, struggling to break free from the arm lock. “It’s a time bomb! It’s in his nature! You’ve seen what he’s capable of! It’s a matter of time before we have New York part two! You’ve read myths, what guarantees that there won’t be a Ragnarök on Earth?! He—”

SMACK! He had been cut off by a slap in the face by you. If the stinging in his cheek was not enough to silence him, your cold glare silenced him.

“Take him away.” You said. “I want him rotting in a cell for a really long time…”

“Oh, he will be locked in the dark for a very long time” Fury agreed, “for espionage, and sabotage… And being an asshole as a whole.”

Thor was about to take him away. He was struggling to break free.

“Don’t.” Loki spoke up. “I’ll use a spell to delete his memories, about S.H.I.E.L.D. about the Avengers. Everything will be gone from his mind. He can live a normal life not remembering being an agent.”

Loki walked and looked down at him. Placed his hand on his forehead as the blond struggled. Loki let his Seidr flow and Philip’s body went limp.

“When he wakes up, he’ll be normal, he can have a normal life, he won’t be a risk for S.H.I.E.L.D.” he sighed and left the room.

Flowers bloomed under him as he sat by the lake. Just enjoying the familiar view. But not even that brought him any joy.

“Loki, there you are, honey.”

“Hello mother” Loki smiled. “I was just… thinking.”

“I thought you would be happy to get your naming” Frigga said. “You were excited this morning to receive your title.”

“God of Mischief, mother?” he asked. “Does that mean I’m supposed to cause trouble?”

“Is that so bad?”

“Will father get upset at me?” Loki asked. “Besides, you like annoying your brother.”

“Pranking Thor is different. Why could I be the God of rain, wind, or something, then Thor and I could be gods together.”

“You can’t revolve your personality around Thor. Your godly title is meant to reflect your personality, not your brother’s” Frigga smiled at him gently. “Your father gave you a title that would fit you.”

“Does father think I’m a bad son?” he asked.

“I think your father thinks you’re creative, smart, with good abilities to get away with what you want” Frigga assured him. “All qualities you do have. And you are quite cheeky.”

Loki chuckled weakly. Frigga smiled and picked up a purple flower and wiggled it against Loki’s face. Causing the young god to scrunch up his nose and swat the pretty flower away.

“You know, son. I think it’s time for you to start learning magic” Frigga said.

“But you said I had to wait until I was 500 years old” Loki asked.

“I think you’re ready” Frigga said, “You’re 250 years old already, and you just got your title. You are a big boy now.”

With a few elegant movements the violet on Frigga’s hands turned into a purple frog that jumped out of hands and into the pond. Loki giggled as his mother’s arms trapped him into a hug as she tickled his sides.

“Pretty memory” you looked at him as you sat next to him. “Your mom is pretty.”

“Most beautiful woman in all of Asgard” Loki agreed. “Do you know what Orvokki means?”

“Uhh, it’s a violet, right?” you said looking at the flowers around the lake.

“It can also be interpreted as little orphan. How ironic that it was my favorite flower as a child…” Loki grumbled.

He flicked his wrist and the illusion of his memory vanished. He was no longer in Asgard, he was sitting on the rooftop of the compound’s main building. He wasn’t with his mother. And his eyes were red from crying.

“That was really nice thing you did back there” you congratulated him as you rubbed circles across his back.

“Not bad for a monster, huh?” Loki huffed out, in a failed attempt to fake out a laugh. “Did you see the way he looked at me? The fear in his eyes…?”

“Don’t listen to him…” you said resting your head against his shoulder. “He never gave you a chance to prove how good you really are. That’s his problem, not yours.”

“I can’t blame him… I would not trust me either… I am a monster, I was a monster to my people, to my home…” he sighed.

“What? No, Loki…”

“My birth father abandoned me to die, I was raced by a kingdom that thought my kind were monsters…” Loki sighed, “and I caused so much pain and death to a Realm that could’ve seen me as something quite literally divine.”

You looked at him and squeezed his hand.

“I thought… I hoped I had a second chance, I wanted to believe people were already accepting me. I thought that if I could have at least one agent to trust me… How foolish of me…”

“Stop that…” you scolded him, giving his hand a gentle and loving squeeze. “You’re not a monster. No one sees you as a monster.”

Loki laughed bitterly. While you weren’t lying in the literal sense, you were being too kind, blinded by your affection for the young Asgardian to acknowledge the recent events.

“I mean it!” you said. “You’re so focused on one person thinking you’re a monster, that you fail to see what everyone else did because they believed in you. They all helped in their own way to prove you were innocent. Either tracking conversation, providing resources… Gosh, even director Fury trusted you were innocent.”

“I…” Loki recapped the events from earlier. You weren’t wrong.

“Besides, you know how picky I am when it comes to dating” you smiled, “I wouldn’t date just anyone. Is that not enough for you?”

Loki was silent for a moment, for once he didn’t even have a smart reply for that.

He had seen you turn down a couple of agents or staff members before the two of you started dating. Philip among the lines of the rejected. In fact, he remembered that during that time where the other Avengers noticed his feelings for you, some of them tried to discourage him from courting you, because “you didn’t date.” In fact, they had brought it up, on his face to prove it so. You were, in fact, very picky when it came to dating. Which just made him value your relationship even more. It gave him a huge confidence boost, and the security of not being replaced or overshadowed he so desperately had been needing.

And once again, you were that source of comfort and security. You were his sweet little balm.

“I… um…” he stuttered.

You chuckled and kissed his cheek.

“Tongue tied?” you teased him, making him groan in frustration as his cheeks turned a light shade of pink. “Just… don’t give him power over you, if he didn’t bother knowing you, he shouldn’t deserve such a space in your mind.”

“Thanks, love” he smiled softly. “For… looking after me. And… helping me see that others look after me.”

“Heh… I’m glad I helped” you spoke lovingly as you rubbed your nose against his neck.

He chuckled rested his cheek against the top of your head.

“Should we head inside?” you asked, rubbing your own arms, as you stood up “it’s a bit chilly out here.”

“You can go inside, love” Loki offered. “I need some time alone.”

You looked at him worried, but a gust of cold wind made you shiver, making the idea of going inside more and more appealing. But he saw the hesitation in your eyes, the way you didn’t want to leave him alone made him smile.

“I promise I’ll meet you inside later” he assured you. But you didn’t look too convinced “Make some tea for us, and I’ll meet you in our room before you’re done putting on your pajamas.”

You gave him a look he couldn’t quite decipher but you nodded and made your way inside.

He relished the fresh air. But as he mentally prepared to be burdened with his failure, he surprised himself smiling. His mind wasn’t clouded with the young spy that betrayed him.

All he could think was that all the original Avengers, those he had cursed himself for unintentionally helping assemble to defeat him… now had stood up for him. And it didn’t stop there.

His mind was filled with happy memories.

All the times he had gotten a pat in the back from Tony and being called his new favorite for teasing Steve’s righteous stiffness and the way Bucky and Sam snickered at it. As well as his training contests with the super soldiers to test their serum with Loki and Thor’s godly nature. How he beamed with pride at the blond’s praise after a mission. The way Natasha and her little sister acknowledge his ability to infiltrate and swoon targets and even required him specifically. How Clint and his little new protegee had gotten really happy when Loki gifted them his old Asgardian bows for them, despite the teasing when they saw right through his “I don’t even use them” excuse and treated for dinner after. Bruce acknowledging his observation capabilities during some of his experiments. Thor… who despite all the awful things they had gone through never abandoned him, and still saw Loki as his baby brother, and despite they refused to admit it, both still adored each other.

And you. You had stolen his heart from minute one. He had been hopeless before the first kiss or even a declaration. Your eyes brought him to his knees, and he had sworn to be at your mercy for the rest of his existence when he saw you smile. And with that power you had over him done nothing but nourish him. Your payback when he pestered you was always fun and harmless. You made him laugh. You listened to everything he said and always encouraged him to keep talking until he was hoarse. You gave him the attention he had been craving for so many years. You treated him as the most important being of the universe.

Honestly, he didn’t realize when his thoughts had set him in motion. But by the time he was aware of his actions, he was already turning the doorknob of your shared bedroom.

“Liar” you scoffed, throwing a teddy bear to his face as soon as he set foot inside the room. “You said you’d be here before I was done putting on my jammies, but it’s been 5 minutes since I got in bed, and you weren’t here.”

Loki couldn’t help but smile. For a secret agent, you were terrible at hiding your feelings… at least from him.

“I apologize for not keeping my word, love” he apologized as he took off his shirt and searched through his drawer for the pajama he wanted to wear. “I lost track of time.”

“Did you drink?” you asked him.

“I did not. I trusted my favorite thing to make me tea” he responded with an innocent look as he put on his pajama shirt.

“It’s on your night table” you responded with the slightest pout, knowing you it was because he saw right through you.

He walked to the warm mug and took a sip. Of course, you had prepared his favorite tea… and with extra honey, just the way he liked. Everyone always complained there would never be enough for everyone if you kept spoiling Loki with his favorite all the time. You always got more, but it just meant starting the cycle again.

“Thank you, dear” he smiled as he kneeled on the bed to reach and cup your face to kiss your cheek.

Oh, how he wanted to tackle you and cover you in kisses at the way you fought and lost against the smile that appeared on your lovely face along with a light shade of pink.

“So adorable…” he chuckled.

As he was taking off his pants, he saw the way your blush turned even darked. He rushed to put on the pajama pants and dove in the bed, wrapping his arms around you in a loving embrace with his chest against your back.

“You’re in a lovely mood” you smiled as you reached to caress his cheek. “What gives?”

“I just thought about a lovely little mortal” he hummed pressing soft kisses on your nape, “that makes my darkest days bright and cozy.”

“Do you have a fever or something?” you touched his forehead.

“No, I mean it!” he laughed. “I stayed back to think… and all I could think about was your love, your kindness, and this hot body of yours…”

As he spoke that last bit, he reached to caress your sides, making you giggle.

“Loki…!” you giggle swatting his hand away. “You’re asking for trouble.”

“You know I am” he whispered, resting his face against your shoulder. Taking in your scent, closing his eyes as he relaxed. “Norns, what would I do without you?”

“Probably snuggle your pillow tonight” you smiled. “But you’d be fine.”

“I would not…” Loki choked up, as he felt tears forming in his eyes. “I would be lost; I would be absolutely nothing without you. A monster…”

“No, no, baby…” you spoke softly, turning around to face him. “You’ve worked really hard to be better… That’s all you, you are utterly and undoubtedly wonderful…”

The way you always made him feel better was almost scary. Your word was law. If you said he was so good, then… perhaps he wasn’t as bad as he thought.

“I love you…” he whispered. “Thank you…”

“What for?”

“For being my second chance… For believing I was more than the man that caused so much pain to your people…”

“Second chances are earned, Loki” you said. “You’ve earned it.”

He laughed softly when you rose up to sit on his waist, straddling him with your legs as you gave him a pseudo-menacing look.

“Now speak poorly of my sweet cuddly honeybun and you will be sorry…” you said in the worse threatening tone he had ever heard.

He cringed and laughed softly at the overly cheesy pet name.

“Oh gods…” he muttered with a shaky smile as his lips twitched upwards, amused by the situation. “You goofball.”

You let out an offended gasp and started tickling his sides, immediately making him giggle like a child.

“W-Wait! Dahahaharling! I’m sohohohohohrry!” he whined between laughs.

“Nope! Sorry ain’t gonna cut it this time, you insult me, you insult my prince… you deserve being chastised” you said playfully as you tickled his belly, which always made him hysterical.

“NAHAHAHA! STOP! STOP! PLEHEHEHEHEASE!” he cackled, soon wheezing. He was so ridiculously ticklish that had had no chance fighting back or think about anything else but the tingles that made him howl with laughter.

But he wouldn’t change this kind of silly fun with his darling for the world. And if he was honest with himself, this was a great thing to focus on.

| MASTERPOST |

[duckytree]

current bat games au lore

ok so here is part of what we have so far:

jason is no longer from district 2, he was originally a scrappy orphan from 12; he changed his name to "RED" after lazrus therapy and becoming a gladiator

Nightwing has a notorious reputation in the capitol as vain and bitchy. he constantly gets procedures done to look as young and beautiful as possible and will actively sabotage the new tributes' relationships with the capitol citizens. in reality, he is trying to protect the younger victors from being sexually exploited by putting himself on the front lines as the sex symbol

tim is the newest victor of the games. his mentor was barbara and they are both secretly working for the anti-capitol resistence.

damian is the political baby of a strategic union between talia and bruce to unite their clans without drawing suspicion from the government on why they're working closely. his parents are both big players in the capitol.

the al ghuls are the tinfoil hat conspiracy theorists of the capitol who believe the revolution is nigh. but instead of underground bunkers they prepare for the apocalypse by training their children in several warrior arts

bruce's alter ego is batman, political terrorist who is working behind the scenes to take down capitol corruption (good luck buddy)

the capitol has a capped maximum on how much wealthy citizens can donate as sponsorship because otherwise bruce wayne would sponsor all the kids in an effort for them to live

when jason was thrown into the arena, he had no living mentor and had to fend for himself. batman secretly helped him with tips and advice on how to survive

Nightwing tried to talk bruce out of sponsoring jason in the arena. it wasn't out of cruelty; he just thought it would be a better investment to sponsor a child who is more likely to live instead of a starving little boy from the weakest district bound to die. bruce sponsored jason anyway

bruce's parents were assassinated for the treasonous act of believing district citizens deserved human rights

jason's abundance of sponsorships made him a target in the arena. he got really messed up and had to go through a brutal, traumatic, and experimental rehabilitation called the lazarus project. he came out of it brain damaged and now most of his body consists of lab-grown flesh or robotic parts. (notice his fake eyes and how most of his body is covered up)

the hunger games are like the annual SuperBowl. for the rest of the year the capitol citizens enjoy entertainment like celebrity escorts (Nightwing) or gladiator games, which is basically the WWE but more deadly and no predetermined winner (RED)

gladiators all have a number that is worn by players and fans alike. most gladiators wear theirs on their armour but RED wears his as a corpse identification tag on his ear

tim purposefully makes himself seem boring and unlikable so that the capitol will allow him to go home rather than stay at the capitol like nightwing and RED.

tim is probably on like 10 different government watchlists

damian keeps nightwing around as a friend/babysitter, since he gave every other one he had a mental breakdown

damian keeps jason around as a personal weaponsmith/arms instructor (hired by talia)

talia and bruce have split custody of damian

nightwing and RED are top-celebs in their fields

bruce's name is brucellosis I'm sorry that's just the way it is

bruce stopped sponsoring for a while after jason's injury cause he blamed himself

hunger games sponsors are like gambling or horse race betting. if your sponsored victor lives you get more money back. but it is so costly with such high stakes that most people don't do it

nightwing volunteered for some random kid who he had no connection with because he has no self-preservation and is kinda self sacrificing like that

nightwing's mentor was starfire. he had a massive crush on her and she'd pat his head

RED has a tense relationship with bruce and Nightwing but also trusts them more than anyone else

there are more but they require more context and characters so hang tight. suggestions welcome! just dm me in my inbox

[mysteryshoptls]

SSR Leona Kingscholar Beastly Garb Voice Lines

When Summoned: I got no interest in this old-fashioned tradition, but... I'll make everyone else give everything they got for me.

Summon Line: This is a pretty decked out fit they gave me. They must've really been looking forward to me coming home.

Groooovy!!: Doesn't matter who the opponent is. The only one deserving a win is me.

Home: Come, I'll take you on.

Swap Looks: This outfit's the only thing that's not lame about this.

Home Idle 1: The Sunrise City landscape that Lilia keeps mentioning is from a lifetime ago. He said he'd been here before, but when exactly was that...?

Home Idle 2: What kind of dishes do I recommend? Obviously, that'd be the meat. A hunk of meat roasted over an exquisite fire is especially tasty.

Home Idle 3: He's thoroughly enjoying himself here, as if he wasn't being a sourpuss at all in the beginning. I'll definitely make sure Vil does his fair share of the work after giving me all that trouble.

Home Idle - Login: This place's got nothing but wilderness for miles, as usual. So it ain't a shocker that all there is to do is nap around, don'tcha think?

Home Idle - Groovy: Kifaji's always been a noisy scold. I gotta admit, he's an excellent chess opponent, though.

Home Tap 1: I bet for you and Grim, this trip is the height of luxury. I doubt it'll be as satisfying for that little rich boy from the Asim family, though.

Home Tap 2:  Magic is strictly forbidden in Catch the Tail. Maybe I'll train you up for the next one... I kid, this ain't ever happening again.

Home Tap 3: If you want to head up to the royal palace, go ahead. But if you get caught by the guards, I'm gonna pretend I don't know you.

Home Tap 4: The textiles made in the Sunset Savanna are made of raw materials and dyes that're native here. There's no way to get them anywhere else.

Home Tap 5: Hey, hey, don't blame me if you end up accused of high treason, or anything. You're still dealing with a prince of this country here, after all.

Home Tap - Groovy: What, you want to sit in the passenger seat again? Yeah, no. You got some nerve trying to make me your driver.

Duo: [LEONA]: There's no time to fool around, Lilia. [LILIA]: Leona, you sure know how to use others.

Requested by @dorito9708.

[its-leethee]

Ever since we learned in the Season 4 Discord Q&A that Queen Aanya has an adopted older brother named Grark, I've been wondering, what is his role in the story? Why give Aanya an older brother at all?

As adopted-older-sibling-to-the-monarch, Grark and Aanya's relationship is an obvious parallel to Callum and Ezran's. What if Grark was present and supportive to Aanya, to serve as a contrast to Callum, a similarly protective and devoted older brother, but one who is repeatedly missing in action when his younger sibling needs him:

Shout out to Soren for stepping into Callum's place to support Ezran in both of these examples; but particularly Soren's exhortation to Ezran that "You deserve time to do kid stuff."

I don't think it's a stretch to imagine that Ezran would feel resentful toward Callum for his serial absences (and the implied emotional unavailability), or that he might perceive that his brother is indifferent to his struggles and has abandoned him, leaving Ezran to shoulder the burdens of ruling alone.

I'm having fun imagining Ezran and Aanya trading gripes about their overbearing older brothers who treat them like little kids... and then Ezran sadly, painfully realizing that his brother hasn't been there for him like he should be, while Aanya's brother is.

Broyals angst is delicious, of course, but why let Callum and Ezran have all the fun? Because this is where Aanya and Grark's relationship could get extra interesting:

--Tales of Xadia, p. 34

The two phrases in particular that caught my eye: internal treason and isn't old enough

So, hear me out: Grark will be the protective older sibling who steps up, but eventually oversteps, in a misguided attempt to relieve Aanya of the responsibilty of the throne.

Oh yeah, political intrigue plus broyals angst? It would be SO GOOD.

[that-nerd-who-writes-fanfiction]

I wrote a random fic thing (beginning and overview summary) on my phone when I had a spare half hour in work.

I don’t know if this will actually become something, I’m focusing on rewriting the next chapter of the Leon’s knowing and knowing treason fic before I properly start anything else, but I got bored and had an idea I didn’t want to forget.

Arthur takes Merlin not flirting with him after the sigil thing as a rejection. Merlin doesn’t know what a sigil means until Gwaine sees his, Arthur is embarrassed until Merlin claps him around the head and drags him out to yell about explaining what the hell sigils mean. Merlin gives Arthur half of a coin that his mother gave him (originally a gift from his father) and tells him he’s going to ask more about courting traditions, Arthur laughs and tells him that giving a sigil back completes the union and is basically an agreement to get married. Merlin kisses Arthur’s hand and tells him that of course he’ll marry him, but after he gets a chance to do the whole courting thing because Arthur deserves it. Possibly Hanahaki thrown in there too because I don’t think I’ve ever written that but I’m not sure yet.

— preview —

Arthur has loved Merlin as long as he’s known him. It started harmlessly enough, a childish crush on the insufferable peasant boy with a lack of respect for authority and a self assured ability to get himself too deep into trouble.

At first, Arthur was simply curious. Merlin hadn’t realised he was a prince for their first interaction, so it made sense that he felt confident enough to mouth off. Their second interaction however, had Arthur’s heart beating a little faster. Merlin had completely disregarded Arthur’s royal status in a way no one else ever had, and the drop in his voice, lilting with a slight Essetir accent, as he completely defaced the way Arthur would hear “My Lord” forever. That night at dinner with his Father, Arthur had choked on his wine when a servant had used his title! As though that wasn’t bad enough, Merlin had Arthur beat in their fight, though he’d never admit it. Arthur had no idea how the country boy managed to best him but the humiliating truth was that up until Merlin got distracted, Arthur was loosing.

And then Merlin saved his life, being rewarded a position as his manservant. Arthur tried to hate him, it seemed easy enough with the stuttering in his heart whenever Merlin came near him. Any attraction Arthur had felt as a result of Merlin’s fighting ability left him as soon as he saw the incompetence Merlin displayed when he forgot to hand Arthur his sword and fumbled through every piece of armour he had.

It came back full force when Merlin was suddenly well adept at polishing, sorting and handling his armour, but that was neither here nor there. Merlin had stopped his mindless prattle about nerves and whatever else too, simply wishing Arthur “Good luck” before his tournament. Arthur felt his heart melt a little in his chest.

And then Merlin had warned him about the snakes in Valiant’s shield in low fire light that cast an ethereal glow over his face and lit up his eyes almost golden. There was so much sincerity in his voice and Arthur couldn’t believe someone was capable of speaking so genuinely. Not to a Prince when there would always be a chance for some ulterior motive.

But not with Merlin.

So the long slow descent from harmless crush to falling in love began, and seven years later Arthur was absolutely smitten though only in secret. Merlin had made it perfectly clear that he didn’t care for Arthur in the same way Arthur cared for him, anyway.

———

So thoughts? :)

[thekatebridgerton]

Today on stories I'm too sleep deprived to write #XYZ

Sometimes I really think about writing a Polin fanfiction where Penelope marries Lucy's uncle and ends up neglected and abused, but doesn't leave him because of teenage Richard and little Lucy. Until she finds out about the deal to betroth little Lucy to Haselby Junior and how her husband is commiting treason and basically wants to sell his young niece to cover it up. So Penelope finds some will to live after years of just taking the abuse to protect the kids and sells her husband out to the crown, on the condition that the Abernathy title isn't affected.

Cue Lucy's uncle officially dying in a mysterious accident and Penelope moving back to London with little Lucy and young Richard. The Bridgertons and the Featheringtons are happy to have her back but Penelope's marriage has changed her and the first one that notices is Colin.

Penelope doesn't smile anymore, she's busy running the Abernathy estates and putting the fear of God into her teenage nephew because Richard is the darn heir to the Abernathy title and he needs to act like it, David did Richard no good and he really needs a good male influence in his life.

'No Colin not you, the last thing I need is Richard deciding he wants to drop everything and go gallivanting across Europe while his aunt and little sister despair in worry... I meant a male influence like Anthony, or Simon'

Colin starts putting the pieces together about her marriage when he sees that Penelope keeps reassuring Lucy that yes everything in the mansion is all theirs and that nobody can hurt them now. And when she keeps pushing Richard to make friends among the ton so his sister can have a better chance when she's presented.

Basically, id love to see a deconstruction of a situation where Penelope doesn't realize she's turning into her mother. And actually begins to see things from Portia's point of view now that she's officially An unhappy widow who's only joy in life will be to see her wards safely married and enjoying the life she never could.

She's Determined to make up for lost time when it comes to building connections and ensuring Richard and Lucy's future, going as far as policing Lucy's friend circle because ' Lucy is too kind and too naive, any false friend could play her for a fool'

Everyone else thinks Penelope is just being Penelope but Colin can see that she's spiraling under the weight of her worries and the ghost of her former husband, and he wants to help, he keeps showing up to everywhere she goes, trying to bring a smile out of her, encouraging her to think about herself, to dream about love, maybe remarriage, like Francesca, live again with a purpose.

Penelope thinks Colin is cute but annoying and needs to buzz off, she may still think he's handsome and charming but gone are the days she would feel over the moon for sharing a dance with him. The harder he tries to cheer her up, the more upset she gets, who gave Colin the right to see through her? Why is he so fixated on helping her, she's fine, she got rid of David, she's got Lucy and Richard and boatloads of money to do as she pleases! Penelope doesn't need Colin Bridgerton's pity!

Bonus if this is an au in which Colin still remains a bachelor, because he never found the love his parents used to have. And always felt guilty for not saving Penelope from the marriage that ruined her life.

But Colin keeps trying. Almost as if he's in love with her or something, but Penelope no longer believes in love. She's only hopeful for Lucy, because that child deserves true love, Lucy will have everything Penelope never did, Lucy is the future...

Even if Lucy IS developing the same predilection for Eton attending Bridgertons that Penelope did in her youth, Penelope will ignore Gregory's friendly attention to Lucy the same way Portia continues to ignore Colin's attention to her.

This won't backfire, not at all

[noosayog]

[IT'S ALWAYS BEEN YOU] - ft. knight! iwaizumi hajime

warnings/content: princess! reader x knight/personal guard! iwa. a bit of angst, a little segue into the final chapter. no reader in this part, just a bit of groundwork for the final chapter

wc: 700

part 4.5. directory here.

--

The next course of action is not ideal for Iwaizumi. He has no choice but to return to Aoba Johsai by himself per your orders. And upon his return, he gathers Toru, Hanamaki, and Matsukawa to debrief them on the situation.

Hanamaki and Matsukawa are quick to disparage the foreign prince, calling him a sleazy womanizer and threatening to turn him into fried chicken (a slight to his unruly hair), but Toru remains uncharacteristically quiet.

“Well,” Toru says. “It is not uncommon for royal marriages. And my sister’s marriage is exactly that. Just a union of families and a show of good faith for foreign relations.”

“The Princess deserves to be happy!” Iwaizumi fires back, genuinely shocked at your brother’s clinic response.

Toru tilts his head in confusion. “You couldn’t have not known that this was a possibility with the years you’ve spent with my father.”

Iwaizumi freezes.

“To be honest, Iwa, I’m not sure I can support whatever you’re planning. You had years to act on my sister’s feelings but you always prioritized following father’s orders. How is this any different?” 
“How can you even say that,” he yells. “This is not about me. This is about your sister’s happiness. They aren’t even married yet and the Nekoma prince already has no intentions to make her happy!”

“You could have made her happy. But you chose not to. I fail to see how this is different. Why is okay for you to hurt her but not someone else?”

“I-“

“And,” Toru barrels on. “You don’t know that she won’t be happy. This might actually be a nice arrangement for her. She might finally get the freedom she has always wanted.”

Iwaizumi falls silent at this, all his flimsy excuses sliced cleanly through.

Toru lays a heavy hand on Iwaizumi’s shoulder. “I won’t help you if you’re not willing to admit why you’re really doing all this.” he says with finality, before getting up and leaving the group behind.

—

Iwaizumi drags Hanamaki to the training grounds to clear his head later that evening. The frustration growing a tangled knot in his ribcage shows no signs of loosening as he swings his wooden sword, Toru’s words still echoing.

What more does he need to admit than the shameful acknowledgement that he, your knight, has fallen in love with you and yearns for something above his station?

“- thinking about?” He hears Hanamaki ask.

Iwaizumi grunts, swinging again.

Hanamaki parries the weak blow. “Are you still thinking about what Oikawa said?”

Iwaizumi doesn’t respond, bringing his sword down again. Hanamaki swings easily, knocking Iwaizuimi’s weapon out of his hands.

“I’ll give you a hint. You should think about what happens after. Even if you are able to stop the wedding, what happens to the princess after? She comes back home and His Majesty finds another match for her? Would that make her happy?”

With a hard clap to Iwaizumi’s shoulder, Makki takes off for the night. 

Frustrated, Iwaizumi throws a fist to the ground. Don’t you think he’d entertained the thought of whisking you away the second he realized he loved you? Risk treason to be with you? 

What would make you happy? 

He’s sure now that being able to be together would make you happy. But how could that happen without you abandoning your family, your friends, your beloved home? And he, himself. He didn’t want to leave the knights and Toru behind either. Is it even possible to  find a solution where he could be with you and you both could be with the people you love? 

“You could talk to him, you know?” 

Iwaizumi snaps around at Toru’s voice. 

“My father,” the prince clarifies. “You can convince him of most anything. Can’t you tell by now that he values your opinion more than any of us?” Toru grins ruefully. “Guess your years of being obedient to him have paid off for this moment.” 

Iwaizumi realizes then that while he was hurt from having his value tied to Toru since youth, the King’s words impact Toru equally. His own father, constantly comparing. 

“Let’s do it,” Iwaizumi says, finding courage in the newfound camaraderie with the prince. “I want to make the princess happy.” 

Toru grins, offering his hand. 

Iwaziumi takes it.

[in-my-feels-probably]

This Is Me Trying

(Aegon Targaryen x Reader)

Request: Please write more HCs about Aegon, HCs how he reacts when he is loved, cherished and cared for (maybe by reader as his lovely widowed aunt, a younger sister / half-sister of Viserys and daemon) when Aegon is defended by someone, someone really stands up for him and defends and protects him against all hostilities and against the harsh treatment of Alicent, Otto and Aemond!

Requested by: @cara-eva

Hi! Thank you for the request, I’m sorry for the long wait. I don’t love the outcome, but I don’t want to make you wait any longer and I think it’s as good as it’s gonna get. I hope you like the story format instead of the headcanons, it was just easier for me to write this out that way. I’m hoping this is close to what you were looking for. If it’s not, I’m happy to write you another request.

Also, I didn’t really specify how you’re related to Aegon, but when I was writing I was intending for it to be a Targaryen reader that was close to him in age, who grew up in King’s Landing with him. So maybe a daughter to Daemon or Rhaenyra, or a really young sister to Daemon and Viserys. It doesn’t really matter how you choose to perceive it, it’s not important to the plot that much. I hope it’s ok that I left it open to interpretation.

Anyways, I hope you like it, let me know what you think!

(Warnings: swearing, mentions of physical and verbal abuse, mentions of alcohol and substances, references to the street of silk, very vague gore and blood, let me know if i missed anything)

—

You could recall almost all the times in your life where Aegon had looked to you for comfort, after someone in your family was particularly harsh to him.

Not that he didn’t occasionally deserve it, he really did know how to piss someone off if he wanted to. He’s done it to you more times than you can count. You’ve just apparently learned how to deal with him more positively than the rest of your family.

But more often than not, Aegon was criticized and humiliated by his own family, for no real reason at all.

It was something he had become accustomed to, and he no longer fought it. Which meant that you had to be the one to stand up for him, you had to be the shoulder to cry on, because nobody else was going to.

—

Aegon never felt respected or well regarded by most members of the court, particularly regarding his Grandsire. Despite Aegon having a higher position than him, the Hand had no problem making it known that he thought very little of his grandson.

The worst that ever occurred between the two of them that you can recall was when word was sent to King Viserys that Corlys Velaryon had been critically injured, and his impending succession was to be challenged in an upcoming gathering. With the King bedridden, Otto took the news as the perfect opportunity to begin subverting Princess Rhaenyra’s children’s positions.

In doing so, he advised all the King’s children to support Vaemond Velaryon’s claim. He attempted to convince you the evening the message arrived, but you wouldn’t hear it. You made your claim of support for Lucerys on the spot, more so to spite Otto than anything.

In the week before the whole family was set to arrive, he cracked down on you. You had gone to accompany Aegon to the dragonpit, when Ser Erryk found you and asked you both to report to the Tower of the Hand.

You could tell Otto wasn’t pleased with your presence, but you accompanied Aegon anyway, taking a seat while the two of them talked.

“Aegon, it is the same laws being twisted to support Rhaenyra’s claim to the throne that is preventing you from being named heir. You’re the King’s firstborn son, and you’re being robbed of the opportunity to rule.”

“Careful, My Lord,” you had said, grinning. “Your words are embarking upon treason.”

He ignored you, trying not to give you a reaction. “Those very same laws are once again being used to falsely back Lucerys, when the Driftwood Throne should pass to Vaemond Velaryon. Back his claim, My Prince. Out of principle, alone.”

“I don’t give a shit about the throne, Iron or otherwise,” Aegon huffed, like the conversation was the dullest thing he could have possibly endured that day.

Otto narrowed his eyes, speaking firmer. “Lucerys’s claim is illegitimate, even you can admit that. You’ve got more blood of Old Valyria than he does, and he carries the name Velaryon. Does that not unsettle you?”

“Bastard or not, it is of no consequence to me,” Aegon said, shrugging his shoulders. “Let my nephew have it, or don’t let him have it, I don’t care. I’m not interested enough to involve myself.”

Otto stood from his chair, leaning over his desk to look Aegon in the eye. He almost shook with a silent fury, his voice laced with venom.

“Everything handed to you on a silver platter,” he spat, his face cold. “And you waste it. The Seven Kingdoms in the palm of your hand, and you don’t even bat an eye. You may have the pure blood of Old Valyria, but you’re more of a bastard than Lucerys will ever be.”

This caught your attention, making you stand and move behind the chair Aegon was sitting in. You had no problem standing up for Aegon, considering your position was also higher than Otto’s, and you simply enjoyed aggravating him.

“It would be in your best interest to hold your tongue, My Lord. It would be a shame to have to see to it that it is removed from your head.”

Otto took a step toward you, glaring, before leaning down to whisper into Aegon’s ear.

“Look at you…hiding behind a little girl. You’re lazy, arrogant, and a miserable excuse for a Targaryen. You bring shame upon your house, and humiliate yourself while doing so. It’s no wonder our Queen, your own mother, despises you so.”

You shook your head in disbelief, peering down at Aegon to see that his eyes had glossed over, and he had gone rigid in his chair. You placed a comforting hand on his shoulder, rubbing your thumb in circles on the exposed skin peeking out of his shirt.

Aegon took a shaky breath, and you felt a rage course through you that expelled itself before you could stop it. You stepped in between Aegon and Otto, blocking Aegon from Otto’s sight. You reached a hand behind you, offering it for Aegon to take, which he gladly accepted.

With your free hand, you pressed your finger into Otto’s chest, inadvertently pushing him to take a step back.

“You forget yourself, My Lord. What about the phrase, ‘hold your tongue,’ did you not understand? You’re speaking to the Prince, at least pretend to act like it.”

You coaxed Aegon to stand, pulling him with you to head for the door. Otto nearly smirked as he watched, leaning back against his desk. His face fell when you turned around to speak to him, just before you stepped out the door.

“You’re weak, Otto. Pathetic. Half the man Aegon is, if even that. The stewards have more honor and merit than you. You burn bridges with every word you speak against the Crown and its children. As much as you hate to admit it, it still doesn’t change the fact that the histories will record Aegon’s and Lucerys’s names, bastard or not.”

Aegon smirked, watching Otto soak in your words like a slow acting poison, killing its victim cell by cell.

“Your name, however, will be forgotten. Far gone and lost to the obscurity of every man like you that has come before. Your efforts will be for naught, and the rest of your existence will be a miserable one. I hope you’ll come to understand that, because it is undoubtedly your fate. And I, for one, cannot wait to witness it.”

—

Aegon’s Grandsire was not the only member of his family that was known to be unnecessarily cruel. Amongst his siblings, Aegon really only dealt with Aemond’s hostility.

You could recall countless fights between the two of them, always squabbling with each other.

It took a lot for Aemond to actually get physical, or put any real malice behind his words. He was usually content to ignore Aegon’s presence entirely. But when provoked, it was probably better that you were there to intervene.

Despite how harsh Aemond could be, he was the easiest to deal with. You were one of the few members of the family Aemond actually liked, and he normally listened to you when you told him to pipe down. Plus, his and Aegon’s spats were normally sibling derived, and of no major consequence.

The worst between them was when Aemond finally snapped, and the two of them got into a screaming match about Aegon’s lack of ambition. Aegon had just returned from Flea Bottom, and Aemond had returned from an evening flight on Vhagar.

You heard them all the way from your chambers, finding them nearly throwing blows in the courtyard.

“I did not ask for this!” Aegon yelled, making Aemond sneer.

“Clearly. And yet, it was handed to you anyway. Why not take advantage of it?”

Aegon groaned, biting his tongue to keep from screaming. “I don’t care, brother. Why does everyone expect so much from me?”

“Because you piss it all away,” Aemond said, stepping forward and shoving Aegon’s shoulder. “You don’t have any idea how lucky you are.”

Before anyone could actually get hurt, you rushed in between them, pushing them both a few steps back.

“What the fuck are you doing? Do you have any idea how late the hour is?”

“Yes, brother,” Aemond said, exasperatedly throwing his hands up. “Do you? Or have you forgotten the time in the bottom of a cup? Perhaps on the Street of Silk?”

Aegon grumbled, trying to step past you, but you held him back. You narrowed your eyes at him, stopping him in his tracks.

“Stop. I won’t ask again.”

You turned back to Aemond, who looked like he had grown tired of the conversation already.

“Are you done?” You asked, raising a brow. “Must you antagonize him? You know it will do no good.”

Aemond groaned, taking a step back. “Must you always defend him? He’s infuriating. You’re never nearly as harsh enough with him as you should be.”

“He’s not my child, he’s not mine to discipline,” you said, nodding your head towards Aegon. “The Gods know you and your family do that enough to him already.”

Aemond scoffed, turning around, but you caught his arm, making him wait.

“Wait…listen. Trust me, he doesn’t get away with being an ass around me. He knows well enough that it won’t end well for him.”

Aegon had grown quiet, sulking behind you. You kept your eyes on Aemond, not letting him go.

“But I also don’t purposely antagonize him to warrant a reaction. I understand your frustrations, believe me, I do. But squabbling like children does neither of you any good. He’s your brother, Aemond. Ease up…let it go.”

Aemond grumbled, his face cold, like he was debating on if he should walk away or not. Finally, he softened, gently easing his arm from your grip.

“Fine,” he said, turning around to leave the courtyard. “As you wish.”

Once he was out of earshot, you turned around to face Aegon. He had gone pink, awkwardly shifting back and forth from foot to foot. You gave him a less than impressed look, before turning back in the direction of your chambers.

“Come along, then. You can explain to me what happened on the way. I swear, it is baffling how you two manage to annoy me more and more every day.”

Aegon lightened up, moving to match your stride. “Oh, come on, darling. Just admit it. You enjoy it, you know you do.”

You rolled your eyes at his improved mood, walking faster, letting him trail you all the way back to your chambers.

—

Settling tensions between Aemond and Aegon was far easier than dealing with Otto and the court. Plus, you found it to be the least hurtful to Aegon.

The harsh words that hurt the most…were from his own mother, Queen Alicent.

Aegon knew he was the least favorite, of both his mother and his father. He knew how she valued Aemond, and how she doted on Helaena. He knew that, despite his father neglecting all his youngest children, the King at least had something in common with his younger siblings.

Aegon was almost foreign to him, like a granted wish gone awry.

Despite being the King’s firstborn son, Aegon’s very existence was a constant reminder of all the King and Queen’s failures in the family, and of all the wasted opportunities to strengthen House Targaryen.

To the King, Aegon was a reminder of the years he wasted on wanting a son, neglecting Rhaenyra as his first born.

To Alicent, Aegon was a reminder of how she was a child herself, practically sold and made to squeeze out heirs for the Crown. Aegon was a product of her father’s own selfish ambition, a point of view she could not bring herself to look past.

She loved her son, nobody doubted that.

But she did not like him. The same could be said for the King.

Considering she was the Queen, Aegon’s mother was a lot more difficult for you to stand up to. Speaking directly against her in her presence was not wise, and you often had to bite your tongue and console Aegon about it later.

This evening in particular was proving to be one of the worst times she had publicly treated him, both verbally and physically. Apparently, she had grown quite used to disciplining him in front of you.

If you could even call it that.

It had all happened so fast. You were in the Queen’s chambers, sitting by the fire with her.

One minute, you were having tea with Alicent and listening to her tell you about her day. The next, Aegon had been dragged in by Ser Criston, unsuccessfully fighting against his hold.

Ser Criston dragged him into the center of the room, letting him go before standing in front of the door to block the exit. Not that he necessarily needed to. Aegon couldn’t beat Ser Criston in a fight on a good day. Let alone as drunk as he apparently was.

“I apologize for the intrusion, Your Grace, My Lady. I found him nearly passed out on the steps outside the training yard. The Prince has apparently already had his fill. Didn’t even make it to Flea Bottom, which is where I presume he was going.”

Alicent closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. “You found him? Or someone alerted you of his presence?”

“One of the servants, Your Grace. Apparently he was making quite the fuss before he passed out.”

Aegon collapsed into a nearby chair, covering his eyes with the heels of his hands. He let out a groan, leaning back.

As you looked at him, you realized it wasn’t just wine that had weakened his resolve. His eyes were hazy, his movements staggered. He had taken milk of the poppy, and quite a high dosage at that.

An option that he rarely referred to anymore, knowing how much you hated seeing him on it. Something must’ve happened, something bad.

“A fuss?” You asked, trying to avoid staring at Aegon.

“It is not for a Lady’s ears, I’m afraid,” Ser Criston hesitated. “He was…rather crude, I should say. Speaking incoherently to himself, loud enough for the servants to take notice.”

Alicent stood and nodded, brushing her skirts down. “Thank you, Ser Criston. I appreciate your discretion. I will handle it from here, you may go.”

“Yes, My Queen,” he said, nodding to her before stepping out of the room and closing the door behind him.

You stood, unsure of whether or not you should leave as well. You would later come to regret not doing so.

Alicent stood in front of Aegon, glaring down at him. “Have you no shame? Is the reputation you already uphold not bad enough? Do you have any idea about the kind of burden you are, not only on yourself, but on your family?”

Aegon didn’t look up, keeping his eyes on the floor. He slumped down in his chair, shielding his eyes from the light of the fire.

“Look at me,” Alicent said, before sharpening her tone enough to make Aegon flinch. “Look at me!”

When he didn’t, she pulled his hair at the nape of his neck back to tilt his head up, before backhanding him across the face. Her ring caught on his cheek, leaving a small cut at the top of his cheekbone.

You quietly gasped, bringing a hand to your mouth to stifle the noise.

Alicent didn’t seem fazed, now gaining Aegon’s attention. “Is it not enough to embarrass me, not only as your Mother and as your Queen, but to embarrass the whole of your family, as well? Does it not embarrass you, carrying yourself like this, in front of them…in front of Y/N? Does it not bother you, what she must think of you?”

Aegon’s eyes flitted to yours, before turning away in shame. You felt your heart ache at the sight, keeping quiet beside your chair.

“How many times must I discuss this with you, Aegon? When will you learn?”

“What’s the point, Mother?” Aegon finally asked, giving her a sad smile. “You’ll be disappointed in me anyway, no matter what I do. Why even bother?”

She slapped him across his cheek again, adding to the already reddened skin. The blood from his cut smeared along his cheekbone. Aegon let out a sound of pain, swallowing his words.

You couldn’t take it any longer, walking over and gently placing your arm on Alicent’s, turning her to you.

“You Grace, I am sorry to interrupt. But it seems I have overstayed my welcome, and I would hate to intrude. I’ll be on my way, if you’ll excuse me.”

She shook her head, grabbing one of your hands in hers. “Not at all, my dear. I enjoyed your company. I thank you for it, and I apologize for my son’s interruption.”

“He was no trouble, My Queen. If you’d like, I can see to it that he makes it back safely to his chambers?”

“That is quite alright, darling,” she said, turning back to Aegon. “I have a few more things I’d like to discuss with my son, but it is kind of you to offer. You may go, Y/N. Thank you for the tea.”

You politely smiled. “Of course. Goodnight, Your Grace.”

You turned to go, hesitating at the door when you heard Alicent retreat back to stand in front of Aegon.

You didn’t want to go.

You didn’t want to leave him there, to endure any more of his mother’s wrath. But there was nothing you could do.

There was little you could say this time. There was no way to protect him while it happened, not without risking yourself in the process. And you knew how much Aegon hated when you did that, when it was actually dangerous.

So, you left, returning to your chambers.

You simply had to wait for Aegon to make a decision. It usually boiled down to two options.

Go to Flea Bottom, start drinking, and keep drinking until whatever memory he had of the night disappeared into his cups. Or…he could go to your chambers, and find another kind of comfort there.

You prayed that he’d choose the latter, tonight. You paced back and forth in your chambers for what seemed like hours before you got any answers. You knew the gods ruled in your favor when a feeble knock was heard on your chamber door later that night, making you sigh in relief.

“Come in,” you said, anxiously standing at the foot of your bed.

There was a pause, and then the door creaked open, revealing a disheveled and apprehensive Aegon. He closed the door behind him, coming to stand in the middle of the room.

He wouldn’t meet your eyes.

You took the time to look at him, observing his form. The bruise on his cheek had settled in, all black and blue. The cut from his mother’s ring was beginning to scab over, dry blood crusted along his cheekbone. His cheek was reddened, with the slightest imprint of a hand, marking the flesh. A fresh bruise was beginning to form around his temple, a garish green encircling it.

You didn’t even want to know what that one was from.

You slowly approached him, careful not to make any rash movements. “Can I touch you?”

He still didn’t meet your eyes, but slowly nodded.

Gently, you cupped his jaw so you could turn his head, checking for any wounds you could have missed. Slowly and carefully, you moved your hands up to cup his face in your palms, gently running your thumbs across his cheekbones.

Aegon let out a pained whimper, leaning into your touch.

“Did I hurt you?” You asked, moving to pull your hands away. He quickly stopped you, grabbing your wrists and holding you still, silently asking for you to not let go.

His voice was shaky. “No.”

“You weren’t drunk, were you?” You asked, resuming running your thumbs across the top of his cheekbones. “It was milk of the poppy.”

His eyes met yours, a look of guilt flashing across his face. You shook your head, shushing him.

“I’m not angry. Just tell me the truth.”

He was reluctant to, but he finally nodded, confirming your suspicions. You sighed deeply, moving your hands to brush his hair out of his face, tucking it behind his ears.

“Why?”

“You know why,” he replied, his voice quiet.

You did.

Sometimes, getting drunk wasn’t enough. Sometimes, Aegon felt like he was suffocating, and the only way to fill his lungs was to cloud his mind first, easing his thoughts. Milk of the poppy usually did the trick.

You didn’t press the matter further, nodding. “Are you going to tell me what happened after I left?”

“The usual happened,” he said, his jaw clenched. “Mother yelled, I listened. She hit, I got hit. Don’t worry, though, you witnessed the best of it. Don’t think you missed the entertaining part.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, sharpening your tone. “Don’t say that. I didn’t enjoy a moment of it, not a single second. Do you think I like watching you get hurt?”

He returned his gaze to the floor, flinching at your sudden change in demeanor. You stopped yourself, not wanting to sound like you were scolding him, like his mother does all too frequently. Gently, you lifted your sleeve and tried to softly wipe away the blood that had stained his cheek.

You were interrupted by a sudden tear, rolling down his cheek. You looked up, only to be met with Aegon’s eyes brimming with tears that were slowly falling down his face like fresh snow from the sky.

“Aegon?” You asked, cupping his chin, trying to make him look at you. The tears kept flowing. Finally, his eyes met yours.

“Am I a burden?”

Your jaw slacked in shock. “What? Of course not, why would you ask that?”

“My Mother believes it to be true,” he said, face crumbling. “That’s what she said, after you left. That I’m a burden to you, always making you clean up my messes.”

You quickly shook your head, gently wiping away his tears. “That’s not true, Aegon. She’s wrong. I don’t do anything for you out of obligation, or because I feel I need to. I do it because I want to. If nobody in this family is going to give you even an ounce of optimism or support, then I’ll happily be the one to do it.”

“You shouldn’t have to–,” he starts, pulling himself from your grip.

“I want to.”

Aegon took a deep breath, and you watched as his shoulders shook and his eyes clouded with tears, all red and bloodshot. He made a sound of frustration, balling his hands into fists at his sides. His voice was desperate.

“I’m trying, Y/N…I’m trying so fucking hard.”

You felt your heart shatter, quickly throwing your arms around his neck. You pulled him close to you, cradling his head with one hand, squeezing him tightly to you with the other. Aegon melted into your embrace, locking his arms around you, desperately clutching at the fabric of your clothes. He hid his face in the crook of your neck, and you felt hot tears landing on your skin. You paid them no mind, gently shushing him.

“I know you’re trying,” you said, willing yourself not to cry as well, staying strong for him. “I know. And that’s all I could ever ask of you.”

You leaned back far enough to cup his jaw, wiping away the tears. You pressed a kiss to his forehead, gently caressing his face.

“I know it seems like nobody is seeing your efforts, or that nobody cares enough to acknowledge them. But I care, alright? I care. I see it, I see you trying. You’re doing your best, Aegon. That’s all you can really do. And if our family can’t see or understand that, it’s their problem. Not yours. Alright?”

He slowly nodded, taking a deep breath. “Alright.”

You nodded, taking his hand in yours, pulling him along with you to your bed.

“Come on, then. It’s late, you need to lie down. I refuse to deal with you all cranky and sleep deprived in the morning because you were too stubborn to rest.”

Aegon softly grinned, letting you guide him. “What are you talking about? I’m a delight in the mornings.”

“You’re a gremlin in the mornings,” you retorted, patting the space of the bed next to you. “Now lie down. That wasn’t a request.”

Aegon could feel the troubles lifting from his shoulders already, watching you invite him into your space with open arms. He nearly chuckled at the serious face you had put on, one you normally reserved for scoldings.

“As you command, darling,” he said, crawling in next to you. “Who would I be to deny you?”

“A fool.”

Your reply was quick, with absolutely no hesitation in your voice. It made Aegon grin wider as he felt his heart warm, settling himself close beside you.

“Well, we can’t have that, can we?”

—

A/N - Hi! I don’t love this outcome honestly, but I hope this is what you were looking for. If it’s not, I’ll gladly accept another request and try to do better. Let me know what you think.

[girl8890]

JM | Tainted

word count: 2.7k

Summary: The next in line to be throne, Prince Jimin, must decide who it is that will follow him into kingship and be his queen. None of the girls his mother bestows him with interest him at all. He much rather see all their head cuts off--imagining such things as each princess or lords daughter steps into the throne room. It isn’t until you step in, shaking and clutching your skirt as you pray for him not to pick you, that the thoughts of death stop and new thoughts surface. 

Pairing: Prince!Jimin x Princess!Reader

Genre: yandere, royalty!au, historical!au, angst

Rating: V

Warnings: bratty!jm, spoiled!jm, executions, blood, fascination with death, forced marriage, unhealthy obsession, forced kissing, jm touches reader inappropriately once, ripping of clothing, implied forced sex, implied dirty thoughts.

A/N: Just a reminder that this is all fiction! None of this has actually happened, and I don’t believe it will happen or is going on. I also do not condone this behavior. If you don’t like, then just don’t read. Don’t judge others for liking the fic /type of fic or judge those that write similar fics. Your hate does nothing, but give an author the excuse to use the block button. This fic concept has been in my head for awhile, and I was bouncing between putting it with jk, v, or Jm, and in the end I did it for Jm. I have a yandere jk fic coming out soon, so it just made sense for me to write it with Jm after process of elimination and because I don’t see v being all that bratty tbh lol! I hope you enjoy the fic! 💜

。・°°・°°・。 。・°°・°°・。 。・°°・°°・。

“Mother! She’s ugly! Why would you even bring her to me if you can see her face looks like that? Do you want ugly grandchildren!”

Nobody moves, or makes a sound as Prince Jimin complains about a lords daughter who’s right in front of him. Every single girl meeting him today was told to smile, and not speak up unless they had a death wish.

“But darling, she’s a high lords daughter. You must at least give her a chance,” The Queen says to his right. Not even blinking an eye when her beyond spoiled son just insulted someone her kingdom finds important for trade. There all too scared to pull our of trades, anyway, so it doesn’t really matter.

Jimin looks over at the girl in front of him. She has brown hair that looks like it’s been barely washed (in his opinion), and her nose is way to big (again, in his opinion.)

“Next!” Prince Jimin yells with a wave of his hand. The girl walks away, not sighing out in relief until she’s a safe distance away from the prince’s and queens ear shot.

This is how it’s been for the past several days. Women of all titles and ages have been coming in from all points in the country to offer their hand to the crowned prince. He’s next in line to be king, and now that the current king has fallen ill it’s been assumed that the prince will be crowned soon. The king needs a queen, though. And the whole affair has been dreadful to the staff, and now even his mother

Not a single person has peaked Jimin’s fancy. He’s either sent them off the second they walked in the door, or called for their execution! Stating that the girl should be hung for treason, even though she’s done nothing wrong but show up.

In Jimin’s mind, though, some of the girls deserved it for “forgetting their manners.” There’s been three executions since starting this affair a week ago where there’s usually only one once every two weeks. All of them always been called upon from the prince, and because the king and queen spoil their son rotten they don’t care if a villager or low lords daughter dies. As long as they can see that smile on their sons face, their happy.

But with this affair, even the queens getting antsy. She knew from the very beginning that a title, no matter how big, would not just satisfy her son. He sees things, you see. Ever since he was little, he’s had a fascination with death. Starting with when they had to cover up his attempt at murder to a staffs son at age ten. Doctors don’t have the resources or knowledge to diagnosis his disorder yet, so all it takes is one girl he doesn’t see dying to be the one to marry the crowned prince.

Let just say, that’s harder said then done. Girl after girl was announced and each one left faster then the last. Jimin was starting to get antsy too, and when the prince gets antsy he finds his own way for entertainment.

A girl, about fourteen years old and an obvious no from Jimin, walks in. She’s blonde, and Jimin’s smile twitches upward as he imagines blood seeping down it. After the girl gives her introductions, apparently being the youngest princess for a country in bum fuck nowhere, Jimin comments, “I think you should change your hair color to red.”

The queen and head maid glance at each other, knowing where this is most likely going to lead, but as always they let their prince have his treacheries fun.

For the princess, who has no idea what he’s talking about, blinks up at him confused. “I-I’m sorry? Red?”

“Yes! Red! Have you ever thought about it?”

“I must say I haven’t, your majesty.”

Jimin smiles and it’s the cruelest thing the young princess has ever seen. “I could do it for you.”

“My son-“

“All I need is a blade and I’ll cut that skull right open. Then your hair would be nice and red,” Jimin then giggles and the young princess looks horrified.

The queen just sighs and then dismisses the girl. Once the room is cleared, she turns to her one and only son with a small smile. “My son, you do understand this is important, don’t you?”

Jimin rolls his eyes, leaning on his hand while he rests his elbow on the throne. “Yes, yes, mother. I know. It’s not my fault they all look prettier dead then alive.”

The queen swallows, ignoring her sons comment. “That maybe true for you, but the kingdom needs an alive queen. Why don’t you at least give this next girl a chance?”

Jimin sighs heavily, and slouches against the throne. Truthfully, he just found this whole charade to be pointless. He’s not going to fall for any of them at “first sight” or any of that whimsical bullshit. But his mother looks haggard. Not that he cares about his mothers health, not at all, but she is the queen of his kingdom and the fact he’s the one giving her this haggard look is not a good thing.

“Fine! I’ll-… try, mother.” He speaks in a hiss, and frowns as he faces the door. The queen then smiles, feeling like she made some progress, and gestures for the guard to bring in the next girl.

Jimin barely paid attention as the announcer said the girls name and title. He found the wall to his left far more interesting. Some princess from another bum fuck nowhere country that probably only helps his country with bread or some shit they really don’t need walks in. It’s all useless. He’s never going to find-

“M-my name is Princess y/n, and it’s a pleasure to meet you, your grace.” At the sound of her small voice, Jimin turns to look at the girl that’s just entered the room.

She’s clutching at her dresses skirt, making it look anything but presentable and her eyes are landing anywhere but on his own. That’s not what runs the princes speechless, though. It’s that he doesn’t see anything. He doesn’t see your death playing out in front of him, or blood seeping out from your every hole. He’s just sees you.

Your eyes are tearing up already, but it makes Jimin want to coax out those tears and lick them. He wants to stain your pink lips red by biting them, and find out what your heart looks like. This… these things… he’s never felt before.

Maybe wanting to pull out someone’s insides, yes, but never because you’re so beautiful to his eyes that he wants to paint you a controlled red. To keep you alive forget and keep you close to him. It runs him speechless, and he can’t take his eyes off of you. Not even when the head maid corrects you in your speech and posture. “It’s your majesty, princess. And stand up straight! Who taught you how to present yourself in front of royalty?”

“Lucy, shut up,” The prince commands. Both the maid, Lucy, and the queen look at him baffled, but his eyes are still on you. You look up at the prince, surprised when he defends you. Even though he’s deflected the maids command you still stand up straighter, and let go of your skirt. Instead opting to just have two shaking hands clenched at your sides. “Where are you from again, princess?”

Jimin’s voice was so soft, but it still sounded darker then anyones you’ve ever heard before. You answer his question, swallowing thickly when you stutter again. You’ve heard about this prince and what he’s been doing to other girls like you seeking out his hand. You’re only here because it’s your duty as the eldest daughter of your small kingdom to try and marry a high titled man. That doesn’t stop you from praying to the gods for Prince Jimin not to pick you.

But sadly, the gods are not on your side today.

“Perfect! A princess and she lives in a country that’s actually on the maps. You’ll be perfect!”

Your eyes widen, and you stutter out, “E-excuse me?”

Jimin stands from his throne, walking up to you still sporting his demon-like smile. “Your going to be my new queen.”

If it wasn’t for the shock, you would have fainted right there.

———

It’s a custom for the betrothed of the crowned prince to live within the castle a month before the wedding. Everything happened so fast after Jimin decided you would be the one he wanted to spend his entire life with.

He demanded the wedding be as soon as possible, and the best the king and queen of both countries could do is make it three months from the day he picked you. This really scorned the prince. He went out on a rampage and even started declaring the staffs executions and torture.

This is something that started peeking even the publics attention, and their staff went from a castle of two hundred to one hundred within a week. They had no choice but to push the wedding closer, if not to stop the prince’s unjustified tyranny, and so, it’s only been a week since you last saw him. You had one week so say goodbye to your siblings, and had to watch your mother try her best not to cry about her eldest baby being married off to the prince that has been know to be treacherous.

A life where you feel is going to be filled with nothing but fear.

The first day you’re at the kingdom, Jimin didn’t let you out of his sight. He followed you everywhere, and made you stay as close to his being without getting scolded by the chaperones. The chaperones were the worst because Jimin wasn’t allowed to threaten their deaths or tell them to fuck off. They had to be there to ensure purity within the relationship, and all of Jimin’s thoughts were anything but pure.

They just weren’t those thoughts exactly. He imagined biting your lip until it turned red, and scratching at that pale untouched skin of yours until it was marked by him forever. He wanted to taint your very being, and figure out why he never wished for your death.

You stuttered a lot, which was annoying, but anytime you clutched at your dress out of fear when Jimin got to close to you stirred on the other feelings. The other feelings you were grateful the chaperones were there for.

He wanted to fuck you bloody, and fuck your mind up with it to become the perfect wife for him. Whispering the curliest of his imaginations into your ears, and they got worse each day.

A week before your wedding, the prince couldn’t take it anymore. It was past midnight and the chaperones were not around. You were alone in our own separate room, and the prince had the devilish idea to come visit you while you were sleeping.

He woke you up by biting onto your neck, and you screamed bloody murder but it sounded like nothing, but a muffled scream against his hand that was covering your mouth. It got to the point you were crying, and Jimin licked up each of your tears.

“I can’t wait to be able to lay with you, my queen,” He whispered into your ear that night. “You’re just so pretty and I can’t help myself.”

Jimin looks down at your body that is in nothing but a thin nightgown. You clutch at the skirt of it, and it’s on that day you find out that action does nothing but stir him on. He didn’t go all the way with you that night, but the sadistic prince had his way with you nonetheless.

Tickling at your thighs, and no push of your hands could stop him from playing with your sex. It’s wasn’t until you begged, “P-please my love… N-n-not yet. We must be good.”

Your not sure how you came up with the idea, but the second you called him “my love” for the first time he was all ears to your begging. With a scoff and a roll of his eyes, he left you. Not before driving the first kiss of many to your parted lips.

You were too scared to fall asleep that night. Out of fear that he would come back and deny your begging. It wasn’t until a week later, that the begging wouldn’t even matter anymore.

———

After that fiasco, the one that left a significantly big bite mark on your neck, the prince was not allowed to see you until the wedding day. He hated being away from you. Almost scratching out someone’s eyes when they said they were with the soon to be queen before. Jimin kept his distance like a good boy, though. Because after today, no one would tell him he can’t be near you ever again.

The wedding went by smoothly, and no deaths—thank god—happened even while you were being greeted and congratulated by guests. Jimin hated others looking or talking to you. You’re his now, so no one should be allowed to see your beauty except him. He let it go once again, though. Because for once he didn’t want to scare you for what was about to come that night.

Once the wedding came to an end, Jimin practically dragged you to your new shared room. Ordering the staff to bring all your stuff in there the night before. You weren’t ever going to have separate rooms again, and Jimin was going to make sure you knew why.

“Oh my queen, my love, you’re finally here,” Jimin says while giving you a bone crushing embrace. You try to breathe through your nerves, even after he rips the back of your dress in two. Making you gasps from him exposing your smooth back to him in such a way.

He continues to hold you close and stares at the new exposed skin in the mirror behind you. Lightly gliding his fingers up and down your spine.

“You’re so beautiful,” Jimin says. It should be a compliment you take as is, but you’ve been around the prince enough by now to know what he’s going to say next. “I can’t wait to see what you look like when you bleed.”

———

The next day, you didn’t leave the bedroom. Not only were you not able to physically move without help, but because Jimin had the whole day off from any meetings and wanted to keep you within arms length. Which he did. Crushing your naked form into his chest and kissing the top of your head.

“You felt so good last night, darling. Did you like it? Did you feel as good as me last night?”

You swallow even though your throats dry from dehydration, and burry your face into the prince’s chest. Not wanting him to see the way your eyes build up with tears.

Last night was a painful affair to say the least, but worst of all from all his markings he left on you he left the worst he could give at the end. The marking he left on your very soul when he taught your body how to like it were far worse then any on your skin.

You shouldn’t have liked it. You should have hated every touch he gave you, but you didn’t. He’s tainted you and now your weeping into his chest as you painfully give him a truthful answer, “Yes… I liked all of it.”

Jimin pets your hair, smiling down at you.

He knows your not weeping onto his chest right now because you hate him. You’re crying because you loved it. If how your bodies reaction from last night said anything at all, he’s slowly tainting the very fibers of your being.

Tainting his new queen until you’re so ruined you start to love him. And he has forever to do so now.

“My queen… we’re going to have so much fun together. I love sososo much.”

You pick your head up from his chest, staring into his smiley eyes as you look him with red eyes. You swallow around the lump in your throat, and feel suddenly a whole lot lighter from his confession.

“Do you really?”

Jimin smirks, placing his hand on your cheek to wipe away a stray tear that’s leaked out of your eyes. “I do. I’ll love you forever, my queen.”

How could a person like him not love a person like you. You pushed the blood filled thoughts away, and instead gave him new thoughts to crave. Ones where he stretched out your pain mixed with pleasure, and wanting to spoil you with it instead of killing you with it.

So yes, the prince loves you. And the prince will love your forever…

As long as he doesn’t imagine killing you first…

-

-

-

The End

[bitchwhoreofastorm]

Jurgen was enjoying a peaceful morning of deep contemplation in his chambers when the sound of a fierce argument arose just outside of his door. Long experience with his compatriots gave him the wisdom to arise and begin to drag his desk in obstruction of the entrance, but alas, he was too slow; the wooden door was thrown open with a violent clatter, and the incarnate of fury roiled into the room.

"I've had enough of her!" bellowed Hoag. The dark, diminutive man was practically frothing at the mouth, frenziedly waving about something Jurgen couldn't quite see. "Enough of her, Wind-Caller, she ought to be stopped! She ought to-- she ought to be put down like a dog!"

"You're over-reacting!" Barfok shouted from further down the passageway.

Jurgen briefly contemplated whether he could push Hoag back down the stairs, but in that moment of hesitation, Hoag had already forced his way past the desk that had meant to keep him out, penetrating Jurgen's previously-serene sanctum. "Deal with her, Wind-Caller!" Hoag spat, "Deal with her or I'll-- I'll--"

"My King," Jurgen interrupted him, pinching his own nose. "Let's all calm down for a moment. What has she done now?"

"I'll tell you what she's done!" Hoag shouted. "She's gone and anthropomorphized my lunch!" And he thrust his hands towards Jurgen.

The object in Hoag's hands was a haunch of roast ox, but it held itself with a dignity that surpassed its humble origin. In the light glinting from its marinated surface it surveyed the room with calm acceptance, observing its crude surroundings with the plain-hearted absence of judgement that set all of Skyrim's peasants apart from their supposed betters. It remained steady as Hoag waved it at Jurgen, unperturbed, as if thinking: 'And you are the so-called leaders of this Empire? You are the men I should call Lord?'

"He's over-reacting!" Barfok had finally appeared in the doorway, panting from the long climb, her pale hair disheveled and falling out of its braids. "It's a joke," she protested to Jurgen, "A silly joke, a prank, that's all!"

"A joke!" roared Hoag, pivoting around. "You bitch, it's a guilt-evoking metaphor for the lowest of my subjects! How am I supposed to eat it now!"

"If you get queasy when your lunch alludes to the petty-folk you send out to die into battle, well, that says more about you than it does about my pranks, doesn't it!"

The ox haunch regarded this argument with bemusement. As did Jurgen.

"She's been at this all day," said Hoag through gritted teeth, returning his attention to Jurgen. "She went and messed with Chemua's soup--"

"Oh that was funny," Barfok guffawed.

"-- Turned it into a complex metaphor for shame. Put him in the foulest mood. And now she goes and ruins my lunch! You've got to make her quit it, Jurgen. Morale's bad enough out there without her turning things into allusions and euphemisms and such!"

Jurgen exhaled through his nose. "Barfok," he said patiently, "Stop turning people's food into literary devices."

"Hey!" Now it was Barfok's turn to push her way into the room, crossing her arms defensively in front of her chest. "Don't you take his side because he's a wimp! It's a joke, Jurgen, a silly little goof-about to make the men laugh. He's the only one who's got a problem with it!"

"Yes, well, he's louder and more irritating. We don't stop a baby bawling because the baby's in the right."

"I'm no babe!" Hoag interjected. "I'm your King even now, Wind-Caller!"

Does this man deserve fealty? the roast ox seemed to say, when Jurgen's gaze fell upon it. He closed his eyes briefly.

"Barfok," said Jurgen, "Please, just-- stop."

A shadow fell over Barfok's usually-jolly face. She narrowed her eyes and lifted her chin at Jurgen, staring at him coolly from over her round cheeks. "Why should I?" she said slowly.

"I'm begging you, Sister in Kyne! Do me a favour and keep the peace?"

"Aye, you hear him? Keep the peace!" Hoag directed his wrath once more at Barfok. "You're toeing the treason line, sabotaging us like that! We're getting our arses beat by the elves and you think it cheers anyone up when their saltrice is a biting allusion to the evils of occupation? Get a grip, woman!"

"Stop yelling at me!" Barfok snapped. "I don't take orders from either of you! Nay, not even you, Wind-Passer! And I ent standing here while a couple old nannies squeal at me to mind my manners! Look, Hoaga, even your ox thinks you're pathetic!"

The ox haunch did, indeed, seem to have taken on a scornful air. It had borne witness to the discourse of Nirn's most powerful men, and it had come away disenchanted with both the airs of power and those that bore it. Its scathing observation was enough to bring them to shame.

"Hoag," Jurgen said tersely, "She has a point. I can't control her. Why not go to Ysmir about her?"

The hue of Hoag's face had deepened to a striking crimson. "Because he agrees with her," he said through gritted teeth.

"Ysmir has a sense of humour," Barfok said with pride.

"He encourages her tomfoolery!"

"I framed his chambers with subtle imagery of a forsaken homeland, and you know what? He liked it."

"Traitors and soul-sick fools, both of you!"

"Well," announced Jurgen, as calm as a man being judged by a haunch of meat could possibly be, "That settles it. You just have to let her do as she pleases."

Hoag's face flushed, somehow, even redder. "Let her!" he roared indignantly. "Let her lose this war with japes!"

"And what can you do about it?" Barfok asked smugly. "I'm the stronger Tongue."

"We can't command her, Hoaga," said Jurgen. "So. You'll just have to live with it."

"Damn you! You're meant to be the peace-making one! Can't you negotiate with her?"

"Oh, keep whinging, Hoaga, I'll turn your trousers paradoxical next!"

"The matter is settled," said Jurgen firmly. "Now, both of you, get out of my chambers."

"To Apocrypha with you, Wind-Caller! You know what?" Hoag turned his attention to Barfok, waving his accusing haunch in Jurgen's direction. "Why don't you mess with him this time? Hey? Why don't you, I don't know, fill his desk with symbolism or something!"

"Why, Hoaga, you know I'd do anything you ask!" Barfok said cheerfully.

Jurgen blinked. "Wait--"

He had barely begun to inhale for a counter-thu'um before Barfok sung out three crisp dovahzul words. Nothing happened, but everything was subtly, slightly different, as if they had just slipped from one dream to another-- disconcerting non-transition.

Jurgen blinked again. "Barfok," he said slowly, "What did you just--"

"Oh, would you look at the time, Hoaga!" Barfok butted in. "I'm late for my lunch! Good talk, Jurgen, dremyollock, make sure to shut your windows!" And before Jurgen could intercept her she had lurched out of the door and was rushing down the stairs, leaving behind only the receding sound of triumphant cackling.

Hoag looked from the doorway, to Jurgen, and then, finally, to the large window that dominated one side of the room. He drew in a breath. "Now that's just grim," he muttered, before taking a morose bite of his ox haunch. And, without further explanation or farewell, he turned and followed Barfok out of the room, leaving Jurgen in much-desired solitude.

For several seconds Jurgen stood facing the doorway. He pressed his fingertips to his temples. He contemplated whether he had the courage to turn around.

Finally, he turned to face the window.

The curtains hung limp against the pane, like the sails of a ship bereft of air, betraying a stagnation, a stranding, a loss of all will to go on. Though the window was open, no breeze stirred them, as if Kyne herself had abandoned the sorry scraps of fabric. Against the backdrop of the clear sky outside, the faded blue of them was outright depressing...

[lorata]

one-year-out-ish Claudius

a random thing that was in my head about D and his early (and only) experiences with sex. this is a thing i've talked about before -- how his Games-image and Centre training collide to make his early forays really uncomfortable, and it takes a bit for him to opt out

anyway this is NOT that, this is the conversation he has with Misha about it, so here you go

mentions of dubious consent, sort of, but only the aftermath

***********

He could have called for a car, but the walk helped. A low fog rolled in from the mountains, curling around the tops of buildings and dispersing the glow of the streetlights. Sounds felt muted, distorted, even the sharp rasps of his breath. Every distant horn, or door slam — or, Snow forbid, footstep — sent Claudius’ heart skittering up into the jackhammer range.

All his instincts screamed at him to find a weapon — an abandoned knife, a rock or a stick, even, or pry loose a length of pipe — but Claudius wrestled it back. See the outline of another person through the fog as is and he’d bolt; embarrassing, but fine. Run into someone with a weapon and a whole other set of programming took over. He could survive a little humiliation. Better that than the alternative. He rubbed his fingers along the fabric of his jeans (no one wore jeans in the Arena) and traced the outline of the tattoo on his wrist. You’re here, he reminded himself. You’re out. It’s just stupid weather.

Still, he’d take the panic. Panic was sharp, and had a focus. Stopped him from thinking about tonight, and all the other nights he’d come home straight into a scouring-hot shower, yet still unable to chase away the fingers on his skin.

(“We know the kind of stuff you’re into, baby-killer. Do it to me.”)

By the time he made it back to the Village the hypervigilance had worn him raw, startling every two seconds like a fucking rabbit. He collapsed inside the gate and pressed his back to the wall until the locks ground closed, but even then Claudius couldn’t peel himself away.

“Nobody came in but you,” called down one of the guards, Arni. “You’re good.”

He’d be more embarrassed about that except they took this job to keep the Victors safe, so it felt dumb to be precious about it. Claudius exhaled. “How can you tell? It’s like soup out here.”

“We’ve got heat sensors,” Arni said. “Like the ones at Eagle Pass. You’re the only one in or out tonight. Sleep well, D.”

Well — okay, then.

He’d used the fog to induce an alarm state and get him home, maybe not a mentor-approved strategy, but at least he’d made it. That meant, what, an hour until his system crashed from all the adrenaline, give or take.

Claudius could walk the path to Lyme’s even in a fugue state, but … but. His feet dragged, the same reason they had every other time he’d tried to talk to her about it. Lyme kept some parts of her life private, and thought her kids deserved that same courtesy. Late-night brawls with Enobaria, Arena-buzzing beneath his skin, blood, knives, murder, even treason — all of those were mentor conversations. Not this.

Before he could talk himself out of it, Claudius found himself shimmying up the drainpipe and shoving up the sash to Misha’s bedroom window. “Hey,” he hissed. “Are you awhaaat the fuck?”

Misha had not been awake, and neither was she alone. But instead of literally anything else he might have imagined (random girl from town, Callista, President Snow’s wife) it was Devon who curled around her and blinked up at Claudius in confusion.

Devon who now yawned, stretched, and nosed Misha in the shoulder. “Baby wants to talk,” he said, rolling over and extricating himself from the mess of blankets with a thump. “I’ll make tea.”

“Stop hovering in the window, weirdo.” Misha scooted over to make room and gave Claudius a look of hard-won bleariness, since no Career could be startled awake without jolting into combat mode unless they really, really worked at it. “You know mentor’s house is that way.”

Claudius edged down to the far end of the bed and leaned back against the wall. “I know, but…”

“Ah.” By all rights Misha should look softer, or more human, or something, with her hair falling loose from her sleep braid and dressed in Devon’s (!) oversized shirt, but somehow it only contrasted the assessing look in her eyes. She tilted her head like a bird of prey and put on a Capitol accent: “You know, dreams like this are perfectly natural —”

“Ugh!” Claudius wadded up one of the blankets that had fallen to the floor and threw it at her. “You’re the worst! No! I just wanted to know if — I don’t think I like it. Sex. Is that weird?”

For the first time since he’d met her, the teasing light left her features. She looked … older, oddly serious. “What? No. Emory doesn’t either. It’s fine.”

The air left him in a rush. “Really? Okay. So what do I do if … people …”

Misha frowned. “Dude. You say no. You know you can say no, right?”

“Obviously,” Claudius said, too fast. No points for technique there, but while Misha’s eyes narrowed she didn’t push it. “I mean, what if people get weird about it.”

“First time you say no civilian style,” said Devon, backing through the door with two mugs of tea that smelled like flowers. Misha took hers with a hum of appreciation; Claudius didn’t drink his yet, but curled his hands around the mug and soaked up the warmth. “No thanks, not tonight, have a nice evening, whatever. They keep trying, mask off. Flash your wrist: You. Said. No. After that, not your responsibility what happens next. Everyone in the room will know you gave fair warning.”

Misha gave Devon a nod of agreement. “Capitol rules are different, we have to play nice, but that’s why we pair off. If you have to go, you’ll go with someone who can take the heat off you. No big deal.”

Claudius swallowed. He raised the mug and took a deep breath of the steam, heavy and floral. “So it’s fine if I don’t want to. Like, ever.”

“It really is fine,” Misha said. “And it’s fine for you to sucker punch anybody who tries to make you. Are you sure I don’t need to call Lyme? Or knife somebody?”

“It’s not like that,” Claudius said, again too fast. He blamed the fog. But it wasn’t — he’d always said yes, nobody made him. He didn’t know he’d been allowed to say no, that’s all, and now he did. “I just didn’t like it and I don’t think I’m going to do it again.”

Devon and Misha shared a look, and Misha let out a theatrical sigh and rolled her eyes. “Fine,” she said. “I’ll make up the stupid couch. Even though his house is, like, five steps away.”

Claudius held the mug to his chest and carefully slid off the bed. “Are you gonna tell Lyme?”

“What, and break her fragile brain? Nah, we’re fine.” Misha ruffled his hair. “C’mon, sexless nerd, let’s get you some blankets.”

[triniji]

just putting this here from my old account - no need to worry about interacting again! i felt it'd be appropriate to keep this one around, since i want to have general headcanons on my blog before posting anything more specific c: ♥️

from the moment he held that baby in his arms, he knew he'd see her as his daughter, but he felt as though his affections for her were "disrespectful". she was this perfect little bundle of joy, and he was simply a steward who was assigned to look after her; it'd be a disservice to bring his own emotions into his duties. in his eyes, she deserved a better man to call a father, a stronger one. to him, if he truly cared about her happiness, then he wouldn't "drag her down" to his level by expressing familial love. when she started babbling, he never encouraged her to call him "papa" despite wanting to so badly, so it wasn't her first word. it would have been the cruelest of treasons to rob the King - her birth father, her "real" father - of this term of affection.

regardless, his adoration for her slipped through in other ways. it shone through in the way he tucked her hair behind her ear as he put her to bed, the way he gently fussed to her as he cradled her in his arms, even the way he'd beam under that moustache of his every time she giggled. every gaze he directed to her was full of the most undiluted and uncontrollable love. baby peach was receptive to this from the start. it would always be him she asked for, even before she could talk - she would only stop crying if he held her, she would only accept milk if he was the one with the bottle. whenever she woke up from a nightmare, it'd be his room she'd run to, and it was then in his bed she sleepily referred to him as "papa" for the first time, drifting off to sleep and feeling safe as he stroked her tear-streaked cheek with his little thumb. toadsworth doesn't know if she remembers that, but decades later it sticks out to him. in that instance he gave her a kiss goodnight, right on the temple, and it felt like it was okay to do so.

he gets upset about his stature sometimes, especially since she outgrew him very quickly - it *hurt* the first time he couldn't carry her to bed as a toddler. his heart shattered when he had to wake his poor baby up and make her walk to her room herself. when that happened, he doted on her and apologised over and over again. he often thinks about whether she would have preferred to have been raised by a human - of course, that isn't the case in the slightest, but all he ever wants is for her to be happy and he is constantly worrying about whether he's doing an adequate job - he's even critical of the fact that he's a toad, because to him, maybe that isn't good enough for the human princess. she is his reason for living, so anything he can't provide for her is a direct attack on his character.

contrasting his stark worries, she unequivocally sees him as her father, and always has done. the professional boundary between the two does obligate her to consciously refer to him as "toadsworth", but whenever she's tired, extremely emotional or in any sort of position where her walls are down, you can bet that she'll call him "dad" or "papa", because that's how she sees him through and through; vulnerability can bring forth hidden wants and needs, after all. in those situations, he'll be too focused on soothing her worries to want to draw attention to her slip of the tongue - you can be assured that he'll tear up about it in his own time.

[slyvieselkie]

Regret

They say if there's one thing you'd never want to leave behind in this world, it is regret.

Gojo Satoru is known as the strongest man in the world. And unfortunately, that was his weakness. Because despite being hailed as the closest thing to god, this white haired man never felt like it. Because regrets clung onto his withering soul every time he tries to take a step forward.

He thought he could escape another one: you.

The strongest man in the world has no time and no chance for love. Just because you reign the skies, doesn't the people on the land can't fire at you. And Gojo Satoru couldn't have that.

That's why, you became just another person below his feet. From his love, his angel, his flower, his pearl, you transformed into a faceless figure. Just another ant under his feet to walk over and forget.

Satoru still remembers how he could hold you tightly, knowing that you'll never leave him. How he leans all of his weight onto you and clings to you because he knows you'll endure anything he throws at you. How he could give a soft smile and sparkle his eyes, knowing that you understand how much he loves you. How sometimes, he'll take a step back from your side knowing that you'll immediately see that something's wrong with him. Every little small movement of his, was so precious to you.

But unfortunately, the strongest man was too scared. Just because you are strong, doesn't mean you don't have any fears. And Satoru had more fears than strength.

That's why, Gojo left you. Despite embracing all types of bodies day and night, his arms still felt empty, but that's something he'll keep to himself. He began baring the weight of the world by himself, hoping that at some point he'll get used to the ache. Gojo smiled through the fear and pain of losing the people around him, because everyone believes that he'll save them in time. He stood in the middle of the limelight with straight shoulders because that's what the world expected. He changed everything about himself, so that he would never regret again.

"Satoru..."

He froze hearing your mellow voice, worn down from his torture betrayal. Once upon a time, Satoru had promised that if there was anyone in the world he couldn't hurt...it was you. But look at where he was, the center of your pain and distress. That was his fourth last regret.

Satoru couldn't turn around, he couldn't bare to the see the visualization of the treason he had committed on your soul, body, and mind. So he stood there, back facing you, and hoped that you would quickly leave. That was his third last regret.

There was a small sigh, "I've...I've been sent to deal with a curse", the white haired man blinked behind his circular framed glasses, "Hmm, and?", pursing his lips at the cold response.

"Satoru...I hope you don't hurt yourself even more, you shouldn't live with any regrets. Be happy, be sad, be angry, and cry whenever you want."

And with that, you left him. Hoping that he'll one day learn to love someone and live with his fears, know that his strength comes from the strength of others.

That was his second last regret, letting you walk away so easily. Even though he had so many things he wanted to say and do, to kneel before your feet and proclaim his love for you, to apologize and forever grovel to gain your trust back, to receive your gentle love.

So imagine Satoru's anguish when the higher ups announced you had been killed in action. They couldn't even retrieve your body because there was nothing left it. Not a single bit of hair, cloth, or drop of blood for to the poor man who finally decided that he would ask for your forgiveness when you returned to him.

He cried and screamed for days, destroying the world around him. Imagining your last breaths, your last words, your last thoughts. How you died so painfully and so cruelly, that no one could ever speak of it. You who had been so bright, so loving, in a world of evilness, should have deserved a better ending.

You were his last regret. He should've been there for you, at every step of the way, walking into the abandoned church to rid the world of that filth. But he didn't do that, and now this was the consequences of his foolish actions.

All he could do was heed your last words: never live with any regrets. However, your wish wouldn't come true. Because you would be his final love, the last one to take care of his weathered heart. And if there was some god out there, then the strongest man will come face to face with him, and demand that you two meet again in a better world.

But until then, Gojo Satoru will be creating that better world. So just wait for him, he'll be there shortly.

To all of my lovelies who read through that, thank you for doing so! This was quite a roller coaster of emotions for me, I definitely had to stop a few times and collect myself. But it was worth it! I loved the way it turned and I'm super proud of this. Of course, feedback is always welcome!

Love you 💋

[danddymaro]

Soft Hitmen | Risotto Nero x Reader

A bit of a tender moment. 

The reader is effected by a stand that renders her weak. 

Word count: 

Soft Hitmen

You'd been misinformed, terribly so. 

Seldom were the times when you encountered other stand users in your job that weren't colleagues, and in the case where they were your target, you had the intel that warned you.  

- But not this time.

It was bad, but not much worse when you considered the fact that you’d screwed up even after your lecture. 

It had been the three of you, Prosciutto, Risotto, and you out on the field with your eyes aimed at a certain, little hair-brained politician that had gotten too cocky and too much of a liability.

It would have been just you and Prosciutto, but Risotto was forced to oversee given the sloppy nature of your group’s last few operations. 

"And why do you need to babysit us," Prosciutto grunted with a halfhearted glare, insulted by Nero's details of the mission. He'd never needed anyone to watch over him, even as a rookie, and he didn't think you needed anyone either. 

"We didn't screw up," he added. 

At his side you bit your tongue, feeling the same sourness, but not too bothered by the fact that your leader would join you, even from afar.

Risotto noticed the way your lips pursed, and hearing the blonde-haired male's complaint, his teeth grit hard before he took a step closer to you two, the way he looked down at you icy.

" He's had us on a tight leash for the past year..." he started, and you could only imagine the blood in his veins boiling. " And if that isn't bad enough our last two jobs haven't been our best," he reminds you two, an undeniable fact you wince at, much more when his voice has an even shaper edge than usual. 

" If we keep this up, It's only a matter of time before he defiantly gets rid of us," he said lowly. 

"- And What the hell does he expect, huh?" Prosciutto suddenly says, thoroughly peeved. 

"Our cut of the pay is shit compared to everyone else..." He reminds Risotto. " for everything we do..." he added with deep huffs because it was true. You did the dirty work, and you hardly ever got anything back other than a stack of cash that was measily compared to the other guys.

-Not even a thank you was given.

And if that wasn't bad enough there were periods where you weren't needed at all.

"...Besides... we got it done," you pipe up in regard to the sloppy operations, but barely. 

You didn't like arguing too much with your leader. 

You knew it wasn't his fault, but every now and then you couldn't help voicing your own annoyances.

 Risotto suddenly placed a hand on one of your shoulders, the strong grip surprising you enough to make you look up at the man that had his other hand on Proscuitto's opposite shoulder. 

"We'll get our moment," he said simply, which meant so many things, but you could only think of one that would solve your every issue. 

'One day...we'll kill him...and we'll take what we deserve,' 

You hardly spoke of it, too shaken by what would occur if the Boss caught any wind of treason, but you had all silently agreed that it was the only way to breathe free.

-Especially after what he’d done to Sorbet and Gelato.

The gruesome memory still gave you cold shivers.

"But for now...we do our jobs, without failure. Without so much as a hitch," Risotto reminded you. 

You were there because you had talents. 

 Because any fool could kill, but it took a special bunch to do so efficiently, without so much as a change in air that would hint at it being foul play.

You gave Risotto a fierce nod, and slowly, Prosciutto followed too, though with a little curl to his upper lip that displayed existing annoyance.

"Fuck..." you could barely speak, seized by terrible shivers that left you weakened and to your knees.

Proscuitto took hold of you, cradling you close, saving you from impact, and he watched over his shoulder as he saw your target leave with two of his bodyguards, one of which had rendered you to the state you were now.

The nearly vacant street let him catch a clear view, and he contemplated just letting you fall so he could take care of the job before risotto appeared beside you two, agitation evident in his face that you could barely witness through your impairing sight. 

"It's a stand user...maybe two..." Proscuitto stated, having a suspicion the second guy was also one. 

You then pushed him away, standing on unsteady footing as you glared in that direction too. 

"We have to..." you said while taking a step in the direction before you fell to a knee, and as Proscuitto moved to you again, you, used your arm to ward him off, something he huffed at.

Hesitation was not one of his typical traits, but given that you were a woman, he'd always been just a tad bit gentler with you out of pure instinct, something you noticed. 

Granted, eventually down the line he cared about you, but the initial consideration was due to that, and you were thankful for it. 

Otherwise, he'd beat you around just as badly as he did Pesci.

Delirium hit you and your surroundings grew darker and murkier, and with a soft exhale, you stood back up on wobbly legs. 

Shivering, you hugged yourself, backing up into the outstretched arm of your leader as he wordlessly caught you. Seeing your need to stand on your own, he made sure to grip you hard before his body came closer.

You craned your head back to look at the man but found it dreadful as your head felt too heavy and it hung back. 

"Go..." Risotto told Prosciutto, trusting that now that he was aware of the retaliations, he'd finish the job himself.

The ashy-haired man doubted your assignment could go any further south, and he trusted Prosciutto to take care of it.

At that moment you hated yourself, much more with how feeble you felt. 

"Please..." you start, and you find it in you to somehow move your body to face him, your hands daringly reaching out to take hold of his shirt, holding on with the last bit of strength that you could gather. 

"-  stay with me, "  you tell him, breathing hard, batting your eyes at him pathetically. You practically have tears in them, and as he looks down, his own eyes slightly widen at the words.

You don't know why you say that, why the words just drip out of your drying mouth, but they do. 

And perhaps it's because that's why you had wanted to tell him so many times before. 

Like, that one time he'd lead you home after you'd all decided to have a few drinks at some crappy bar.

"I should have..." you incoherently think out loud, having thought of the moment so much, wishing you would have had the guts to invite him in to stay the night.

Meanwhile, Risotto could feel his heart race, thudding strongly in his chest.

 He would have to pick each of your little fingers off of his top to go free, and the idea was unbearable.

And how could he?

the word of denial he wanted to strongly let loose was locked in his chest, unable to escape as he looked at you, finding your weakened state somehow enticing.

He had hardly ever seen you so desperate, and much more with that need directed at him.

You needed him ; an idea he'd never considered.

"Risotto..." The way you said his name had him feeling strange, and he felt his own desperation too, one that had him driven to cocoon you safely within his arms.

"Are you mad at me...?" you could hardly say it without a few tears welling in your eyes. 

Disappointing him always felt like a punch in the gut...it was nearly unbearable.

Without a word he picked you up, easily doing so with his strong build, the question going unanswered as he moved in silence. 

He headed towards the black-tinted car you'd arrived in, easing you down with a gaze that would have left you weak had you caught sight of it. 

Warmth graced the scarlet orbs even as he shook his head in disapproval, leaving you resting on the back seat. 

"Idiot..." he muttered. 

- He should be.

"I am..." he added lowly as he leaned back on his seat, staring up at the car's roof in frustration.

Since when did hitmen become so soft, they stupidly stood as shields for other members, rendering themselves useless? 

As he sat there in wait, he expected that when Prosciutto came back, he thanked you with something other than a half-assed mutter. 

He watched you through the mirror, his gaze softening as he continued to watch your face form subtle expressions in your sleep, most of witch were short grimaces. 

"Idiot..." he said again, his eyes closing while he waited, occasionally checking on you.