#it loops back around to where he is the one assaulting someone else

[crokitheloki]

honestly. One of the better episodes we've had in a while

there was zero mention of it in the show but I feel like we were supposed to be thinking about Olivia's trauma in this episode

Burton obviously for the grooming but I also couldn't help but think about WL too in the sense that olivia ALSO got her revenge on him by beating him up

[pucksandpower]

Royal Pardon

Charles Leclerc x Arthur’s best friend!Reader

Summary: Charles isn’t a violent man at heart, but when he saves you from being harassed while celebrating his Monaco win, he quickly realizes that there’s not a single line he wouldn’t cross if it means keeping you safe

Warnings: attempted sexual assault, violence, and injury

Note: a break from your regularly scheduled October programming because Charles just won the United States GP and that calls for a celebration

The music pulses through the club, a steady, hypnotic beat that thrums in Charles’ chest. He’s never felt like this — untouchable, invincible — as if tonight could stretch on forever, an endless loop of victory and laughter.

He’s just won Monaco.

Monaco. His Monaco.

The thought alone makes him smile, a small, private thing that he hides behind the rim of his champagne flute.

Around him, the crowd swirls in a blur of lights and shadows, everyone shouting their congratulations over the music, pulling him into hugs and clapping him on the back. Arthur is here somewhere, of course, dragging you along because where else would you be? The two of you are like shadows, inseparable since childhood.

Charles can still see you, just barely, out of the corner of his eye, chatting with a couple of Arthur’s friends near the bar. You’re laughing, a sound that somehow cuts through the noise and settles in the back of his mind. It’s a good sound, one that feels familiar, like home.

“Charles, mate!” A voice shouts, pulling him back. Max is there, leaning in with a grin that’s all teeth, like he’s just as buzzed on adrenaline as Charles is. “I swear, you’re going to be insufferable after this. Monaco, finally!”

Charles laughs, shaking his head, though the truth is he probably will be insufferable. But can anyone blame him? He’s worked so damn hard for this, pushing through every setback, every disappointment. And now, here he is, celebrating the win of his career in the only place that really matters.

He’s about to respond when someone else pulls him into a hug, a flurry of excitement and congratulations that Charles barely processes. He doesn’t mind, though. Tonight, it feels like nothing can touch him, like nothing could ever bring him down from this high.

But then, something shifts. It’s subtle at first, just an itch at the back of his mind, a sense that something isn’t right. He glances over to where you and Arthur were standing, but Arthur is gone, nowhere to be seen. And you … you’re not laughing anymore.

Charles’ stomach twists. You’re cornered against the bar now, a man leaning in too close, too aggressive. Charles can’t see your face clearly through the throng of people, but the way you’re holding yourself, tense and small, tells him everything he needs to know.

His blood turns to ice, freezing the euphoria in his veins. He can’t hear what the man is saying, but it doesn’t matter. The way the man’s hand snakes around your waist, the way you try to push him off with trembling hands — Charles’ vision goes red.

He’s moving before he can think, pushing through the crowd with a single-minded focus. The people congratulating him moments ago scatter as he brushes past them, their laughter and cheers fading into the background noise.

“Hey!” Charles’ voice cuts through the music, sharp and commanding. The man doesn’t even turn at first, but you do, your eyes wide and glistening with unshed tears. Charles feels something break inside him at the sight, but he channels it into a fury that propels him forward.

When the man finally notices Charles, it’s too late. Charles is on him, grabbing the man’s shoulder and yanking him away from you with a force that sends the man stumbling backward. “Get the fuck away from her,” Charles snarls, every syllable dripping with venom.

The man barely has time to react before Charles slams him against the wall, the impact rattling the bottles on the shelves behind the bar. Charles’ forearm presses against the man’s throat, cutting off whatever protest he might have had.

“Charles, stop!” You gasp, your voice choked with a mix of fear and something else, something that twists the knife already lodged in Charles’ chest. He doesn’t stop, though. Can’t stop. The image of the man’s hands on you is burned into his mind, and all he can think about is making him pay, making him hurt.

The man struggles, clawing at Charles’ arm, but it’s useless. Charles is stronger, fueled by a rage that’s been simmering just beneath the surface for too long. The man’s face turns red, then purple, and still, Charles doesn’t let up. His grip tightens, and he leans in closer, his voice a low, dangerous whisper.

“If you ever so much as look at her again, I’ll fucking kill you.”

The words hang in the air, heavy and deadly serious. The man’s eyes widen, a flash of genuine fear crossing his face, but Charles doesn’t care. He wants him to be scared. Wants him to know that there’s no escaping this, no escaping the consequences of what he’s done.

“Charles, please!” Your voice breaks through the haze of anger, and it’s only then that Charles realizes how close you’ve gotten. You’re right there, your hand on his arm, tugging gently, desperately trying to pull him away.

He looks at you then, really looks at you, and sees the tears streaming down your face, the fear etched into your features. It’s like a bucket of cold water dumped over his head, shocking him back to reality. The club, the music, the people — all of it comes rushing back in a disorienting wave.

Charles blinks, his grip on the man loosening just enough for the man to gasp for air. He’s still furious, the anger simmering beneath the surface, but he’s no longer blind with it. He takes a breath, then another, trying to regain some semblance of control.

“You’re lucky she’s here,” Charles says quietly, his voice barely more than a growl. He shoves the man away from him, watching with cold satisfaction as he stumbles and nearly falls to the floor.

The man doesn’t stick around. He scrambles to his feet and disappears into the crowd, no doubt eager to get as far away from Charles as possible. Good. Charles hopes he never sees the man again, because he’s not sure he’ll be able to stop himself if he does.

For a moment, Charles just stands there, his chest heaving with the effort of reining in his emotions. The crowd has started to notice the commotion, a few curious onlookers craning their necks to see what’s going on. But none of that matters. None of them matter.

All that matters is you.

Charles turns to you, his expression softening as he takes in your tear-streaked face. “Are you okay?” His voice is gentler now, full of concern that wasn’t there a moment ago.

You nod, but it’s a shaky, uncertain thing. “I-I’m fine,” you manage, though it’s clear you’re anything but. You look like you’re about to collapse, your legs barely holding you up.

Without thinking, Charles steps closer and wraps his arms around you, pulling you into his chest. You don’t resist, you just sink into him, your fingers clutching at the fabric of his shirt as if he’s the only thing keeping you upright. And maybe he is.

“It’s okay,” Charles murmurs, his voice low and soothing. “You’re safe now. I’m here.” He holds you tighter, as if he can shield you from the world, from everything that just happened. And for a moment, it feels like he can. Like nothing bad can touch you as long as you’re in his arms.

You don’t say anything, just press your face into his chest, your breath hitching with the remnants of your tears. Charles presses his lips to the top of your head, a gesture that feels both instinctive and impossibly intimate. He’s never held you like this before, never been this close, but it feels right.

The music still pounds in the background, the lights still flash in a dizzying array of colors, but it’s all distant now, muted. The only thing that matters is you, and making sure you’re okay.

Charles pulls back just enough to look down at you, his hands resting on your shoulders. “Where’s Arthur?” He asks, his voice still soft but edged with a protective concern.

“I-I don’t know,” you admit, your voice small. “He was here a minute ago, and then …” Your words trail off, and Charles doesn’t need you to finish the sentence to know what happened next.

He clenches his jaw, trying to keep his anger in check. Arthur should have been here, should have been looking out for you, but he isn’t. Charles isn’t sure where his brother is right now, but he’ll deal with that later. For now, he needs to focus on you.

“It’s okay,” he says again, though the words feel inadequate. “You’re with me now. No one’s going to hurt you.”

You nod again, but this time it’s a little steadier, a little more certain. “Thank you,” you whisper, the words barely audible over the music.

Charles shakes his head. “You don’t need to thank me,” he says, his voice rougher than he intends. “I’ll always protect you. Always.”

The weight of those words hangs between you, a promise that feels more real than anything else in this moment. Charles knows, without a doubt, that he means it. He’ll protect you, no matter what. Even if it means facing down every threat, every danger, with the same ferocity he showed tonight.

He takes a deep breath, trying to let go of the lingering anger. The night isn’t over yet, but he’s not sure how much longer he can stand to be here, in this place that suddenly feels too crowded, too loud, too full of people who didn’t notice, didn’t care. Charles’ grip tightens on your shoulders as he scans the room, trying to spot Arthur in the sea of faces. But it’s a lost cause — the club is packed, and he knows Arthur could be anywhere.

“Come on,” Charles says, his voice a bit steadier now. “Let’s get out of here.”

You don’t argue, just nod and let him guide you through the crowd. The bodies pressing in around you both feel suffocating, the music that once electrified the night now grating on Charles’ nerves. He keeps a firm hold on your hand, as if letting go might mean losing you to the chaos.

As you near the exit, the cool night air becomes a welcome relief, a sharp contrast to the oppressive heat inside. The streets of Monaco are quieter now, the party shifting indoors as the night grows late. Charles doesn’t stop moving until you’re both far enough from the club that the noise fades into a dull hum, barely audible over the sound of the waves crashing against the rocks.

He finally releases your hand, only to immediately wrap his arm around your shoulders, pulling you close. You’re shivering, whether from the cold or the shock, Charles isn’t sure. Either way, he holds you tighter, wishing he could do more, say more.

But the words don’t come easily. They never have. So instead, he just walks with you, slowly, allowing the night air to calm the both of you. You lean into him, and he can feel the tension gradually leaving your body, though you still seem a little too fragile, too breakable.

Charles isn’t sure how long you walk like that, side by side in the near silence, before you finally speak.

“Charles, I …” Your voice is hesitant, unsure. “I don’t know what I would’ve done if you hadn’t been there.”

He stops walking, turning to face you, his expression serious. “You don’t have to think about that,” he says, his voice firm. “I was there. And I always will be.”

You look up at him, your eyes searching his face for something — reassurance, perhaps, or maybe just understanding. “But what if next time-”

“There won’t be a next time.” Charles cuts you off, his voice harder than he intends. He takes a breath, softening his tone. “I won’t let there be a next time.”

He can see the worry still etched on your face, the remnants of fear that haven’t quite faded. He wishes he could take it all away, erase the memory of that man and the way he made you feel. But he knows he can’t. All he can do is be there, to protect you, to make sure you know that you’re not alone.

“You’re safe,” he repeats, quieter now, but with no less conviction. “As long as I’m here, you’re safe.”

You hold his gaze for a long moment, and he wonders what you’re thinking, what’s going on behind those eyes that have always been so easy for him to read. Eventually, you nod, and some of the tension in your posture seems to melt away.

“Okay,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. “Okay.”

Charles nods too, though a part of him still feels on edge, like the danger hasn’t completely passed. But he pushes that feeling down, focusing instead on you, on the fact that you’re here with him, and that’s all that matters right now.

“Let’s go,” he says again, but this time, his voice is softer, more gentle. He takes your hand again, lacing his fingers with yours, and starts walking, leading you away from the club, from the noise and the memories that he hopes you’ll never have to revisit.

As you walk, the tension between you both begins to ease. The night air is crisp, carrying the scent of the sea, and for the first time in what feels like hours, Charles allows himself to breathe.

He glances over at you, your profile illuminated by the soft glow of the streetlights. You look calmer now, more like yourself, though there’s still a shadow of what happened lingering in your eyes. Charles’ heart aches at the sight, at the knowledge that he couldn’t protect you from that, even if he was there to stop it from getting worse.

But he doesn’t say any of that. Instead, he just keeps walking, his thumb brushing absentmindedly over your knuckles, a silent reassurance that he’s here, and he’s not going anywhere.

Eventually, you reach the familiar streets that lead back to your apartment. The night is quiet now, the revelry of earlier giving way to the peaceful stillness of a city that’s finally starting to sleep.

When you reach your building, you both stop, lingering on the sidewalk as if neither of you wants the night to end just yet. Charles knows he should say something, anything, but the words are stuck in his throat, too heavy and too complicated to untangle.

You’re the one who breaks the silence, your voice soft but clear. “Thank you. For everything.”

He shakes his head. “You don’t need to thank me,” he says, echoing his earlier words. “I meant what I said — I’ll always protect you.”

There’s a pause, a beat of silence that stretches on just long enough to make Charles wonder if you’re going to say something more. But you don’t. Instead, you step closer and, without warning, wrap your arms around him in a tight hug.

Charles is momentarily stunned, his breath catching in his throat as he processes the warmth of your embrace, the way you cling to him like he’s your anchor in a storm. He hesitates for only a second before his arms come up around you, holding you just as tightly, if not more.

The hug lasts longer than it probably should, but neither of you seems to want to let go. When you finally do, you pull back just enough to look up at him, your eyes searching his with a softness that makes his chest tighten.

“Goodnight, Charlie,” you say, your voice barely more than a whisper.

“Goodnight,” he replies, his voice equally soft, as if speaking any louder would shatter the fragile moment between you.

You give him one last, lingering look before turning and heading into your building, the door closing softly behind you. Charles stands there for a moment, staring at the door, as if willing it to open again, as if hoping you might come back out and say something more.

But you don’t, and eventually, Charles turns and starts walking back the way you came, his thoughts a tangled mess of emotions he’s not sure how to deal with.

The night is still, the only sound the distant crash of the waves against the rocks. Charles lets the quiet seep into him, trying to find some semblance of calm, but it’s difficult. The image of you, scared and vulnerable, keeps flashing through his mind, a constant reminder of how close you came to being hurt.

He knows he should feel relief — that you’re safe, that the night ended without further incident. But instead, all he feels is a gnawing sense of guilt, of not having been there sooner, of not being able to protect you from everything.

Charles clenches his fists, his nails digging into his palms as he walks. He doesn’t want to think about what could have happened if he hadn’t been there, doesn’t want to imagine the fear and pain you might have endured.

But he can’t stop the thoughts from coming, can’t shake the anger that simmers just beneath the surface, threatening to boil over at any moment.

As he rounds the corner to his own street, Charles makes a silent vow to himself. He’ll be more vigilant, more careful. He won’t let anyone hurt you ever again. He’ll be there, always, to protect you, no matter what.

And if anyone tries to come between you and your safety again, well … Charles isn’t sure he’ll be able to hold back next time.

He reaches his apartment, but he doesn’t go inside right away. Instead, he stands outside, staring up at the stars barely visible above the city lights, his mind still racing with thoughts of you.

Eventually, he takes a deep breath and turns to unlock his door, stepping inside and letting the door close behind him with a quiet click. The apartment is dark and silent, but it doesn’t feel like home tonight. It feels empty, hollow, as if something is missing.

And Charles knows exactly what that something is.

As he heads to bed, his thoughts are still on you — on the way you looked at him tonight, on the way you clung to him like he was the only thing keeping you grounded. And somewhere, deep down, Charles knows that you’re more than just Arthur’s best friend to him.

But he’s not ready to confront that just yet. Not tonight.

So he pushes the thoughts aside, focusing instead on the promise he made to himself: to always be there for you, to protect you, no matter what.

It’s a promise he intends to keep.

***

The morning sun stretches over Monaco, its golden rays catching on the waves that lap against the harbor. The city is just beginning to stir, and for a moment, everything feels like it should: calm, peaceful, normal. But as Charles hits his stride on his morning run, his mind is anything but calm.

The events of last night replay in his head on a loop, the image of you — shaken, scared, fighting back tears — burned into his memory. Every step he takes feels heavier, weighted down by the anger simmering just beneath the surface.

He’s tried to push it down, to focus on the steady rhythm of his breathing, the sound of his shoes hitting the pavement, but it’s no use. The rage is still there, as fresh and raw as it was the moment he saw you in that club.

Charles turns a corner, heading down toward the harbor where the yachts bob gently in the water. The morning air is crisp, a stark contrast to the heat that still lingers in his chest. He needs to clear his head, to shake off the lingering sense of helplessness that clings to him like a shadow.

But then he sees him.

The man is walking casually along the harbor, hands in his pockets, his face a picture of smug indifference. He looks like any other tourist enjoying a morning stroll, not like someone who was grabbing you, hurting you, just hours ago.

Charles stops dead in his tracks, his breath catching in his throat. For a split second, he thinks he’s imagining it, that his mind is playing tricks on him. But no, it’s him. The same face, the same sneer that Charles wanted to wipe off with his fist last night.

Something snaps inside Charles. The anger he’s been trying to control, trying to bury, erupts like a dam breaking, flooding his veins with adrenaline. His vision narrows, locking onto the man who dared to touch you, who thought he could get away with it.

Without thinking, Charles changes direction, his strides long and purposeful as he closes the distance between them. The man doesn’t notice him at first, too absorbed in whatever thoughts a man like him could have. But then, as Charles gets closer, something makes the man glance over his shoulder.

His reaction is immediate. The smug look falters, replaced by a flicker of recognition, then quickly by a lazy grin that only fuels Charles’ rage.

“Well, well,” the man drawls, stopping to face Charles, clearly not sensing the danger. “If it isn’t the big hero himself. What’s the matter, Leclerc? Didn’t get enough attention last night?”

Charles doesn’t answer, his jaw clenched so tightly he can feel his teeth grind together. He’s close enough now to smell the lingering stench of alcohol on the man’s breath, the same breath that spewed vile words at you.

The man chuckles, a sound that grates on Charles’ nerves like nails on a chalkboard. “You know, she had it coming,” he says, his tone almost conversational. “The way she was dressed, the way she looked at me — what did she expect?”

That’s all it takes. The words cut through Charles like a knife, sharp and searing, and before he knows what he’s doing, he’s grabbed the man by the front of his shirt, shoving him back against the railing of the harbor.

“What did you say?” Charles’ voice is low, dangerous, barely more than a growl. His knuckles are white where they grip the man’s shirt, every muscle in his body coiled like a spring ready to snap.

The man’s grin only widens, unfazed by the fury in Charles’ eyes. “You heard me,” he sneers. “And you know what? There’s nothing you can do about it. We’re in public, Leclerc. You’re a famous guy — can’t have your precious image tarnished, can you?”

Charles’ lips curl into a smile, but it’s not the kind that reaches his eyes. It’s cold, calculated, the kind of smile that sends a chill down the spine. “You think I care about that?” He asks, his voice dangerously calm.

The man’s bravado falters just a bit, uncertainty flickering in his eyes, but he doesn’t back down. “Yeah, I do. You’re not gonna do anything. Not here, not in front of all these people.”

Charles laughs, but there’s no humor in it, just a bitter edge that makes the man shift uncomfortably. “You really don’t get it, do you?” Charles says, his voice softening into something almost pitying. “This is Monaco. And I’m Charles Leclerc.”

The man’s face pales slightly, but he still tries to hold his ground. “So what? You think being a driver gives you a free pass to do whatever you want?”

Charles’ smile widens, though there’s nothing friendly about it. “Exactly.”

Before the man can react, Charles yanks him away from the railing, dragging him along the harbor. The man stumbles, trying to pull away, but Charles’ grip is ironclad, unyielding. The few people who are out this early watch with interest, some even clapping or calling out congratulations as they recognize Charles.

“Hey, what the hell?” The man protests, his voice rising in panic as he struggles against Charles’ hold. “Let go of me!”

Charles doesn’t respond, his eyes focused straight ahead as he forces the man to walk, his grip tightening whenever he feels him start to resist. The man’s attempts to free himself are pathetic, laughable even, compared to the strength Charles has built up over years of training, of pushing his body to the limits.

As they pass by a group of people, one of them cheers, “That’s the way, Charles! Show him who’s boss!”

The man tries to appeal to the onlookers, his voice frantic. “Someone stop him! He’s crazy!”

But no one moves to help. They just watch, some amused, others indifferent, as Charles continues to drag the man through the streets of Monaco like he’s nothing more than a piece of trash that needs to be disposed of.

“Where are you taking me?” The man demands, his voice trembling now as fear starts to seep in. “You can’t do this! I’ll-I’ll call the police!”

Charles’ laugh is cold and devoid of any warmth. “Go ahead,” he says, not slowing down for a second. “Tell them Charles Leclerc is dealing with a problem. See how far that gets you.”

The man’s protests grow weaker, his struggles more desperate, but it’s clear he knows there’s no escaping this. Charles is too strong, too determined, and the reality of his situation is starting to sink in.

The two of them reach a more secluded part of the harbor, where the buildings are fewer and the noise of the city fades into the background. There’s no one around to witness what’s about to happen, no one to hear the man’s cries for help.

Charles comes to a stop in a narrow alleyway, shoving the man against the wall with enough force to knock the breath out of him. He leans in close, his face inches from the man’s, his voice a low, dangerous whisper.

“You made a mistake last night,” Charles says, his tone icy. “You thought you could get away with it because you were in a crowded club, because she was alone. You thought no one would stop you.”

The man’s eyes are wide with fear now, all traces of his earlier arrogance gone. “I-I didn’t mean-”

“But you did,” Charles cuts him off, his voice like steel. “You meant every word, every touch, every threat. And now, you’re going to pay for it.”

The man tries to push Charles away, his movements frantic, but Charles is relentless. He grabs the man by the throat, pinning him against the wall, his grip just tight enough to make him understand how serious this is.

“You think I can’t do anything to you because we’re in public?” Charles hisses, his breath hot against the man’s ear. “You’re wrong. In Monaco, I can do whatever I want. And no one will stop me.”

The man’s hands claw at Charles’ arm, trying to pry his fingers away from his throat, but it’s useless. Charles is too strong, too focused, his anger giving him a surge of power that the man can’t hope to match.

Charles leans in closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. “You hurt someone I care about. Someone I’ve known my whole life. And for that, I’m going to make sure you never forget what happens when you cross me.”

The man’s breath comes in short, panicked gasps as he realizes the gravity of his situation. He tries to speak, to beg for mercy, but Charles isn’t interested in hearing his excuses.

“Please …” the man finally manages to choke out, his voice barely a whisper. “I-I’m sorry …”

Charles’ eyes narrow, his grip tightening for a moment before he abruptly lets go, letting the man collapse to the ground in a heap. The man gasps for air, his hands trembling as he scrambles to his feet, his eyes wide with fear.

But Charles isn’t done. He grabs the man by the collar, dragging him deeper into the alley, where the shadows swallow them both. The man’s struggles are weak now, more out of instinct than any real hope of escape.

“People like you,” Charles says, his voice low and menacing, “think you can do whatever you want. But here’s the truth: you’re nothing. Just another coward who preys on the vulnerable. And cowards like you don’t get to walk away.”

The alley is cold and dark, the early morning light barely reaching the grimy corners where Charles drags the man like a lifeless doll. The sounds of Monaco are distant now, just a low hum that fades into the background. The only noise that matters is the ragged breathing of the man at Charles’ mercy, and the echo of their footsteps on the uneven pavement.

Charles stops abruptly, his grip still tight on the man’s collar. He looks around, taking in the silence, the isolation. This place, this forgotten corner of the city, is perfect. No one will find them here. No one will hear what happens next.

He shoves the man against the wall again, harder this time, the force of it knocking the breath out of him. The man lets out a choked gasp, his eyes wide with fear, the bravado from earlier completely gone.

“Please,” he stammers, his voice trembling. “I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t mean-”

Charles cuts him off with a sharp punch to the gut, and the man doubles over, wheezing. “Don’t bother,” Charles says coldly. “You’re not sorry. You’re just scared. There’s a difference.”

The man tries to straighten up, but Charles doesn’t give him the chance. He lands another punch, this time to the man’s jaw, the crack of bone echoing in the alley. The man’s head snaps to the side, blood already beginning to trickle from his split lip.

“You like hurting people, don’t you?” Charles asks, his voice calm, almost conversational as he paces in front of the man. “That’s what you were doing last night, right? You saw her and you thought you could do whatever you wanted.”

The man groans, trying to push himself up from the ground where he’s fallen, but Charles is on him in an instant, his knee pressing into the man’s chest, pinning him down.

“You thought she was alone,” Charles continues, his voice still eerily calm as he looks down at the man struggling beneath him. “You thought no one would stop you.”

He leans in closer, his knee digging into the man’s ribs, making it harder for him to breathe. “But she wasn’t alone. And now, you’re going to pay for what you did.”

The man tries to shake his head, his breath coming in short, panicked bursts. “I’m sorry,” he gasps out, his voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t know-”

Another punch, this one to the side of the man’s face, silences him. Charles doesn’t care about his excuses, his lies. All he cares about is making sure this man understands the pain, the fear that you felt last night.

He grabs the man by the hair, forcing his head up so their eyes meet. The man’s face is already swelling, bruises blossoming under his skin like dark flowers. “You think this is bad?” Charles asks, his voice low, dangerous. “This is nothing compared to what you deserve.”

The man whimpers, his hands weakly trying to push Charles away, but it’s no use. Charles is relentless, his grip like iron as he drags the man up and slams him back against the wall.

“You like to take what you want, don’t you?” Charles says, his breath hot against the man’s ear. “Well, let’s see how you like it when someone takes something from you.”

Without waiting for a response, Charles delivers a brutal kick to the man’s knee, and the sickening sound of bone cracking echoes in the alley. The man screams, a high, desperate sound that only fuels Charles’ anger.

He watches dispassionately as the man crumples to the ground, clutching his leg, his face contorted in agony. “Hurts, doesn’t it?” Charles asks, his voice devoid of any sympathy. “Now imagine how she felt. Imagine how scared she was, how helpless.”

The man tries to crawl away, his movements sluggish, hindered by the pain, but Charles isn’t done. He grabs the man by the ankle, dragging him back, his face set in grim determination.

“You’re not going anywhere,” Charles says, his voice flat, emotionless. “Not until I’m finished.”

He pulls the man up, slamming him into the wall again, his grip never loosening. The man’s head lolls to the side, blood dripping from his nose, his mouth, but Charles doesn’t care. He won’t stop until the man feels every bit of the fear and pain he inflicted on you.

“You think you can just walk away from this?” Charles asks, his voice soft, almost a whisper, but there’s a dangerous edge to it that makes the man’s eyes widen in fear. “You think you can just go back to your life, like nothing happened?”

The man shakes his head weakly, but Charles doesn’t believe him. He knows men like this, cowards who prey on the vulnerable, who think they’re invincible because they’ve never had to face the consequences of their actions.

“Wrong,” Charles says, his voice hard, unyielding. “You’re not walking away from this. Not ever.”

He lands another punch, this one to the man’s ribs, and the man gasps, the air knocked out of him. Charles steps back for a moment, watching as the man collapses to the ground, coughing, wheezing, barely conscious.

“Look at you,” Charles says, his voice filled with contempt as he circles the man like a predator. “Pathetic. All that confidence, all that arrogance — gone. Now you’re just a scared little boy, begging for mercy.”

The man’s eyes flutter open, bloodshot and filled with pain. He tries to speak, but all that comes out is a low, pitiful moan. Charles crouches down beside him, his eyes cold, calculating.

“Did you really think you could get away with it?” Charles asks, his voice soft, almost gentle, but there’s a cruel undertone that makes the man flinch. “Did you think no one would care? That no one would come for you?”

The man doesn’t answer, his body trembling, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps. Charles watches him for a moment, his anger still simmering, but there’s a part of him — a small part — that feels a twisted sense of satisfaction. This man, this coward, is finally paying for what he did.

But it’s not enough. Not yet.

Charles reaches down, grabbing the man by the throat, his fingers digging into the bruised flesh. The man’s eyes go wide, panic setting in as he struggles to breathe, his hands weakly clawing at Charles’ arm.

“You’re not going to forget this,” Charles says, his voice low, dangerous. “Every time you look in the mirror, every time you see those scars, you’re going to remember what happens when you cross me. When you hurt someone I care about.”

The man gurgles, his eyes rolling back in his head, his body going limp in Charles’ grasp. For a moment, Charles considers finishing it, squeezing the life out of the man until there’s nothing left. But then he releases his grip, letting the man collapse to the ground, gasping for air.

The man barely has the strength to lift his head, his eyes filled with a mixture of fear and desperation. “You … you can’t … do this,” he wheezes, his voice weak, barely audible. “I’ll … have you arrested … for attempted murder …”

Charles stares down at him, a cold, humorless smile tugging at the corners of his lips. He chuckles, a low, dark sound that sends a shiver down the man’s spine. “Go ahead,” he says, his voice dripping with contempt. “Try it. See how far you get.”

The man’s eyes flutter closed, his body trembling uncontrollably as the reality of his situation sets in. He’s helpless, broken, barely clinging to consciousness. And Charles knows that the man’s threats are empty, born out of desperation, a final attempt to grasp at some semblance of control.

“You’re nothing,” Charles says, his voice cold, final. “No one is going to believe you. Not after what you did. Not after what I’ve done to you.”

The man’s breath comes in short, shallow gasps, his body shuddering with pain and exhaustion. Charles watches him for a moment longer, his expression unreadable, before he finally stands up, looking down at the broken, bloodied man at his feet.

“Consider this a warning,” Charles says, his voice low, menacing. “Stay away from her. Stay away from Monaco. If I ever see you again, I won’t stop next time. I won’t show mercy.”

The man doesn’t respond, barely clinging to consciousness, his body slumped against the wall like a discarded puppet. Charles takes one last look at him, his eyes cold, before he turns and walks away, his footsteps echoing in the silent alley.

As he steps out into the morning light, the anger that had consumed him begins to fade, replaced by a cold, detached calm. He knows what he’s done, knows that he’s crossed a line that most people wouldn’t dare to. But he doesn’t care. He did what he had to do, what you needed him to do.

And he’d do it again in a heartbeat.

***

The atmosphere in the police station is tense, a quiet hum of activity threading through the open space. Officers move about, their conversations muted, eyes occasionally flicking toward the door where Charles Leclerc is expected to enter any moment. There’s a palpable discomfort in the air, a mix of respect and unease. No one wants to be the one to arrest Charles Leclerc. And yet, protocol demands his presence.

When Charles finally walks in, the room seems to still. Heads turn, eyes widen slightly. He’s dressed casually — sweatpants, a loose-fitting t-shirt, and a pair of sneakers. Despite the nonchalance of his appearance, there’s an unmistakable tension in his shoulders, a hardness in his eyes that wasn’t there before.

The desk sergeant, a middle-aged man with graying hair and a lined face, stands up hastily. “Monsieur Leclerc,” he begins, his tone overly formal, almost reverent. “Thank you for coming in on such short notice. We’re, uh … we’re very sorry about this.”

Charles offers a curt nod, his expression unreadable. “What’s this about?” He asks, even though he already knows.

The sergeant hesitates, glancing around nervously. “We, uh, received a complaint this morning,” he explains, his voice wavering slightly. “From a … an individual who claims that you assaulted him.”

Charles’ lips twitch into something resembling a smile, though there’s no warmth in it. “He’s not wrong,” he says, his voice low, almost a growl. “I did.”

The sergeant’s eyes widen slightly, and there’s a nervous shifting among the other officers in the room. This isn’t how these things usually go. “Monsieur Leclerc,” the sergeant begins again, more carefully this time, “we understand that this man may have … done something to provoke you. But we have to follow protocol. We need to ask you some questions.”

Charles crosses his arms over his chest, leaning back slightly as he regards the sergeant with a cold, detached stare. “Protocol,” he repeats, his voice dripping with disdain. “Fine. Ask your questions.”

The sergeant shifts uncomfortably, clearing his throat. “Did you, uh, did you physically assault the complainant?” He asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Yes.”

There’s a collective intake of breath from the officers around them, as if they can’t quite believe what they’re hearing. The sergeant blinks, clearly taken aback by Charles’ bluntness. “And … do you regret it?”

Charles laughs then, a dark, humorless sound that sends a shiver down the spines of everyone in the room. “Regret?” He echoes, shaking his head. “No, I don’t regret it. In fact, I’d do it again.”

The sergeant’s face pales, and he looks around as if searching for some way out of this conversation. “Monsieur Leclerc,” he begins again, his voice trembling slightly, “I don’t think you understand the situation. You’ve just admitted to a serious crime. We … we can’t just let you go.”

Charles’ expression hardens, his jaw clenching. “Yes, you can,” he says, his voice cold, unyielding. “And you will.”

The sergeant opens his mouth to protest, but before he can get a word out, the door to the station bursts open, and the man from the alley stumbles in. His face is still bruised, his movements stiff and pained. But there’s a look of triumph in his eyes as he spots Charles standing there.

“There he is!” The man shouts, pointing a shaky finger at Charles. “That’s him! That’s the bastard who tried to kill me!”

Charles turns slowly to face the man, his expression unreadable. There’s a moment of silence, the air thick with tension. The man, emboldened by the presence of the police, takes a step closer, his voice rising with every word. “You think you can just walk away from this, Leclerc? You think you’re untouchable? I’m going to see you rot in prison for what you did!”

Charles doesn’t respond immediately. Instead, he reaches into his pocket, pulling out his phone. The man falters slightly, confused by the lack of reaction. Charles taps the screen a few times, then puts it on speaker.

“What are you doing?” The man sneers, though there’s a hint of uncertainty in his voice. “Calling your lawyer? That’s not going to save you.”

Charles doesn’t bother to reply. The phone rings once, twice, before a familiar voice answers on the other end.

“Charles,” comes the smooth, authoritative voice of Prince Albert of Monaco. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Charles doesn’t take his eyes off the man as he responds. “Your Highness, I’m at the police station. There’s a man here trying to press charges against me for something I did last night.”

There’s a brief pause on the other end of the line, and then Prince Albert’s voice, calm and steady, fills the room through the speakerphone. “I see. And what exactly did you do, Charles?”

Charles’ eyes narrow as he stares down the man, who is now looking increasingly nervous. “I made sure he understands that there are consequences for hurting people I care about,” Charles says, his voice low, menacing. “I made sure he knows that no one lays a hand on her without answering to me.”

The silence in the station is deafening. Every officer in the room is holding their breath, waiting to see what happens next. The man’s face drains of color as he realizes what’s happening, who Charles is talking to.

Prince Albert’s voice is measured, careful. “And you believe this was necessary?”

“Yes,” Charles replies without hesitation. “It was necessary.”

There’s another pause, and then Prince Albert speaks again, his tone decisive. “Then I trust your judgment. You did what you had to do. Consider this a royal pardon. I’ll have an official document delivered to the station within the hour.”

The man’s mouth falls open in shock, his eyes wide with disbelief. “You … you can’t do this!” He sputters, his voice rising in desperation. “He assaulted me! He nearly killed me!”

Charles finally lowers the phone, ending the call. He slips it back into his pocket, his expression as cold and unyielding as ever. “You heard him,” Charles says quietly, his eyes locked on the man’s. “You’re done here.”

The man looks around wildly, as if searching for someone to back him up, but all he finds are the wary, sympathetic gazes of the officers. No one is going to help him. No one is going to defy Prince Albert.

The desk sergeant clears his throat, stepping forward. “Monsieur Leclerc,” he says, his voice carefully controlled, “it appears that you’re free to go.”

Charles doesn’t smile. He simply nods, his gaze never leaving the man who stands trembling before him. “Good,” he says softly. “Because I have more important things to do than waste my time here.”

The man opens his mouth to protest again, but the words die on his lips as Charles steps forward, his presence overwhelming, almost suffocating. “You should leave Monaco,” Charles says, his voice low and dangerous. “Before I change my mind about letting you live.”

The man stumbles back, his bravado crumbling as fear takes hold. He casts one last desperate glance at the officers, but they all turn away, unwilling to meet his eyes. He’s alone in this, and he knows it.

With a final, defeated whimper, the man turns and flees from the station, his steps hurried, unsteady. Charles watches him go, his expression unreadable, his heart pounding with a mixture of adrenaline and satisfaction.

The desk sergeant shifts awkwardly, unsure of what to say. “Uh, I … we’re sorry for the inconvenience,” he stammers. “It’s just … we had to follow procedure …”

Charles waves a hand dismissively, already heading for the door. “It’s fine,” he says, though there’s a hardness in his voice that suggests otherwise. “Just make sure this doesn’t happen again.”

The sergeant nods quickly, grateful for the reprieve. “Of course, Monsieur Leclerc. It won’t happen again.”

Charles doesn’t respond. He steps out into the sunlight, the tension slowly draining from his body as the warmth of the day washes over him. The streets of Monaco are as busy as ever, people going about their lives, oblivious to what just transpired inside the police station.

He takes a deep breath, letting the air fill his lungs, grounding himself. The day is far from over, and there are still things he needs to do, but for now, the threat has been neutralized. The man who hurt you is gone, and Charles made sure he’ll never come back.

As he walks away from the station, Charles can’t help but think of you, your face, your voice, the way you smiled at him when you were just a little girl. He knows he’s crossed a line today, done things that most people wouldn’t understand, wouldn’t condone. But he doesn’t care. He did it for you.

And he’d do it all over again if he had to.

***

Charles stands outside your apartment, a paper bag of takeout in one hand, his other raised to knock on the door. He hesitates for a moment, nerves he didn’t expect twisting in his stomach. It’s strange, feeling nervous about seeing you. He’s known you for years — watched you grow up, shared countless family dinners with you, laughed at your jokes, teased you about your school crushes.

But this … this feels different. Everything feels different now.

He finally knocks, a light tap that he knows you’ll hear. A few seconds pass, and then the door swings open, revealing you standing there in a casual outfit, your hair pulled back, a soft smile on your face.

“Charles,” you greet him, your voice warm, familiar. “Come in.”

He steps inside, glancing around the cozy space. It’s a small apartment, but it’s yours, filled with little touches that scream your personality — bookshelves overflowing with novels, a blanket draped over the back of the couch, a half-finished puzzle on the coffee table. It’s homey, comfortable, and it smells like the vanilla candle you always seem to have burning.

“I brought lunch,” Charles says, holding up the bag. “Figured you might be hungry.”

You smile, your eyes brightening at the sight of the food. “You know me too well. What did you get?”

“Your favorite,” he replies, setting the bag down on the table and beginning to unpack it. “Pasta from that little place near the harbor.”

“Perfect,” you say, moving to grab plates from the cupboard. “You always know how to spoil me.”

Charles chuckles, though his mind is far from the light-hearted conversation. There’s something heavy sitting on his chest, something he knows he needs to tell you, but the words stick in his throat. Instead, he focuses on the food, dishing out generous portions onto each plate.

You both sit down at the small dining table, and for a few minutes, there’s nothing but the sound of forks scraping against plates and the occasional hum of satisfaction as you enjoy the meal. It’s comfortable, easy — just like it’s always been between you.

But then, as if sensing his unease, you break the silence. “So, I heard the craziest thing this morning,” you say, your tone light, almost teasing. “One of my friends told me that you were almost arrested yesterday. Can you believe that?”

Charles’ fork pauses midway to his mouth, his heart skipping a beat. He hadn’t expected you to bring it up so casually, hadn’t prepared himself for this moment. He forces a smile, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Oh? What did she say?”

You laugh, shaking your head. “She said she heard you were involved in some kind of fight and that the police were called. I told her she was crazy. I mean, you wouldn’t hurt a fly, right?”

There’s a playful glint in your eyes, but Charles can’t bring himself to join in. Instead, he sets his fork down, the sound of metal against porcelain unnaturally loud in the quiet room. He looks at you, his expression serious, all traces of his earlier smile gone.

“Actually,” he begins, his voice low, steady, “it’s true.”

Your smile falters, confusion flickering across your face. “What do you mean?”

Charles leans back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest as he meets your gaze head-on. “I was at the police station yesterday,” he says, the words heavy, deliberate. “They called me in because that guy — the one who … hurt you — he tried to press charges against me.”

You stare at him, the shock evident in your wide eyes. “Wait, you’re serious? This isn’t some joke?”

“I’m serious,” Charles replies, his voice calm, almost too calm. “I’m not proud of what I did, but I’m not ashamed of it either. He deserved what he got.”

For a moment, you just sit there, trying to process what he’s telling you. You set your fork down, your appetite suddenly gone. “But … Charles, what did you do?”

Charles takes a deep breath, his eyes never leaving yours. “I made sure he understood that there are consequences for his actions. That he can’t just walk away after what he did to you.”

Your hands tremble slightly as you reach for your glass of water, taking a sip to steady yourself. “You … you didn’t …”

“I didn’t kill him,” Charles says quickly, sensing your fear. “But I hurt him. Badly. And I don’t regret it.”

You’re silent for a long moment, your mind racing. The Charles you know — the Charles you grew up with, the one who used to give you piggyback rides when you were too tired to walk — wouldn’t do something like this. But then again, this isn’t just anyone we’re talking about. This is you. And for Charles, you’re different. You’ve always been different.

“I did it to protect you,” Charles continues, his voice softer now, almost pleading. “I couldn’t just stand by and let him get away with what he did. I couldn’t …”

He trails off, his gaze dropping to the table, his shoulders slumping slightly. It’s as if all the fight has drained out of him, leaving behind only the raw, honest truth of his actions.

You swallow hard, trying to make sense of everything. “But … you could have been arrested. You could have gone to jail.”

Charles laughs, a bitter sound that holds no real amusement. “Not in Monaco,” he says, shaking his head. “Not for this.”

You furrow your brow, confusion evident in your expression. “What do you mean?”

Charles sighs, running a hand through his hair. “I talked to Prince Albert. He gave me a royal pardon. The guy had no chance.”

You blink, stunned by the casual way he says it, as if it’s the most normal thing in the world. “A royal pardon? Charles, that’s … that’s not normal.”

“No, it’s not,” Charles agrees, his tone somber. “But I don’t care. I’d do it all over again if it meant keeping you safe.”

The weight of his words hangs between you, the gravity of the situation finally sinking in. You’ve always known Charles was protective of you, but this … this is something else entirely. He’s crossed a line, and there’s no going back.

For a moment, you’re both silent, the tension in the room thick, suffocating. Charles watches you, his heart pounding in his chest, waiting for you to say something, anything. He’s prepared for you to be angry, to be horrified by what he’s done. But he wasn’t prepared for the look of sadness that crosses your face, the way your shoulders slump as if the weight of the world has suddenly fallen on you.

“I don’t know what to say,” you finally whisper, your voice shaky. “I never wanted you to do something like this for me.”

Charles leans forward, reaching across the table to take your hand in his. His touch is warm, steady, and for a moment, it grounds you, pulls you back from the edge of the panic that’s been rising in your chest.

“I know,” he says softly. “I know this isn’t what you wanted. But it’s what I needed to do. I couldn’t just stand by and let him hurt you.”

You squeeze his hand, your grip tightening as if you’re afraid to let go. “But what if you had been arrested? What if you couldn’t get out of it? I couldn’t bear the thought of you being locked up because of me.”

“I wouldn’t let that happen,” Charles replies, his voice firm, resolute. “I told you, I’d do anything to protect you. And I mean it.”

You look up at him then, your eyes searching his, trying to find some sign that this is all just a bad dream, that you’ll wake up and everything will be back to normal. But all you see is the truth — the raw, unfiltered truth of what Charles has done, and why he did it.

“I don’t know if I should be angry or grateful,” you admit, your voice trembling slightly. “You’ve always been there for me. But this … this is something else.”

Charles smiles then, a small, sad smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “You don’t have to be anything,” he says softly. “Just know that I’ll always be here for you. No matter what.”

For a moment, you just sit there, holding his hand, the silence between you heavy with unspoken words. There’s so much you want to say, so much you want to ask, but you can’t seem to find the right words. Instead, you focus on the warmth of his hand in yours, the steady rhythm of his breathing, the way his eyes never leave yours.

And then, before you can second-guess yourself, you lean across the table and press your lips to his. The kiss is soft, tentative at first, but it quickly deepens, the tension that’s been building between you finally finding release.

Charles’ hand comes up to cup the back of your head, his fingers tangling in your hair as he pulls you closer. The kiss is everything you didn’t know you needed — desperate, passionate, full of all the emotions that have been bubbling beneath the surface.

When you finally pull away, you’re both breathless, your foreheads resting against each other as you try to catch your breath. Charles’ eyes are dark, his pupils blown wide, and there’s a look in them that you’ve never seen before — something raw and vulnerable, something that makes your heart stutter in your chest.

For a moment, neither of you says anything, the silence heavy with the weight of what just happened. Charles’ hand is still in your hair, his thumb gently stroking the back of your neck, sending shivers down your spine. You can feel his breath on your lips, warm and steady, as if he’s trying to anchor himself in this moment, to hold onto it for as long as he can.

Eventually, you pull back just enough to look into his eyes, your own heart pounding so loudly in your ears that you’re sure he can hear it too. “Charles …” you begin, your voice barely above a whisper, but the words catch in your throat. You’re not sure what you want to say, what you’re supposed to say. Everything feels too big, too overwhelming.

Charles doesn’t say anything, just watches you with that same intense gaze, his eyes searching yours for something — reassurance, maybe, or understanding. Slowly, he lowers his hand from your hair, his fingers trailing down the side of your face before he lets it fall to his lap. The loss of his touch leaves you feeling cold, and you almost want to reach out and pull him back to you, to kiss him again and forget everything else. But you don’t.

Instead, you take a shaky breath and try to gather your thoughts, your mind racing. “What … what does this mean?” You finally manage to ask, your voice trembling.

He looks down at his hands, his brows furrowing in thought. “I don’t know,” he admits quietly. “All I know is that I’ve never felt like this before. I’ve known you my whole life, but … this is different.”

You bite your lip, trying to make sense of it all. “I’ve always cared about you. You know that. But I never thought …” You trail off, unable to finish the sentence, but the implication hangs in the air between you.

Charles finally looks up at you again, his expression softening. “Neither did I,” he says, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “But now that it’s happened … I don’t think I can go back. I don’t want to.”

You’re silent for a moment, the weight of his words settling over you. There’s a part of you that wants to be cautious, to protect yourself from whatever this is, but there’s another part — one that’s stronger — that wants to take the leap, to see where this could go.

“I don’t want to either,” you whisper, the admission almost too much to say out loud. But it’s the truth, and once it’s out there, you feel a sense of relief, as if a weight has been lifted off your shoulders.

Charles’ eyes soften even more, his smile widening slightly. He reaches out, taking your hand in his once more, his grip warm and steady. “Then let’s see where this goes,” he says, his voice low and full of promise.

You nod, unable to keep the smile off your face. “Okay.”

For a moment, you both just sit there, hands intertwined, the food on the table long forgotten as the reality of what just happened begins to sink in. There’s still so much you need to talk about, so many questions that need answers, but for now, this is enough. The kiss, the confession, the promise of something more — it’s all more than you ever expected.

Charles gives your hand a gentle squeeze, his eyes never leaving yours. “Whatever happens next, I want you to know that I’m here for you.”

You smile, your heart swelling with affection. “I know,” you say softly. “And I’m here for you too.”

He nods, his expression earnest. “Good.”

The silence between you is comfortable now, the tension from earlier finally dissipating. You feel a sense of peace settle over you, a feeling that everything will be okay, no matter what comes next.

Finally, Charles glances at the table, his smile turning sheepish. “We should probably finish our lunch,” he says, his tone light.

You laugh, the sound easing the last of your lingering nerves. “Yeah, we probably should.”

You both pick up your forks, and the conversation shifts back to lighter topics, the ease between you returning as if nothing has changed. But you both know that something has. There’s a new understanding between you, a new connection that wasn’t there before. And as you finish your meal, stealing glances at each other across the table, you can’t help but feel excited about what the future might hold.

***

Monaco at night is a different kind of magic. The streets are quieter, the buzz of the day replaced by the hum of luxury cars and the distant sound of waves crashing against the harbor. The city glows with a soft, golden light, the kind that makes everything look a little more romantic, a little more surreal. And tonight, with you tucked into Charles’ side as you walk home from dinner, it feels like the world has shrunk down to just the two of you.

You’ve been together for a few years now, and yet there’s still a thrill in the way he holds you close, his arm draped around your shoulders as if he’s claiming you all over again. There’s something comforting in the familiarity of it, the way your bodies just fit together, like two puzzle pieces that were always meant to be.

The conversation between you is light, filled with teasing banter about the dessert you shared at the restaurant — how he insists you ate most of it, and you argue that he’s the one with the sweet tooth. It’s the kind of easy back-and-forth that comes with knowing someone inside out, with having weathered storms together and come out stronger on the other side.

But as you turn down a quieter street, the atmosphere shifts. It’s subtle at first — a flicker of movement in the corner of Charles’ eye, the sense that you’re being watched. And then, out of nowhere, a voice cuts through the night, crude and jarring in its tone.

“Hey, baby, how about a smile?”

You freeze, your muscles tensing instinctively. The voice belongs to a man leaning against a lamppost, his eyes raking over you with a leer that makes your skin crawl. You feel Charles stiffen beside you, his arm tightening around your shoulders protectively. But before you can react, the man pushes off from the lamppost and approaches, his hand reaching out to touch you.

It all happens in a blur. The man’s fingers graze your arm, and you flinch back, your heart racing. But before you can fully process the disgust that courses through you, Charles is already moving.

The look in his eyes is one you recognize — a dark, dangerous glint that you’ve only seen a handful of times, but each one burned into your memory. It’s the same look he had that night at the club, the night he became more than just your protector, the night everything between you changed.

He’s about to lunge, his body coiled like a spring, ready to unleash all the anger simmering beneath the surface. But you place a hand on his chest, stopping him just in time.

“Charles,” you say softly, but there’s a knowing edge to your voice, a familiarity with the situation. “Should I call Prince Albert? Let him know you might need another pardon?”

Charles pauses, his gaze flickering to yours, and for a moment, the tension eases. The corners of his mouth twitch upward, a dark, almost feral smile playing on his lips.

“Yeah,” he replies, his voice low and laced with a dangerous amusement. “This must be the fourth one this year.”

You can’t help but laugh, the sound lightening the mood, if only for a second. “Actually,” you correct him, your eyes sparkling with mischief, “it’s the fifth.”

His smile widens at that, a soft chuckle rumbling in his chest. But the humor doesn’t last long. The reality of the situation pulls him back, and his expression hardens once more as he turns his attention to the man who dared to touch you.

“Stay here,” Charles says, his tone leaving no room for argument. It’s the voice of a man who’s about to do something he won’t regret — something he’s done before.

You nod, trusting him, knowing that whatever happens next, it’s out of your hands. And as Charles steps away from you, you can’t help but feel a strange sense of satisfaction, a sense of justice in knowing that this man is about to face the consequences of his actions.

The man, oblivious to the danger he’s in, sneers at Charles, clearly unbothered by the presence of another man. “What are you gonna do, pretty boy?” He taunts, his voice dripping with arrogance. “You think you can scare me?”

Charles doesn’t respond immediately. He takes his time, closing the distance between them with a measured, almost predatory grace. And when he finally speaks, his voice is as cold as ice.

“You have no idea who you’re dealing with,” Charles says quietly, the words laced with a threat that hangs heavy in the air.

The man laughs, the sound grating and unpleasant. “Oh, I know exactly who you are,” he sneers. “You’re that driver, right? Leclerc? Big deal. Doesn’t mean you can do whatever you want.”

Charles tilts his head slightly, as if considering the man’s words, and then, to your surprise, he laughs — a dark, cruel sound that sends a shiver down your spine.

“You think being in public will protect you?” Charles asks, his voice dripping with mockery. “You think because there are people around, I won’t make you regret ever laying a hand on her?”

The man falters, some of his bravado slipping as he realizes that Charles isn’t backing down. He glances around, perhaps expecting someone to come to his aid, but the street is empty, save for a few onlookers who are too far away to hear the exchange.

Charles doesn’t give him time to think. With a speed that takes the man by surprise, he grabs him by the collar, yanking him forward with a strength that belies his lean frame. The man stumbles, his cocky demeanor evaporating as he realizes he’s in over his head.

“You should have walked away,” Charles murmurs, his voice dangerously calm. “But now … now you’re going to pay.”

The man struggles, trying to push Charles away, but it’s futile. Charles is a professional athlete, his body honed for strength and endurance, and the man is no match for him. Within seconds, Charles has him pinned against the wall of a nearby building, his forearm pressed against the man’s throat.

“Get off me, you psycho!” The man chokes out, his voice panicked as he claws at Charles’ arm.

But Charles doesn’t budge. He leans in closer, his face inches from the man’s, his eyes filled with a cold, calculated fury. “You’re going to regret ever touching her,” he says quietly, his words laced with venom.

And then, without warning, he drags the man away from the wall, pulling him down the street with a force that makes it clear this isn’t just a warning — it’s a promise. The man tries to resist, tries to fight back, but it’s no use. Charles is stronger, faster, and more determined, his grip unyielding as he hauls the man toward a darker, more secluded part of the street.

You watch from a distance, your heart pounding in your chest. Part of you wants to stop him, to tell him it’s not worth it, but another part of you— the part that remembers the fear and helplessness you felt when that man touched you — wants Charles to follow through, to make sure this man never does this to anyone else again.

As they disappear around a corner, you take a deep breath, trying to calm the whirlwind of emotions inside you. You trust Charles, you know he’ll be careful, but you can’t help the worry that creeps in, the fear of what might happen next.

Minutes pass, each one feeling like an eternity, and then finally, you hear the sound of footsteps approaching. You look up, your breath catching in your throat as you see Charles emerging from the shadows, alone.

His expression is unreadable, his eyes dark and stormy as he walks back to you. For a moment, neither of you speaks, the silence heavy with unspoken words.

Then, without a word, Charles pulls you into his arms, holding you close as if he’s afraid to let go. You wrap your arms around him, burying your face in his chest, the steady beat of his heart grounding you.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, his voice muffled against your hair. “I’m sorry you had to see that.”

You shake your head, pulling back just enough to look up at him. “You don’t have to apologize,” you say softly, your hand cupping his cheek. “I’m just glad you’re okay.”

He smiles then, a small, tired smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’m okay,” he says, though you can hear the weariness in his voice. “But he won’t be bothering you — or anyone else — again.”

You nod, knowing there’s more to the story than he’s telling you, but you don’t press him. Not now, not when he’s holding you so tightly, as if he’s afraid to let you go.

“Let’s go home,” you say gently, taking his hand in yours.

Charles nods, his grip on your hand firm as he leads you back down the street, away from the darkness and into the light. And as you walk together, side by side, you can’t help but feel a sense of relief, a sense of safety in knowing that no matter what happens, Charles will always be there to protect you.

[rainydayathogwarts]

No more ink - Spencer Reid x reader

Summary: reader goes undercover for a mission and the team discovers all her tattoos. Tattoos which might be the reason her life ends. sprinkle of spencer x reader. Warning: gore, blood, SA kind of (if you blink you'll miss it), reader is undercover, reader becomes a stripper for like 2 secs.

Staring at the images of several murdered women, all sporting countless tattoos on their bodies, a chill is sent down your spine. What is so fetishising about tattoos? And more importantly, why were all these women so brutally killed after the assault? The uncomfortable silence in the station's big conference room is broken by JJ, who pulls out her phone, stating "Well I'm going to call someone so we can get the tattoos drawn on, Y/N are you sure you're comfortable doing this?" You nodded, adding "Yeah, but there's no need to call anyone."

Your comment had the entire team and police officers in the room looking your way, some confused, many surprised. You glance up at Spencer's reaction, hoping he didn't look disgusted at your confession. Did he dislike women with tattoos? His put together appearance always led you to believing so. "I mean, it's part of the reason I volunteered, I fit the profile the most." And it was true. Many of the women all had the same coloured and textured hair, body type, height and were all littered with tattoos. "How else are we going to get in?" You insisted, all well aware of the gang's strict policy when allowing people into the club. There would be no chance any of your male counterparts would be let in, because only women had ever been targeted by them, and looking between you and the other two women on the team, there was a clear difference between who hit the profile.

"Y/N, I've never seen you with tattoos." Things Morgan out loud, making sure he understood clearly what you meant by fitting the profile best. "People take me more seriously, professionally speaking, when they're hidden." You reply, shrugging your shoulders, which only puts an emphasis on the long sleeved top you're wearing. "Okay wait, just so we're clear here, you mean like you're heavily tatted? Not just one cute little smiley face on your ankle type of tatted?" You chuckle at Emily's small outburst, nodding along with her words. "You know what, why don't I just show you."

You end up revealing yourself to the team a mere hours later, tugging the mini black dress down your body, barely hiding your backside from any onlookers. You step out of the bathroom, basic black heels clicking loudly on the floor, attracting the attention of the team, packing up their things to head down to the van, fully equipped to keep track of you while you're inside. "Okay, I'm ready to go." There's a moment of silence in which the team fully takes in your appearance, or rather your tattoos.

A dark snake slithers up your ankle, and a mysterious year is written in bold above your knee, thigh illustrated with a mysterious design that resembles both stars and a vintage chandelier at once. Your second leg sports several patchwork pieces - an intricate compass and an angel - with two vine leaves curling around your knee, leading up to your thigh where you show off tattoos of a hummingbird and the sun. With your hair pushed back, they have a clear view of the design on your collarbone, dipping slightly into the gap between your breasts, leaving the rest to imagination. Your right arm is covered in a large abstract piece, and when you finally turn around, leaving due to the silence from your teammates, you allow them a perfect view of the wave tattoo on the back of your left arm, looping around your bicep, and a dagger tattoo on the back of your forearm.

Footsteps scurry after you, a soft hand wrapping around your wrist as you begin to leave the police station, pulling you into an empty hallway. Spencer tugs you to face him, eyes filled with worry. "Y/n, are you sure about this?" He whispers, his breath hitting your face with every word he speaks. "I'll be okay Spence." You reassure him, though you're sure he's already profiled you and can sense your nervousness.

In the van, Hotch reminds you of the protocol, securing the microphone into your dress and the clasping the necklace with a hidden camera around your neck, so that he and Garcia can monitor you from outside. They've given you a code word, and secured a silver bracelet around your wrist with a hidden alarm in the gem. Spencer squeezes your hand before you walk out of the van, a safe distance away from the cameras and insists one last time that you can back out any time you want.

You sneak into the hidden alleyway where the club is located, gulping slightly when you spot the bouncer before plastering a fake smile on your face. Everything will be okay, you repeat in your head, calming slightly when the bouncer steps aside for you to walk into a dark room. The door shuts behind you and your breathing quickens slightly, only to realise that the room isn't a room at all, because it's moving and is just an elevator instead. The doors open from behind you, welcoming you into a dark and mysterious, wide room. Red lights are on, and you can spot a stage with two poles, two exotic dancers performing a routine in exact synchrony.

Standing still, you have no idea where to start when a waiter, dressed in a black suit with his hair slicked back appears in front of you. "Champagne?" You nod, taking a glass from the tray not to look suspicious, but don't take a sip from it either. You make your way deeper into the room, swaying your body to the music, scanning the people in the club. For each man, there's at least two women by his side, giggling and brushing up against their arms, pressing kisses where skin is showing. Each woman fits the profile of those who'd been found dead, heavily tatted up, sporting the same features. Women lead men through red curtains, disappearing into different rooms, strutting proudly.

As far as the sex went, it all seemed consensual, meaning they couldn't have been unconscious or drugged before it happened, which completely changed your profile. "What's a sweet girl doing in a place like this all by herself?" You spun around, to face an older man, looking like he was in his late 40's. He sported a grey beard, and had a full head of luscious hair. He wore a crisp black button up with matching black trousers, and you could spot tattoos crawling up his neck and down his hands. "Looking for a man like you." You replied with a smirk, cocking your head to the side. He slid his free hand into yours, leading you into a round booth, where you had a clear view of the rest of the club.

"Tell me a little bit about yourself." You said before he could say anything, pressing your body up against his, and luckily for you, that's what he did. In the meanwhile, you observed the movement in the room, noticing waiters carrying garbage bags or cleaning empty tables. Weird. All the waiters seemed exceptionally muscular, but in a place like this, you would have assumed the waiters would be half naked and, well, women. "You alright, sweetheart?" The man asks, and you nod, smiling up at him sweetly. "I just need to use the bathroom. Do you think you could point me in that direction?" You ask, squeezing your thighs, where his big hand rests.

As soon as he gives you a direction, you hop up, following the first words he's told you 'Walk straight, take a left,' Once you've taken the left, finally out of the man's sight, you begin exploring the halls, becoming gradually more empty the deeper you walk into the club. For every 'private' room, which is only separated from the rest of the club by a curtain, there's a waiter (or rather security guard) standing at the entrance, protecting anyone from entering, or exiting. When you near the end of the hallway, you internally cringe. You had no where to go and a guard protecting the next room to the left. Exhaling, you stopped in front of the guard, looking up at him. "You the dancer?" He asks, and aimlessly, you nod.

You swallow when he steps to the side, letting you into the room. "Cover-up goes in the basket on your left." He instructs, before stepping back out of the room. You take a moment to take in the client, sitting on a red couch with his legs spread, shirt buttoned down all the way to his trousers. What have you done? You turn around, sighing, pulling your black dress over your body, just in time for music to start playing. You spin around, walking over the the man seductively, swaying your hips to the beat of the music until you stop in front of him, placing both hands on his chest. "Oh you're way better than the girl I had last time" The man mutters, groaning as he man spreads even more.

You have a clear view of the tent in his pants but blink a few times, trying to forget its image. Spinning to the music again, you face the wall, eyes glued on where you can see the guard's shoes in front of the curtain as you keep moving to the music. The man's hands settle on your ass, and you let him grope you, shutting your eyes in discomfort, cringing before he turns you to face him. His hands grip your hips instead, pulling you onto him and you follow, straddling his hips while swaying your body. You continue moving until the music dies down, slowing your movements alongside the decreasing volume.

The man puts his hands up, almost defensively, just in time for the guard to come into the room. He doesn't stop walking towards you until he stands right in front of you, and he grabs your arm, leading you to a different door than the one you came through. You try brushing him off you, chest constricting as anxiety builds up in you. "Can I at least have my dress back?" You ask, scoffing as he drags you into an empty room. "Sure, but I'm sure how much it'll do for you now." Instantly, you're pressing down on the gem on your bracelet, heart beginning to race as you look around the small room.

The cracks in the floorboards are stained a red-ish brown, and a single cuff is attached to a wall, where the man is trying to drag you. You recover quickly from you panicky moment, aggressively shoving him off you and bringing a leg up to push him backwards. He staggers back, but recovers quickly, bringing a knife out of his pocket and immediately charging at you. Ducking under his arm, you grab his wrist, trying to wrestle the dagger out of his hand. He stumbles, falling onto the floor, his grip loosening on the knife, which you tug back so hard it bounces back in your direction, cutting a gash through your arm. Just as you take a step forward, getting him whilst he's still down, the door slams open.

"NOBODY MOVE!" Just as you throw your hands up into the air, dropping the dagger onto the floor, a coat is wrapped around your shoulders and you're being pulled into a hug. You freeze for a moment until you smell the familiar essence of dark coffee and vanilla, melting into Spencer's arms as he whispers muffled 'It's okay's soothingly into your hair. Tears unwillingly build up in your eyes and you bring your hands up to grip the bits of Spencer's shirt that stick out from underneath his bulletproof vest.

Slowly, the coat dampens from where you cut yourself, and Spencer quickly realises, removing his arms from around you. "We need to get you to an ambulance." But even as Spencer leads you back outside, still whispering comforting words, that you'll be okay, you know it's not. Because in that moment you silently vow to yourself that you'll never get another tattoo inked into your skin ever again.

[emphasisonthehomo]

Tidbit Tuesday

I was tagged by @trombonechurchill!

This was already written, but I was busy today. So have some more Evan Buckley Trauma from Popstar!au.

Trigger warning for physical assault, and general stalker/unhinged fan behavior.

•

As Evelyn screams, so does everyone else. They’re in a back hallway, and it’s crowded. People respond instinctively to surprise, its base human nature to scream back at a scream. The next person in line is a young girl. She’s 15 at most, with acne on her face and carefully applied eyeliner. As Evelyn’s hands start to claw at Buck’s chest, the girl reaches out with a stutter stop of her arms. She looks horrified.

“Buck” Evelyn’s voice pitches to a shriek, “I need you.”

Hands fumbling, Buck scrambles to her fingers still in his belt loops, and tries to pry them off. Joe doesn’t bother, his thick arms loop around Buck’s chest. Buck finds himself lifted bodily off the ground. Someone else from arena security is grabbing at Evelyn. Her nails scratch across his neck as they’re pulled apart.

Panic tangles in Buck’s throat. The young girl is still staring at him, and the wall of people behind her surge forward. A tear runs down her cheek, cutting through the foundation she’s wearing. More arena employees, all dressed in black, meet the crowd. Someone yells ‘WHAT THE FUCK��� at their top of their lungs.

Buck’s lifted, a whirl of people, a whirl of noise. It’s open chaos behind him, and Joe’s furious face is twisted into a scowl. And then he’s being dropped down, landing on unsteady feet. A door slams shut behind him. The cacophony of voices in the back hallway is immediately muffled to a low hum.

“Buck–” Joe’s eyebrows are furrowed together, and his hands shake as they hover in front of Buck, “Kurwa. Are you okay?”

There’s a strange burning along the front of his neck. Dazed, Buck reaches up to touch his throat, and winces at the sharp burst of pain. When he pulls his hand away, his fingertips are bright red.

“I think it’s just a scratch,” Buck mumbles, staring in disbelief at the blood on his hand. There’s not a lot of it, but it’s still smeared lurid across his skin.

“Evan!”

It’s Bobby.

His face is pale, and he’s running full tilt down the hallway. Static bursts from his walkie. Buck blinks in his direction, and is surprised to see Tommy of all people running behind him.

“I’m fine,” Buck calls back, bloody hand still held awkwardly in front of him, “Joe got me out.”

“Shit,” Bobby pulls him into a blink and you miss it hug, “Okay, okay. I’m ending it.”

“What?” Buck asks in confusion.

Bobby’s already slamming his way through the door. There’s a flash of people, before it swings shut again. Buck can hear the chaos behind it go quiet, and then Bobby’s voice loud and commanding.

“The meet and greet is over for tonight,” Buck rarely hears Bobby sound like this nowadays, carefully controlled fury, “Sorry for any inconvenience. Anyone who was unable to meet with Mr. Buckley will be getting a full refund–”

What?

“W-wait no,” Buck stutters out, but Joe is already starting to pull him down the hall, “N-no, there’s only a few left, we can’t–”

“Sit down, kiddo,” Joe grunts.

Buck’s back hits the wall, and he slides down it until he’s slitting flat on the floor, his legs stretched wide on the linoleum.

“I’ve got him."

It’s Tommy.

He’s still here, peering down at Buck, before sitting down next to him. Tommy’s face is pale too, pale like Bobby’s was. There’s a bottle of water in his hand, Buck doesn’t know where it came from.  

“N-no one called 911, right?” Buck stutters out. He doesn’t need this in the news. There’s no doubt already photos of him and Evelyn already all over twitter.

 “You got him?” Joe asks, ignoring the question.

“Yes,” Tommy says bewilderingly, before repeating, “I’ve got him.”

It’s only now that Buck realizes he’s shaking.

(Part Three)

[kangaracha]

CATSKIN for @feelbokkie

prompt felix + twisted fairytale (catskin)

TW for blood, minor character death, mentions of sexual assault, medieval type violence

word count 4444

---

I.

When first you meet, it is like two stars colliding - like the sun and the moon dancing around each other in the sky, and love at first sight is a dream for foolish, insipid children and you know that to be true, but...

Maybe in this moment, you forget. Maybe you see his face, warm against the cold ice of the cape that falls over his shoulder, or maybe you watch the soft curve of his mouth as he laughs at something his brother says, standing so subtly apart from the crowd that no one notices they are there. Maybe your eyes meet across the room, sun-warmed brown to striking blue, and time stills and the dance stops and your heart thinks that here and now, nothing else could matter but the taste of his name on your tongue and knowing what his hand would feel like in yours.

But this isn't real. The ballroom is crowded, and he is a familiar face you have never met, and you are a stranger with the moon draped over your shoulders for the night. The band strikes up a dance, a lively rhythm that swings fast and slow, and you are swept into the rush of the current, your feet moving in a pattern that they know from heart. Your hands are still stained with coal; you take every suitor's hand palm-down, hiding the black stains that won't quite scrub from already-dark skin, and you waltz without meaning until pale, slender fingers take yours and hold them tight, tugging you from the dance before you can be passed on to the next partner in line.

"Wha-" you begin, and then you look up into the eyes you've dreamed of for days and months and years and forget what you were going to say at all.

"Sorry," he says, and drops your hand with all the haste you'd expect someone like him to once he looked close enough to see the lie shivering beneath your skin. "I just wanted to know your name, before I lost you in the crowd."

Love at first sight is a story mothers tell to put their children to sleep at night, and you have lost all your senses because in that moment, your mouth opens as if to answer him.

"There you are," a voice says behind you, too sweet to be any you know; and an arm loops through yours, and here is Hyunjin suddenly, jewels dripping from his brow and a fire burning in the back of his eye where only you know what it is for. "It's so like you to wander off. Come on; our friends are looking for us."

"Before you go-" says the mouth you'd seen laughing from across the hall, the prince it belongs to reaching out a hand - but you are already gone sliding away through the crowd that fills his ballroom from wall to wall with more dazzling finery than you've ever seen in your life.

"That was close," Hyunjin breathes in your ear, and there is the voice that you recognise, liquid fire and undertones of dark shadow. "You're supposed to avoid him, you know."

"I know," you mutter and allow yourself to be swept away, all thoughts of love and the sun and the electric feeling that had jumped from his hand to yours swept to the side.

II.

The king likes the ballroom to be full and the people to be colourful, and he likes the crowd to be lively.

The wine flows freely for the last day of the summer, the lords and ladies stripped of their cautious humours and careful tongues. Their laughter is raucous as you slip out into the garden, the sun pulled over your shoulders in lengths of fine silk that cut away the cold wind that bites at your exposed skin. Already, the trees have begun to turn and the grass is wet with the season's rain; you stand in the centre of an autumn scene and watch the leaves flutter and fall, the light of the lanterns glittering from your skirts and the swirl of beading across your breast, woven from the finest gold.

"It's you," says the man beneath the tree; and when he steps out into the light, dressed again in pure white, you forget to pretend that you hadn't seen him, or that you'd simply come out here to breathe in air that wasn't stifled by the laughs of a thousand other people. "I was looking for you, you know."

"Were you?" you ask with the curve of a smile, your tongue loosened by the quiet of the cooling night and the seclusion of the garden. "Or could you just not find someone to dance with?"

You'd seen him earlier, standing at the edge of that floor. Gently turning away the hands of countless maidens in gowns that dripped in jewels under the guise of speaking to his brothers, searching the crowd with his eyes at every moment he thought that eyes weren't watching him. The guilty smile that plays on his face says that he knows exactly what you are thinking of; the step that he takes within your reach says that he isn't going to hide it. "Maybe I was waiting for the right person," he says, and then his cheeks turn pink in embarrassment, his eyes sliding momentarily away from yours.

"You'll waste your entire night if you think like that," you tell him lightly, and then you glance over your shoulder at the doors to the ballroom - to give him a moment to himself, you tell yourself, and pretend that it wasn't because you thought you felt the creep of Hyunjin's watchful gaze over the back of your neck. There is no one at the door though, no one watching through the backs that are turned to the glass. Only he can see you here, the sun standing in the middle of the night's darkness.

"I never got to ask your name the last time I saw you," he says; and with a start that jolts up your spine like electricity, you turn back to him. 

"I never got to ask yours either," you say, in lieu of the answer that you cannot give him. Never mind the danger of him recognising you too closely after this night - if he mentioned to Hyunjin the name of a girl he'd met in the garden, if Hyunjin knew what you were doing between the tasks you'd been given...

"Everyone knows mine," he scoffs; not because he thinks so highly of himself, but in the reluctant acceptance of someone who had never known a moment of privacy. "You can't have come to the woodlands knowing so little."

"And what if I didn't?" you question, playing along on this string of a conversation rather than letting him turn it back around to the question he'd really tried to ask. "What if I'd simply come here to enjoy the night, and seen a man across the room that I thought I'd like to know?"

His smile grows wider, his eyes softening. You like the way that smile looks on him. "Then I'd tell you my name is Felix," he tells you. "And I'd probably ask you to dance before we met like this, out here in the garden where no one is looking. And it probably wouldn't be such a scandal if we were seen either."

"That doesn't sound like as much fun though," you say. "Isn't it much more interesting to meet like this, than to have it all planned out?"

"Are you someone that likes trouble?" he asks, head tilted to the side in question; and the words seem cautious, probing, but he draws in closer again anyway, enough that his hand can brush yours in the folds of your dress.

"Maybe I am," you tease, your heart fluttering and jumping around in your chest like a nervous rabbit. "Aren't you?"

"I think I could be," he says, and his hand brushing your chin is followed by his lips brushing yours; and it is only a question, a stepping across boundaries that promises to rescind immediately if you push him away, but love at first sight is a dream and you think maybe, in another life, you might have been a terribly indulgent dreamer.

You kiss him with all the certainty that had driven you to this point, this garden and this night and this man, and his lips are soft and he smiles too much, and his hands are hesitant to wander, but you've already tried hot, heady passion and men who take what they want. Soft is new, and questioning sends a shiver down your spine, and you think this is a better man. 

And then you stop because you remember, but you play it off as the toll of the bell startling you from a daydream. "I have to go," you say, which is true, and then, "I hope you find someone to dance with tonight," which is not.

"Will I see you again?" he asks; and it's notable, you think, that he doesn't reach out of try to stop you. That he accepts on face value that you are telling the truth and that, even though his eyes say they want you to stay, his mouth would be rude to ask.

"Maybe," you say, the word drawn out like honey dripping long and slow from your tongue. "If you have another ball."

He laughs, his eyes squeezing closed with the pain of it. When they open again, you make sure you are gone from his sight.

You're pretty sure you dropped something like your heart there in the courtyard, but you don't dare to go and get it back. Not yet.

III.

You're cutting through fine hallways of tapestry and stone from the garden, your basket filled with vegetables and your face streaked in dirt. You aren't supposed to be here - a scullery maid shhould be in the dark spaces between the walls, scurrying up and down steep and spiralling stairs, but you're late and the cook is a stone-faced woman with a tongue made for lashing, and you hadn't thought-

The prince stops to look at you, confusion furrowing in his brow as he stares at your face. Recognition; except that today you are hiding under the brown of the dirt and the mantle of wild fur, cobbled together from the backs of many animals but none so fine as te ermine that lines his coat. 

Your heart sinks even as it pounds in alarm at the thought of him finding out what you are and where you've come from. It is a disaster if it happens, surely, but at the same time - maybe you'd tricked yourself into thinking that he remembered you the same way you did him. Or maybe he had tricked you, with the way he'd so quietly given you his name in the garden, the earnesty with which he'd nearly asked you to stay.

"Your highness?" Hyunjin asks at his shoulder, dressed all in his own princely regalia, and Felix turns away. And for a moment you hate Hyunjin, as you slip to the side of the hall where your feet should be, out of the way; because how could he be so beautiful, and so detached and so true to his beliefs that he could play the prince, and you are so suited to fur and treachery that you stand here a maid?

"Sorry," Felix says, to Hyunjin and not to you, and pretends to move on. You can see his eyes flick back again as he leaves though, trying one last time to see past the furs and the dirt, to place where he has seen you before.

You can see Hyunjin's too, piercing when they look directly at you. Warning, that you are overcomplicating things. That this is all about to be a mess, and you are no longer prepared for it. 

Your ire rises again. You know what has to happen, and what he will do to facilitate it, and you know your own roll. You know it all has to end. Who is he, to think you can't carry through on a promise? Who is he to doubt you?

IV.

The final coat is made of feathers plucked from the birds of the sea cliffs, tawny brown and ochre and cream. Hidden in the tunnels of the castle, Hyunjin tucks a sprig of samphire into the curl of your hair, picked from the edge of the world before you had left and wrapped carefully in paper made for preserving these kinds of things. A piece of home, brushing up against your ear every time you turn; a signal to those that you have let in the back door that you are a friend, in case you are caught in the havoc.

"What happened to your hands?" he asks as he steps back to look at you, his own lifting your wrists so that he can see the black marks on your fingers.

"There was grease on the gate lock, to stop it sticking," you reply. "It doesn't wash off like blood does."

He drops your hands just as fast as he'd picked them up, his eyes scanning the feathers again. As if it was this coat that you'd worn when you'd taken a knife to the man at the gate, as if he would find evidence of the blood on your hands smeared across the vanes if he only turns you this way and that. Silly of him, really - the edge of the fur coat was the one that bared the stains. The fur was made for the work of the hands. The feathers were only sent as a signal, a draw of the eyes, dropping in the path of your feet as you walk towards the ballroom.

"Stay away from the prince," Hyunjin warns you, his attention turning in the direction of his own path to the party. "He's looking for a particular girl that he saw last time. He'll have eyes everywhere."

"Not on the ground though," you answer, shaking out the coat and watching a feather of mottled brown drift to the floor. You ignore the way that your stomach dips at the mention of a girl. You neglect to mention that the girl he's looking for might be you, and the rouge brushed across your cheeks and the glitter of gold on your eyelids will only draw his eyes. 

You should have worn the dirt and hidden in the shadows, but that's not how they had prophesised it. The witches had whispered of a feather coat and a dress made of the sun and a moonlight shawl, and you'd been the one foolish enough to wear them, and no one in those rooms had been able to resist the magic of them, least of all the prince.

"Time to go," Hyunjin says as the bell tolls seven, and with one last look between you, you turn your seperate ways. 

You don't know where his heart resides, but you know that yours is in your throat. You hope that he survives the night. You hope that whatever he came here for is worth what it is going to cost.

V.

At the moment the ballroom bursts open, the black soldiers streaming in from every entrance, you are looking at the prince.

You hadn't meant to. You had taken Hyunjin's advice, as much as it grated at you to do it, and you had avoided him, skirting around the edges of the room while he searched in all the wrong places for you, dropping your feathers where the feathers wanted to fall and hiding in crowds of garish colour that sniffed and sneered at your coat of soft brown; but even though you don't wear the sun or the moon, you still orbit around him and him around you when you are in this room, and to stay away from him was-

Impossible, in the moment when you turn and there he is, right on your tail like the hunters following the birds to their nests in the cliffs, willing to jump from the rocks just to collect the eggs that might hide below. Except that he wasn't here to steal from you, or to catch you in his hands and tame you - he only thinks that you are beautiful, or that he could love you if only you gave him a chance.

And then the feathers ruffle and shift in the breeze, and the doors open, and the room fills with the men of the sea, axes and knives glinting in their hands and white teeth snarling within their faces.

Eerie silence falls as the room stutters to a halt, the shiny, red-faced aristocrats turning to stare at the army that have entered their sanctuary. The first one falls by the main entrance, his wine arcing through the air as he tumbles to the ground under the sharp blade of an axe; and then they scream, and they move in every direction, and in the maelstrom of silk and chiffon and eyes of horror you lose sight of the prince.

Slipping across the room is like fighting upstream against a raging river, ducking between bodies and around blades that don't have time to see the samphire behind your ear. You fade away into the one hallway you hadn't marked with a feather, disappearing into the black of the walls and the twisting tunnel down to the kitchens where just moments ago maids had scurried out to deliver the feast, and your heart breaks at the red-suited body that tumbles in on your heels, the eyes of a man in armour of beaten iron that take in your feathers and your face and turn away, back to the bloodbath, but you can't go back. You can't save him. 

And then a gutteral cry echoes down the tunnel, and a body blocks the light that flickers from its entrance, and there he is, your prince. His eyes are scared and his mouth open as he gasps for breath, the little knife he'd used on your countryman held in a white-knuckle grip in front of him as if he thinks he might need it again at any time. Blood splatters the front of his snow-white coat, tarnishing the pearls and sinking into every fibre of the cotton and wool that holds it together.

"It's you," he gasps between breaths, the words reverberating from the stone walls. "I found you."

"You-" you begin to say, but the words are lost in the storm of thoughts that cloud your mind, the race of scenarios that you can imagine coming from this unfateful meeting, this turn in the story that was never anticipated. Every step has been told to you up until now - the coats, and the feathers, and the rush of men into the ballroom that leads to the fall of a kingdom - but no one said a word about this. About him, the prince, the hands that now cup your heart to their chest, and the knives at his back as he stands there, just one step shallow of safety.

You think too much about what has happened and what could happen next, but you don't think at all when you reach out and grab him, dragging him down the tunnel and into the darkness, where only sporadic lanterns burn to guide the way. Around this corner and then that, down a staircase so steep that countless girls have broken their necks tripping on its uneven stones, into the warmth and light of the kitchen, where the smell of the pig roasting over the fire fills the air and the stack of pots waiting for you to wash them later in the night teeters towards the ceiling, stacked in one corner by several pairs of careless hands.

No one is here. They'd timed it deliberately for the arrival of the feast, when the attendants of the ball would all reconvene from the corners of the palace to the ballroom to fill their already ample stomachs. Incidentally, this meant that the kitchen staff were all in attendance too, arranging dishes under the watchful eye of the cook, which meant that when you tried to hide a prince in the kitchen-

"Wait," he says, dragging back against your hold on his arm. "Wait, I know a way out of the castle. I can take you where it's-"

"No," you cut across him before he can finish, and you tug at him again, dragging him step by step towards the maid's quarters. "They're in the hidden tunnels too. There's no way out."

He's so surprised that he forgets to resist you, his body going slack with his jaw and his feet following you across the room. "How do you know that?" he asks.

You don't dare to look back at him as you enter the room you share with the other girls, as you open the little chest-of-drawers that holds everything you brought with you (but not everything you own) and you pull out the clothes you wear day-to-day - grey trousers and a cream shirt slowly staining brown, and the coat of a thousand furs, its edges stained with fresh blood. "Put these on," you order him, shoving them into his arms without looking him in the eye, and then you turn your back.

"I wouldn't punish you for pretending to be from the court," he says to your back as he changes, the white jacket thrown to the dusty floor and then his shirt and breeches. "Or for knowing whatever you know. You saved my life." His boots are too nice to be a servant's, but yours won't fit him; you reach for Alice's old pair while he is busy, set neatly at the foot of her bed, and hand them to him when he is done, picking up the clothes he has discarded instead.

You saved my life too, you should say of the man he had killed, to keep up the illusion, but the lie seems wan in the face of the truth you are going to have to admit to him by the end of the night. You stalk past him instead, headed to the fire with the truth and the lies still sitting sour on your tongue.

The shirt and pants burn easily, the leather of the boots slow to sink between the logs that fuel the flame. You hesitate a moment before throwing the coat in after them, eyeing its precious pearls and hand-woven patterns of leaves and swirls. A silver brooch pinned to the lapel catches your eye; your thumb runs over it, feeling the careful details its maker has pressed together and the chips of diamond that embed its surface.

"That was my mother's," Felix says behind you, a certain grief hidden in the stiffness of his voice. "But you can burn it if you have to."

"I don't have to," you reply, and you work it free of the fabric with delicate and practised fingers. The coat feeds the flame; the brooch pins onto your dress, just above your heart.

 "Pretend to be a servant," you say as you turn to look at him. Your hands reach out to fix his coat, to smear the soot from the fireplace into his golden curls and down his cheeks. "I can't keep you alive if you're a prince, but if you're just a boy from the kitchens-"

His hands catch yours as they slip from his face, the ash that clings to your skin staining his as he grips them tight. "Who are you?" he questions. "What have you done?"

Tight-lipped, ashen-faced, you look up into his eyes - pale blue to forest brown, liar to honest truth. "I'm the feathercoat," you say, as if he will understand the words of a fable that people only whisper over the sea cliffs and the raging storms of the ocean. "I'm the one that brings the woodlands to their knees. I'm-"

Your voice chokes in your throat, your fingers growing numb from the force of his grip on your hands. There's a knife still tucked into his waistband - there's a knife behind him, stuck by its tip into the surface of the cutting board. You only have your feathers, and the excuses that stack up in the back of your throat; that the witches told us it would be so, or your land is the only gift my father will accept in place of a marriage to that man, or haven't you seen the way your father encroaches on our cliffs? Haven't you seen the way your farms destroy our hills and valleys and pollute our river? But those are all reasons that blame someone else, and you are the one that stands here, and the grease from the gate stains your fingers, not theirs-

"I loved you," he says, and he lets go of you like he has been burned. "I saw you across the room, and I thought no one could be so beautiful, and you can't even tell me the truth when-"

A shout echoes down the hall you'd escaped from, the rattle of armour and the thunder of heavy boots against the floor. "Wait," you say to him, a hand suspended in the air between you. You're afraid to touch him, when he could reach for that knife - when he deserves to see your blood run, for what you have done - but you can't let him run to his death all the same. "Wait until we live, and then I'll tell you, and then you can kill me. But wait. Take my hand and wait."

He hesitates, his eyes wary like he doesn't believe you, but the man on the stairs shouts again, calling for someone to follow him, and the fear shoots right into his heart and his hand slides into yours, his pulse fast but his fingers cold. 

"I don't want to kill you," he says, like a promise you can't believe he will keep. "Just keep me alive, and when the sun comes up, tell me everything. Please. I don't have any reason to kill you if everyone here is already dead."

"I will," you reply, and this is a promise that will be kept, whether or not he reaches for the knife when the light of the dawn comes. "I love you too, you know. I didn't mean to hurt you."

And yet, you have. And yet, the guilt and the feathers eat you alive.

---

PERMANANT TAGLIST

@amyyscorner @kokinu09 @rainfallingfromthesky @keepswingin @rylea08 @puppysmileseungmin @thatonedemigodfromseoul

[loonybun]

TRICK OR TREAT!!!!!!!!

HII!! take a fun au drabble!! this one’s from my starkiller au which is like if a band au went terribly terribly wrong. gonna give the specific drabble a cheesy name because i might write more w this au in the future heehee

Starkiller: That’s just showbiz.

contains: betrayal, invasion of personal space/intimate creepy whumper, implied past major character death, grief of that death, implied substance abuse (specifically alcoholism in this but there’s definitely more), as well as implied enabling/taking advantage of said abuse (non-sexual), panic attack, violence/assault with a weapon, drugging, and manhandling.

fun for the whole family!

also barely edited like my other halloween drabbles are and will be. just ignore that part.

————————————————

Gig after gig, afterparty after afterparty, blackout after blackout, everything was beginning to blend together into a mess of a loop.

Koi’s head was pounding when he blinked his eyes, trying to register the dark room around him. The effects of a massive hangover made his head swim as he tried to piece together what had happened the previous night. Obviously, he’d pushed his limits again. Dealing with all of the lights and people was too difficult to do sober, anyways. It had been fun when it was once or twice a week, but now it was just another part of an already exhausting routine.

Things weren’t the same. It would never be the same.

Practice, write, party, perform. That’s all they could do, right? They had to put themselves out there somehow. If that meant letting his manager show him off to someone at a shitty party, then so be it.

He couldn’t let this be for nothing.

Someone else stirred next to him, bringing his focus back to his surroundings. Shoot. Vian probably had to drive him again. It had become a bit of a recurring theme on these kinds of nights. Can’t exactly be trusted to find your own room when you can barely even find the doorknob.

Still, normally he would be on the couch. This was… New.

The digital clock on Vian’s dresser showed that the time was around 4 AM. Not exactly the most ideal time to get up, but his throat felt as dry as sandpaper. He slowly pulled off the covers and got out of bed, trying to squint in the darkness. Unfortunately, he had no idea where his manager had set his stuff down, so using the flashlight on his phone wasn’t much of an option.

After a bit of stumbling around, he eventually found the door, slipping out of the room and down the stairs. The kitchen was a decent step up from his, nice and open to the living room. Moonlight leaked through the grayish-blue curtains, helping him navigate the actual light switch. The brightness caused his migraine to flare up. It took him a moment to readjust to the light, even if it made the nerves in his eyes feel like they were being pressed right up against his skull.

Where did he keep his cups again? Koi opened a cabinet, groaning when he was greeted with nothing but bowls and plates. Then the next, and then another. Eventually, he found one filled with mugs and figured that was good enough.

As he took it out of the cabinet, he noticed something reflective a bit deeper in. After a moment of consideration, he succumbed to curiosity and pulled the object out.

He stared at the familiar pair of glasses in his hand.

His palms turned clammy, knees going weak. He had to set the mug down just to make sure he didn’t drop it.

The world around him seemed to fade entirely, everything turning into a dizzy blur. The deafening silence quickly became occupied by his own heartbeat, going faster and faster by the second.

He couldn’t bring himself down. His head was reeling with all sorts of possibilities, scrambling for some desperate explanation. Trying to prove the innocence of a man he already knew was guilty. He’d already begun stringing the extra bits of context into place–

He’d gone to him for comfort. He’d confided in him. Broken down completely.

The all too obvious possibility that the same person he’s trusted and the reason for his misery were one in the same was too painful to handle. That just couldn’t be right. It didn’t make sense.

(Yes it did. It did and that made it worse.)

“Oh.” His stream of thoughts was broken by a sickeningly recognizable voice. He hated how normal it sounded, how accustomed he was to it. It didn’t sound like the voice of a monster. “I thought you might be down here. Not sleeping well?”

He had to bite his trembling lip to keep his mouth shut. Instead of screaming accusations, he slowly shook his head.

Vian’s eyes moved down towards the glasses in his hands, his expression still neutral. “...I figured. I really thought you’d had enough alcohol to knock you out for the night. An oversight on my part. I would have put you on the couch if I’d known.” His tone was so casual. Completely unbothered by the horror of the man in front of him.

“Speaking of oversights, God, I really just stuck that in there? That’s funny, isn’t it? I must have planned to take care of it eventually, just got a bit caught up in everything else.”

“What–” Koi choked on his words, forcing himself to swallow the bile in his throat. “What the fuck did you do?”

Vian clicked his tongue. “Don’t give me that. You can go check if you’d like. I’m sure she’d love to see you.” his eyes glanced over to the basement door.

He’d barely even finished speaking by the time Koi had dashed down the steps, entering the large, dark room. The floor was covered entirely in tarps, coating every inch of the freezing concrete.

…It was empty. Not so much as a fucking hair.

The only evidence that had even suggested what had taken place was a dark, dry stain on the plastic.

(This was it. She was gone. She was gone and he couldn’t even–)

The blunt end of a hammer slammed into his back, sending him gasping to the hard floor.

“P-Plea-”

Vian knelt beside him, smiling fondly.

“Shh, shh. I’m not going to kill you. Come on, now, you know I’d never do that.”

He dragged the man’s head into his lap, ignoring his yelps of pain. Then, with one hand, he pressed a soaked cloth over his mouth, holding it firmly in place despite Koi’s muffled pleas.

“You’ll thank me later. Just take deep breaths.”

[tmwcs]

S E 7 E N : A S M O D E U S   P A R T   F O 4 R

Warnings: drying humping, breaking entry, harassment, assault, torturous abuse, blood, gore, groping, and cussing. i think that's it.

You slowly resumed your chewing as you shifted your gaze. Noticing your somewhat shocked expression he scuffles out a small giggle as he continues to dip pieces of bread and marinated fish in the sauces as he continues. “It will be fine, trust me. He loves you…in a manner that no mortal being, Angel or God could ever understand. It’s a love that is yearned but also feared…of course, it’s ten times the amount since Heeseung is…well, heheheh, you’ll find out soon enough.” He eyes you mischievously as he places the piece of fish in his mouth. You started to feel nervous and a raging wave of fear and hesitation flamed from within your body. “What else? You have any other questions?” You slightly gulped as you look at him. “I have so many…just don’t know where to start…and I’m not sure if I want to find out beforehand…” He covers his mouth delicately as he giggles. “Oh darling, you don’t need to fear or overthink anything. Heeseung is made out to be alot of things but he’s not a monster, unless you’re his enemy or someone he greatly hates, which you are neither.” Reaching his hand across the table, he takes your hand in his and rubs his thumb across your palm. Once you’re finished…we’ll need to go over some things. He softly remarks as he gazes into your eyes. The copper flames color of his hair matched with his ultra ivory, pale skin was a remarkable color scheme if you ever did see one. It was like combining fire and silk. “Oh…okay. Um…well I’m pretty much finished now, so whenever…whenever you’re ready.” You looked down, a bit nervously at that. He chuckles. “Come here.” He simply calmly speaks out as he scoots his chair away from the table. Looping an arm around your hips, he cradles your rear as he reaches up and takes hold of your arm.

“Straddle me.” Your eyes slightly widened at his bold demand, yet, after such intimacies you went through with Helel and Jay, you couldn’t be too surprised. Even Jungwon, who was more reserved with his level of sexual display, was still romantically affectionate with you considering you had only known him for one day. You do as he bids and walk over to him. Patti g on his lap, he bids you to sit atop him. Slowly raising each leg, taking advantage of the stretch within your black, flared leggings, you sit on his lap, facing him. Thank God you still had them and didn’t throw them out once the Senator banned black clothing for the public, yet his regulators and followers were an exception to that ban. Once your derrière met his thighs, and your hands on his strong shoulders, you felt his hands slowly…very slowly and softly take hold of your waist. Unlike Helel and Jays grasp, Sunoo’s grip was much less of a grab and followed more along the lines of caressing. You slightly tilt your head back and closed your eyes at his touch. Uncontrollably, your hips rolled and dipped down on their own, just slightly, yet apparent enough for him to notice and comment about it. “Oh…you’ve got some talent, let’s see how much of that we could put to good use.” He gently remarks as his hand reaches the back of your neck, while his lips grazes over your lips, with his gaze following suit. “In order to prepare you for him…I gotta make sure you know how to handle him and move…I’ll show you. Can you be a good girl and do as your told?” He whispers in your ear. You nod sensually as your eyes remain shut. “Y-yessss….” You whisper out. “Good….giiiiiirrrrlllll.” He responds. “So when Heeseung comes to get you…when he takes you, you’ll need to know how to respond when he touches you….you know what I mean?” You nod and bite your lip as you relish Sunoo’s hands roaming your body. “Good.” Tightening his grip, his hands transitioned from a soft and caressing notion to a harsh and tight grab as his fingers slightly dig into your skin, a mixture of sharp pain that lasts for a split second before a rush of pleasure hits you. “Heeseung…will be both, gentle and rough, it all depends on his mood. Sometimes…he can be both at the same time…and when he does…” he continues to whisper as he starts to move your hips back and forth, in the same manner that Helel…or Heeseung as he was referred to by his brothers, did the night you met him…from the moment he said those words to you as he pulled you atop him. “Come here…sit on it.”

P A R T 5 I V E

Taglist: @deobitifull; @solstramaii; @vampiregirl215; @nshmrarki; @enhypen14; @iamliacamila; @lisaaannna; @nikstrange; @jaehaki; @luv-enhy-skz33; @silcry@honeysjae; @crackedcameraa; @stinkmonkey ; @baekxo07

[karatekels]

Finally! For so long there was almost no Gus content (I remember one great post with headcanons from @terrence-silver and some lovely fanarts here and there but that's it). I can't wait to read your stories!

Since you mentioned you're waiting for asks could your write a story about reader being undercover cop trying to infiltrate Gus and his group but he finds out and decides to punish her?

Hello everyone, I've missed you! Thanks for bearing with me through the combination of life and getting shadowbanned. This request is one I had initially planned to add to Dark Desires October, but we're well past that now, so just enjoy! This is going to have a very dark second chapter and then a short epilogue, so stay tuned!

---

TW: Crime, stalking, domestic violence (referenced), assault or murder (implied, off-screen), slipping someone drugs, abduction [and it will only get worse from here]

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In Deep Water

Chapter 1: Making Waves

You check the watch on your wrist again; it’s nearly four o’clock in the morning. The sun will be rising soon – you have to get out of here quickly.

You take one last crack at the safe, holding your breath as you try to work out the combination, your earpiece connected to a diaphragm that lets you hear the tiniest clicks from within the safe like a stethoscope. There’s a clunk, and you barely keep yourself from letting out a cry of victory as you pull open the door to the safe, your gloved hands greedily reaching in and pulling out the binders of bonds. You slip them into the bag on your back before resetting the safe and hightailing it out of there, your footsteps barely audible.

Once you’re out of the building you keep to the shadows as you make your way to the nearby docks, trying to keep your pace measured to avoid attracting unwanted attention on the off-chance somebody was awake and watching. Your target was a smaller, lesser crime family, but that didn’t mean that they weren’t dangerous.

You make it to the docks just before sunrise, joining three other men in ski masks and hoods, identical bags slung over their shoulders. Right on schedule, The Lucky Mermaid drives up, stopping right at the edge of the dock and allowing you all to quickly hop aboard, disappearing out into the open ocean – you would put some time and distance between the boat and the warehouse you had just hit before looping around and returning to shore.

You all make your way into the cabin where the captain is steering the ship, the five of you crowded in the cramped space. Everyone else towers over you – they were big, tough-looking men, far more like the stereotypical criminal than your own short, slender frame. The captain in particular can barely stand upright in the cabin, his messy brown curls hanging in his eyes as he looks down at you, slightly stooped over.

“You get ‘em?” he asks you with a sly grin. You nod, pulling off your bag and opening it to reveal its contents. Gus thumbs through the bonds, his hand briefly brushing yours as you hold the bag open for him, and your breath hitches at the contact.

“Nice work,” he praises you, clapping you on the shoulder with a large hand and giving it a squeeze. “Bit of a rush, isn’t it?” he says knowingly, his blue eyes bright. You grin at him, tugging off your ski mask and letting your hair down.

“It’s definitely more enjoyable stealing from the competition!” you agree, smiling at him before pulling your hoodie over your head. You add your mask and hoodie to the bag one of the crew holds out for you and put on your favourite blue one; the sea breeze is chilly, and you want to differentiate yourself from the shadowy figure in dark clothing that had just stolen hundreds of thousands of dollars worth of bonds.

The others add their gear to the bag, which is then stowed in the storage compartment under one of the benches, out of sight.

“Well, I think we all agree that you have more than earned a place for yourself on my crew, Y/N,” Gus tells you with a warm smile, the rest of the team murmuring their agreement, and you lift one side of your mouth in a lopsided grin.

“Of course I have,” you say with mock-arrogance. “None of you big oafs could have fit through that window!”

The others laugh good-naturedly, gradually shuffling off to find a flask to warm their bodies or a corner to rest in; the day had just begun, but your shifts were over. You stay standing next to Gus, still unaccustomed to being at sea and needing to look out on the horizon to prevent yourself from getting nauseated. You’re both quiet for awhile, not speaking until he begins to steer the boat in a wide turn, heading for Harbour Manor.

“You’re sure that I’m good enough to be on your crew?” you ask Gus hesitantly, worrying your lower lip between your teeth as you look up to him.

“Good enough?” he repeats incredulously, raising an eyebrow at you. “Sweetheart, you’re going to be my secret weapon!”

You give him a shy smile at his reassurance, and he grins at you, his eyes lingering long enough that you feel the need to repress a sudden shiver. His faith in you isn’t something to be taken lightly; he was fairly high up in Malcolm’s ever-expanding mob, having risen through the ranks over the years. For him to have taken you under his wing in just over a month was nothing short of a miracle considering his paranoia, especially when it came to women; there's a reason that you are the only girl on his crew.

One of the other members of Gus’s team had spoken to you briefly about it, once – Gus hadn’t worked with a woman since his ex-wife, Natalie, who had betrayed him and ran off with some guy (and his money) a couple of years ago. Apparently Gus had been infuriated for ages, before seeming to bottle it up suddenly one day and channel it into aggressively working his way up to the upper echelon of Malcolm’s organization. Regardless, you being accepted into his crew is no small feat.

You’d gotten the sense that maybe he was interested in you – you’d felt his eyes on you before you’d even spoken, that first day you had seen each other, before you had even done anything worth catching his eye, so presumably you were somewhat attractive to him. You’d caught him still staring as you snatched an inattentive businessman’s wallet, and initially thought that he was going to rat you out, his eyes glittering as they tracked your movements. But he hadn’t; in fact, he’d pointed the man in the wrong direction, giving you the opportunity to slip away. Your mouth had dropped open in surprise, and all he’d done was wink at you before you both moved to disappear into the crowd.

You’d gone out of your way to “accidentally” run into him again on more than one occasion, introducing yourself and making small talk, never once bringing up the circumstances of your first encounter. Then he started taking the initiative, showing up at places he knew you would be. And then, one day, he’d taken you to the shore to look at this very boat, asking if you wanted to work with him and what that entailed. It was a far more sustainable way to get by than your petty, solo thieving, and you had eagerly accepted the opportunity, both of you very obviously pleased you could spend more time together.

“Earth to Y/N!” Gus teases, pulling you out of your reminiscing. You blink a few times, looking up at him with embarrassment. “What were you just thinking about so hard, huh?” he asks with a grin.

“Oh jeez, I’m sorry!” you apologize sheepishly. “I was just thinking about…” you bite your lip nervously, trying to build up the nerve to tell him. “…about how different my life is going to be now. Because of you,” you tell him, trying to convey the depth of your gratitude in your gaze. “Thank you, Gus, for giving me a chance to make something of myself.”

For one long moment, Gus stares at you deeply, his expression unreadable. You find yourself fighting to keep still and maintain eye contact with him. Eventually he blinks, lifting one corner of his mouth in a smile.

“Yeah well, don’t let me down, alright?” he says, and you give him a mocking salute, biting your tongue to keep your face neutral.

Gus eventually pulls the boat into the marina, and the other members of the crew hop out and begin tying off the boat.

“Let’s go, Y/N – we’ll need to keep all of this in one place!” one of the crewmates calls to you from the dock, beckoning you to disembark The Lucky Mermaid and join them.

“Actually, I need to chat with Y/N for awhile longer,” Gus cuts in with a tone of finality that leaves no room for argument. He pulls the backpack off of you and tosses it to the crew. “Take hers with you, Alex.”

The man immediately obeys, throwing your bag over his other shoulder, and the three men move to shore. You turn to look up at Gus, trying not to be nervous – this is the first time you’ve been alone with him since you had first started talking, and this is definitely a more secluded location than your previous, public encounters.

“We should do something to celebrate your first successful job. Are you free for dinner tonight?” he asks, getting right to the point. You find yourself gaping at him.

“You… you want to take me to dinner?” you stammer, somewhat incredulous, and you’re sure you must be blushing like mad right about now. Gus seems to be taking in your butterflies with a good deal of amusement, giving you a charming smile. “Like a date?”

“Maybe. It could be,” he says, shrugging his big shoulders and trying to play it off casual. “I had to make sure you were good to run with us before anything else, and now I have. So how about it?”

“I… yeah,” you reply eagerly, still processing the surprising invitation. “I mean, yes, Gus, I’d love to!” you tack on, flustered, and his grin widens.

“Great! How’s Brigoli’s, 7 o’clock?”

That would give you the day to catch up on sleep, maybe get some other work done, and still have time to make yourself look presentable.

“Sounds perfect, Gus. I’ll see you tonight!” you beam at him before nimbly hopping onto the dock, heading for home.

---

The minute you get home and lock your front door behind you, you collapse back against the door, clapping a hand over your mouth. It had worked; you were in with Gus’s gang, and he wanted a more intimate relationship with you.

You desperately want to take a shower and nap, but you need to update your report before you started forgetting details. You head into your bedroom, removing the picture hanging on the wall to reveal a hole concealing a laptop and a wireless router; you leave your badge and gun tucked in the corner of the hidden area.

Opening the computer, your eyes briefly skim the report in progress. You had been investigating Malcolm’s gang for over a year now, and had been looking at Gus in particular for the past four months. After two months of recon, it was determined that you would be the best candidate to go undercover as a petty thief in the hopes of attracting his attentions and getting close.

And you had.

You’d known it was a risk, getting a dangerous, temperamental guy with a history of DV to be interested in you, but if you succeeded in your ruse and got in close, you would be privy to everything in time. And you suppose it wasn’t all acting – Augustus Travis was scum, an abusive man and a criminal through-and-through, but he was more than easy on the eyes. You allowed yourself to check him out during your time together – it would only strengthen your disguise (or so you told yourself).

You take off your shirt, retrieving the tiny camera stashed in your bra, and connect it to the laptop, placing both back in the hidden alcove and replacing the painting. The videos you had taken could back up while you took a shower, but you could never be too careful, and didn’t want to risk leaving such important evidence out unattended, even in your own home.

You hop in the shower, the hot water helping to relax your tight muscles – you found you were always tense these days, the pressure of being caught overwhelming – and try to think of a to-do list while you wash up.

You were scheduled to meet your handler later on today at a local café to give him an update. Jacob was an old friend that you'd trained at the academy with, and it had been decided that having him liaise with you would be safer than one of the more local cops – he shouldn’t be recognized. In some ways, you found interacting with Jacob more difficult with Gus. It was much harder to stay in character when you were talking to someone who actually knew the real you.

You’d check the video uploads once you were out of the shower, nap for a few hours, put together the updated report and print it out to take with you to the meeting. There are a few photographs in particular of the inside of Harbour Manor – what the team had seized in a recent heist, before you had been added to the team – that would go a long way in a criminal trial against Gus, Malcolm, and the whole group. You’d probably get back from meeting Jacob in the late afternoon, giving yourself a bit of time to unwind and prepare for your dinner with Gus.

This was going to work; you could handle playing house with the man.

You’d have to.

Gus’s POV:

Gus shows up outside your house just after noon, after having rested up a bit at the Manor. He liked keeping an eye on you, even if that was only in the form of watching your house while you slept the day away, telling himself that it was just to make sure you weren’t lying to him.

Perhaps it was a bit more than that.

He needed to be sure that you were safe, that you were coming back to him; he needed you in ways he’s not entirely comfortable with.

He hasn’t felt this way since Nat.

He thinks you might be better.

Yeah, maybe he’s being a bit overzealous – you’d only just agreed to go out with him today, after all – so what? He was devoted, committed, passionate. Women appreciated that.

The tinted windows of Alex’s car afford him the perfect view of the front of your house – he knew you would recognize his own vehicle, and he doesn’t want you knowing about the depth of his desires quite yet. You’re probably still asleep; it had been a long night. Perhaps he could slip in just to pay you a visit, just to take in the sight of you at your most vulnerable…

Your front door opens suddenly and he jumps slightly despite himself. Just where the hell did you think you were going?

You’re dressed better than you usually are when you’re looking to swipe a few wallets, and you’re on the phone with someone. He opens the app on his phone that allows him to listen in through the bug he’d planted under your mailbox – being one of Malcolm’s top guys had its perks, and after the incident with his ex-wife, he’d learned to keep track of what was his.

“ –there in about half an hour. No, not the Sea urchin Café, the Seahorse Café!” you clarify, and Gus’s jaw clenches. “Yeah, I’m looking forward to seeing you too! Bye.”

You hang up and walk down the path to your driveway, getting into your car and driving off without a second thought. He debates following, but it would be too suspicious. Plus, he already knows where you’re going.

Scrolling through the contacts on his phone, he finds Frankie’s number. Frankie was an… associate… that worked as a waiter at the Seahorse Café. It provided him ample opportunities to eavesdrop, and it was much easier to conduct ‘business’ in broad daylight when someone on the inside was there to help set things up and keep things quiet. Gus had him stationed at the Café and Louie at Brigoli’s; he’d long since made a habit of having eyes everywhere, since he (regrettably) couldn’t be everywhere at once.

He dials the phone.

“Hey, Frankie? It’s Gus. I need a favour.”

He rattles off the request, giving him your general description and asking him to keep an eye out for you… and whoever you met with. As soon as Frankie is satisfied with his promised payment, Gus hangs up, immediately starting the engine and heading over to the Café. He needs to see this for himself.

He pulls up to the restaurant just in time to see you stand from your chair, greeting a lanky blond man with a smile and a hug that has him seeing red. Infuriated, he sends off some quick texts to Frankie, demanding he determine their relationship as soon as possible. If you were with someone else, if you had lied to his face and told him you wanted him…

He isn’t sure what he’ll do.

Over the next hour or so, Frankie sends him short updates that mostly alleviate his suspicions, though he still can’t help himself, watching your lunch through the restaurant’s windows:

They’re friends.

Old coworkers maybe.

Looks like she just brought some stuff to give him to help him out.

Gus is mostly mollified, but still jealous – he should be the one you’re doing favours for, the one you obey unquestioningly, the one you stick to like glue...

He’s so distracted by his possessive thoughts and dark desires that he misses the awkward, fumbling exchange that you and the man you were with have with Frankie before quickly moving to pay your bill and leave. But he is notified of the situation by a new text from Frankie that pulls him out of his fantasizing:

She’s a cop.

He freezes, the words initially failing to register. When they finally sink in, he’s still not buying it. There was no way. Still, he watches you leave, taking note of the other man’s license plate as he drives off, just in case, and then drives to the back of the restaurant, ordering Frankie to come give him an update face-to-face in a terse text message.

The man climbs into the passenger seat a few minutes later, closing the door behind him.

“What the fuck do you mean she’s a cop?!” Gus hisses at him, getting right to the point. Frankie immediately raises his hands in surrender.

“Look, they were wrapping up their meal and she accidentally knocked over the file folder she’d brought – they’d talked about it like it was some old records for work, and a photograph slipped out. I grabbed it to give back to her, and she completely froze – she looked terrified. I took a quick glance, and…” he hesitates, probably wishing there was more space between himself and an increasingly irate-looking Gus.

“It was the loot from the heist we did a few weeks back, in the Manor, man. If she’s not a cop, she’s at least feeding info to someone else.”

Gus’s rage pours out of him in tangible waves, but he is completely silent for a long moment.

“Get out.”

Frankie all but dives for the door’s handle, flinging himself out of the car to escape, and Gus immediately speeds off in the direction of the Manor, seething.

First Nat, now you? At least Nat had had some loyalty, in the beginning, but now you were coming in to fuck him over, and you’d been lying the whole time? After he’d worked so hard, built himself up, made something of himself? You were going to take everything he’d worked for, take him down, leave him?

No. Not this time. You’d never get the chance.

The minute he reaches Harbour Manor he’s making calls: one to a dealer, one to Louie at Brigoli’s, and one to his guy on the inside at the local car insurance company, who confirmed the car the guy you’d met with had left in as being registered to one Jacob Henson, as well as the man’s address. He jots the information down and hangs up the phone, and just looks down at the slip of paper, a hand covering his mouth.

What a fucking mess you’ve caused by doing this to him.

But it’s nothing compared to what he’s going to do to you.

He moves to the foyer at the front of the house, hollering for Alex and tossing the man his car keys back when he appears at the top of the stairs.

“You’re gonna go find someone for me,” he tells the younger man, handing him the information about Jacob. “And they’re gonna have an accident.”

---

By the time Gus is at the restaurant waiting for you, he’s calmed down somewhat, knowing that it’s necessary if he wants to execute his part of the plan. He’s in a booth that gives the table a degree of privacy but that is close enough to the front for an easy getaway, which would be needed to get you out of here.

You arrive a short time later looking lovely and innocent and he hates you; you could’ve been his partner; now it would take longer, take more work to break you in. But he would break you in with time; he’d picked up a few things since Nat, and would have you compliant and submissive and his in time.

“Hi Gus,” you greet him with a shy smile, and now that he knows it’s bullshit he wants to beat the fake expression right off your beautiful face. Instead, he grins warmly at you, eyes raking over your body poured into a tight black dress. Even if you’d faked your attraction to him, he could still fuck you, he thinks to himself, and the idea helps him stay calm. There will be time to lash out at you later.

“You clean up good, Y/N,” he leers, keeping up the act just as you are, and continues flirting with you until Louie shows up with champagne and two glasses. You look over to him questioningly, and he smiles.

“I mentioned that we were celebrating tonight,” he admits, trying to sound bashful. Louie leaves once he has taken your order and Gus slides a flute over to you, raising his to you.

“To a long and successful working relationship,” he toasts in a low, husky voice, his eyes dark as he watches you bite your lip to keep back what he presumes is a guilty smile before you raise your own glass to clink with his.

“Working relationship, huh?” you tease after a sip of your beverage, and he makes a point of looking you up and down, considering which parts of your body will look the best bloodied and battered.

“Among other things,” he adds suggestively, giving you a wink. You blush and lick your lips, and he senses that your attraction to him may not be a complete lie. That boded well for your future together; it made you even marginally closer to giving into him. That had not been the case with Nat, when he’d first met her – it had been a struggle in the beginning, getting her to accept his love. But she had... Eventually.

He refocuses on you, not wanting to waste any more thought on his traitorous bitch of an ex-wife. You’re surveying him over your champagne, the romantic lighting making your eyes flicker at him. You clearly hadn’t noticed the trace amounts of powder in the bottom of your champagne glass, and as he watches you take another sip he wonders how long it will take for the rohypnol to take effect. He’s nearly giddy at the thought.

“So, was getting me to work with you all just a ploy to get us closer together?” you ask coyly, looking over at him with a flirty smile.

“Oh, I don’t know, I think we could get a bit closer,” he purrs, pointedly sliding a little closer to you in the booth. Time to see how far you were willing to take this thing…

He can hear your soft gasp from across the table, and watches as you gather the nerve to join him, slowly moving yourself down the booth towards him. Halfway to him, your hand slips and you fall forward into his lap with a squeak.

“Oh, sorry!” you say, giggling breathlessly as you right yourself, moving to sit beside him. “That champagne went right to my head!”

“No need to apologize, sweetheart. I’m more than alright with you throwing yourself at me,” he teases, reaching over to take your cheek in his hand gently. Your eyes flutter closed at the contact, and the moment would almost be sweet if he didn’t know it was a ruse influenced by the drugs starting to take effect.

“Maybe I’m getting sick or something; this doesn’t feel right,” you mumble, looking up blearily at him. He gives you a look of mock sympathy, deciding to let you in on the scheme.

“What’s wrong?” he asks innocently. “Should I call someone for you? Maybe… Jacob?”

You tense up, your eyes wide as they try to focus on his face.

“W-What?” you ask groggily, and he gives you a mocking smile. He stretches his arms up and lays them along the back of the booth, his jacket opening just enough that you notice his gun at his hip, even in your loopy state.

“Here’s what’s going to happen,” he tells you, bending to speak quietly in your ear. To anyone that looked, you both appeared just like a couple out for a romantic evening. “Those drugs I had put in your glass are going to start to kick in. You’re going to come to my car with me, nice and easy, and no one gets hurt. And then we’re going to go have a talk.”

He kisses you softly, right below the ear, throws some cash down to cover the champagne – Louie had never put your food order through – and half drags, half carries you up out of the booth, reassuring everyone that you were just feeling under the weather, and sweeps you up into his arms. He’s pretty sure he hears a couple of women coo at the sweet picture the two of you make.

Perfect.

Carrying you out of Brigoli’s, he walks with you to his car, settling you in the passenger seat.

“Sleep, sweetheart,” he coos patronizingly, and you can’t even glare at him, your eyes rolling into the back of your head as the drugs really start to kick in. “You’re going to have a lot to answer for when that wears off.”

He buckles your seatbelt for you, almost tenderly, before closing your door and walking around the car to take his seat behind the wheel. As he drives you both to Harbour Manor (emptied of witnesses for the next day or so at his instruction), he looks over at you, his heart clenching with adoration for you even as his hands grip the steering wheel so hard he worries he’ll break it.

You wouldn’t be getting away from him. Not like last time. Not like Nat. You’d take the beating both of you deserved for trying to leave him, for lying to him.

And then he’d make sure you never fucked with him again.

[As you can see, I am in need of decent quality screenshots of this movie, if anyone has access to a better version than the one on YouTube and wants to help me out!]

Chapter 2 | Epilogue

[thesilentarestill]

Kayn, Rhaast, and Loss (and Chainsaw Man for some reason)

WARNING!! The following rambling contains heavy spoilers for Part 1 of Chainsaw Man

Additionally the following contains the insane headcanons of a deranged man who likes Runeterra just a bit too much so if everyone is OOC thats just how it is

Kayn is such an interesting character to me beyond how he is presented in League. From his prime appearance, he doesn't really have much going on beyond "edgy scythe shadow ninja". Base Kayn is a very tropey character, but it's done to his advantage.

What really makes him interesting to me, is the existence of Rhaast, and moreso the implications of what Rhaast's presence could mean from a narrative standpoint. We don't know how Kayn is able to withstand the darkin when no other mortal seemingly can. Is it because of his strength? Is Rhaast weaker than other darkins?

Or is it because Kayn has nothing to lose?

An interesting take on the character in my mind is that Rhaast is fueled by emotional instability. Kayn's withstood Rhaast's assault for years because his willpower is so strong... and he's at his strongest because there is nothing that can shake that.

Kayn is an orphan, an abandoned child soldier, he has no ties to the world around him. He craves power, and when he finds it, he does nothing but relish in that strength. The only person that he could possible feel affection for... is Zed.

And perhaps that is why I imagine Zed acting so cold to him. He would care, of course. Why else would the leader of the Order of Shadows rescue a child from a battlefield, raise and train him. He must care.

But as soon as Kayn touched that scythe Zed's coldness changed. He is no longer just unable to express his affectionate emotions due to the way he is, he is now actively acting colder and more harsh towards Kayn to protect him from the creature lurking in his mind.

And now is when I switch up to talking about Chainsaw Man for ZERO reason.

Chainsaw Man Part 1 is my second favourite manga of all time, and one of my favourite stories of all time. I could go on for hours about everything I love about it, but here I just want to focus in on one thing.

Denji, Makima, and Family.

When we meet Denji at the start of the story, he has nothing. He has no family, he has no money, no food. The only thing he does have is Pochita, and soon enough the devil becomes a part of him, so you could even say he doesn't even have that anymore.

That is the state in which Makima finds him, and that is the state where Denji is at both his weakest... and his strongest.

No matter what anyone could do to him, it wouldn't change anything. He's already at rock bottom, if someone were to kill him he might even see it as a blessing.

So what does Makima do?

She gives him a life. She gives him food, a job, a purpose... She tempts him with the chance of everything he's ever desired, and she reinforces his will to live.

She gives him Power, and Aki. The family that he's never had, the love that he's always craved.

Before the Gun Devil incident happens, Denji is at his strongest... and his weakest.

Because now he has something to lose.

And Makima strips that away from him.

Denji has to kill Aki, and after that, he comes to her. And what does Makima do?

She kills Power right in front of him. She removes the last piece of Denji's new family, his new life, right before his eyes.

Everything that he had, that newfound will to live, it's now gone. And when Denji is reduced to nothing, that is when Chainsaw Man returns.

That was one hell of a tangent, but it does loop back around to my main point, I promise.

Kayn has nothing to lose, emotionally. He lives for the fight, for the power that he feels from the Darkin. Through his base skin blue form voice lines, we see that although he still feels remorse upon Zed's death ("It did not have to end this way, Zed."), he still does not view Zed's loss as a tragedy. Zed is not his father, Zed is his equal now.

So that's why the most interesting narrative to me is:

What if Kayn had someone to fight for?

That's why I love writing Kayn alongside someone, be it romance or found family- If he has a tie to the world, a real connection to another living being, the love that he was denied his entire childhood... Then what happens when that's stripped away?

What happens when the cold facade of his mind cracks? When the thirst for power becomes an anguished cry of sorrow?

That's when Rhaast has already won.

Whispering into Kayn's mind, "It was your fault, they died because of you. This is what happens when anyone gets close to you, this is why you are unworthy of love."

The moment that Kayn falters, the demon in his head has everything that he needs to take control. If Kayn is capable of compassion, then he is capable of despair.

And when his willpower is gone, there is nothing to stop the Darkin.

[moxiemaemaple]

Dear Diary again. Wellness never is enough.

Help I'm stuck on this rollar coaster.

I was always a fan of the theme parks. The bright neon lights twinkling, the plushies lined up in the games alley and the rides mesmerizingly spinning, speeding an flipping around. The smells of overly sweet food and the places intentions of making you escape while within its grounds. I wish I could just skip the grounds with a churro treat…but I'm stuck in this park and there is no joy here for long here.

I soar to the peak of this coaster, get a view of everything to come then shoot down in a whiplash of the world reminding me of the pull of gravity. I feel it in the pit of my stomach, the drop. I might be strapped in tight, bar there to grip. I can't enjoy this ride. Up and down its hilly pre-built tracks I roll. At its mercy I go round an round in the same pattern and those below can only admire me as I fly by, seemingly in my element of happy but these screams aren't for joy anymore.

I dip into hell and rocket out of its hellish, painful grasp only to plunge back into it shortly later, inescapable, repeating, looping me around and no one else is allowed on.

I'm caged on this ride alone. Its not meant to be enjoyed with someone. This is my prison.

I did too much in my dark pit. Pushed myself exorbitantly passed my own limits. Why do I keep getting on rides I know will make me sick? Up and down I jarringly coast and I'm the one who strangely help built this very ride. The complexity of my crippling mind creating this tangled mess of steel track and I can't straighten it out, its already in place. I have to face this ride because ultimately I got on, right?

In my darkest moments I leak my best shows of imagination, creativity. The romanticize of the wounded artist, left to paint with their own blood masterpieces. Do people stop to look at the graffiti I've smeared in my pass? Or are they too invested in watching my torment as I remain trapped on this coaster? Every decent in a sharp drop down I leave a stain of everything I am in my trail. Learned to look for remnants of what I've made when I whip back around to face the same repeat of tracks. A reminder that despite feeling sealed in, I'm leaving it better then I arrived. For another? For myself? The drop into the pit of the damned can be painted with my screams and they have painted a rainbow beautiful chaos which I keep building upon. Perhaps I'll deface the ride enough they finally let me off and I can stop this exhausting loop. Or will my hands turn to stumps, ripped right off as I paint with this blood of mine, the only thing I've been given to create.

Drain myself dry before I stop. Lead to my own derailment. Is that the only way to escape?

Socializing is something that both jolts me back full of life but also sends this cart over a drop. I see the crest of the peak approach and I still race forward knowing in a way where it leads. In some strange way I don't know how to even balance this, or is that even possible?

I was ironically posting up a photo on twitter about pushing yourself to practice some form of wellness to clear the mind when it started. I hear a crash and glance up from my post to watch as a rig rolls over my beach buggie not once, but twice in the parking lot it was resting in. The driver? Interesting man who goes by Ryder Dye, said like 'Ride or die'. Gave me a chuckle with how many have been quite the opposite of that towards me in life. You think anyone would willing ride this hellish coaster of mine with me? Could quite literally lead one to death. Its not an easy ride to stomach.

We ended up hanging out. In short he assaulted me three times; I'm fine, till I kept my sunglasses off, kept tossing money at me as an apology and kept this coaster steady on a straight stretch. It was a bit of blur everything happened. Eventually all things lead to UwU cafe and there we were, surrounded by a mix of familiar and new faces. You know me, crowds are something I struggle with. Even if I know everyone.

In the end the drop is unavoidable. After all those good giggles, at the end of it all I feel I'm punished as I am pulled over a edge and plunge. My shoulders grow increasingly tense and it feels like no amount of massaging helps relieve the tension, time is the only cure. Often I wonder why its like this, why I'm like this…

What is like to be stuck on the merry go round? No drops, simple circling with a view every so often meant to be enjoyed. For me, my glimpse at the top is one always leading to a downfall. One I see quite clearly coming. How can I just enjoy it at the top?

I'm on the wrong ride…

[dreamofjoys]

Imagine a pregnancy scare with Malleus ( I will assume that if you are human, you and Malleus’ baby will be born the human way instead of egg).

You/Yuu/MC crying and freaking out bc you’re stuck in a strange world with nothing and you aren’t ready to be a mom yet, and you have to hide it from everyone else too, although Lilia might somehow know. Imagine the sheer dread and panic of telling him! A prince getting a magicless nobody preggers and out of wedlock too!

Somehow I feel that Mal will probably be slightly dissapointed in the end that it wasn’t for real.

— a/n: my poor baby will be going through a heart attack T-T

— cw: pranking, fake pregnancy, fem reader "breaks down", mentions of marriage (lilia setting you up heh)

look.. i dont know where this fake pregnancy idea come from but you were probably feeling goofy and wanted to prank him a bit

the plan was simple, to suddenly act distanced from malleus and then break down when confronting him about it

initially when you act "cold" towards malleus, he thought that he did something wrong that made you angry/sad

he spend a few days in his room thinking hard about what could possibly go wrong before deciding that it was better to just confront to you about it and talk things out

before he could do that, you had already stepped foot into diasomnia, approaching him with "sad and teary eyes"

his eyes widened in shock, immediately teleporting in front of you

warm hands immediately cupping your cheeks, brushing off the tears that were cascading down

he tilts your head up, observing your puffy eyes that were swollen from "crying"

"what's wrong, love?"

you started getting more "agitated" at the question as fresh tears assaults your eyes again

that's when you decided to "confess" about what's "bothering" you

you found out you were "pregnant" a few days ago as you found it weird that you were vomiting every morning

the pregnancy test indicated positive - you even showed him a fake sample of it

you proceeded going on about how you did not belong in this world. you were just a magicless human with no achievements in twisted wonderland. and now you are weighed with the burden of carrying the heir of briar valley?? the both of you aren't even married! what would people think about this? they wouldn't dare to talk and point fingers at malleus, but as for you..... that's a completely different story

he didn't know how to feel about this.. sudden news. only 2 points were stucked inside his head. 1) You are pregnant 2) You guys aren't married! how could he overlook this part??? he should have just proposed to you first instead of asking you to be his girlfriend someone tell him that's not how it works

also...... who would bully you?? screw what the world says, he is the future king of briar valley. he is the law, not some outsiders who only know how to make his wife - aka you - sad

malleus pulls you into a hug, one hand protectively holding the back of your head while the other loops at the back of your waist

to be honest, you didn't know how he would feel about pregnancy (i guess it's also one of the main reason why you wanted to pull this prank)

malleus pulls away again, his green slitted eyes looking at your (e/c) lovingly

"it's okay," his fingers brushing off a stray hair that were stick to your cheek due to the tears. " i will take responsibility for everything. all you need to do is to take care of yourself and not get hurt, okay?"

that's when you started crying real happy tears. a part of you felt really bad that you were playing around with him but you were also touched by the depth of the love he had for you

" i think you should tell him the truth now, s/o" lilia popped beside you, causing you to shriek in surprise

malleus's hold on you tightened, afraid that you would fall and injured yourself

"what truth, lilia?"

NOW that's when you wanna dig a hole and never come out.... because it's so hard to confess that it's a prank and you have to watch the excitement in malleus's eyes die down into disappointment

"i see," malleus mumbled, scanning your figure up and down to make sure that... you aren't lying and that you are completely fine without anything growing inside your stomach

that's when bat daddy comes in to save this awkward situation!

"don't look so sad, malleus. you can just propose to her right now and have a baby later on! it's much safer to protect her by giving her the title of crown princess, right?"

malleus's eyes shone with excitement, agreeing with whatever that lilia had just said

you stare at the bat dad, jaws opened wide as you mouthed to him "what the fuck"

lilia only grins mischievously, giving you his signature half lidded eye look

"what? im just helping you to speed up the marriage process!"

you turn back to malleus, trying to tell him that you guys can get married after graduation

but the determined look in his eyes tells you otherwise. in his mind, he is already planning out on how to propose to you, what day you guys should get married, who to invite, the colour of your baby's room, the education needed for your child and etc etc

now, are you the one pranking or did you just got set up by lilia?

[blackwidownat2814]

Lift Me Up (J.Seresin)

Pairing: Jake Seresin x reader, Jake Seresin x GN!reader

Word Count: 1294

A/N: There was no prompt or request to make me write this. I wrote it to help a friend. They recently lost someone very near and dear to their heart, and I hated that I couldn't be there to help them grieve. So I decided to do the next best thing. I wrote about our favorite naval aviator helping them through this horrible time. I've never written a gender neutral reader before, so I consulted with a couple people to make sure I did it properly. Thank you so much @jobean12-blog and @nuggetynoodle!!

TW: death of a loved one, dealing with grief, angst, a little fluff (because our beloved Jake tries to lift our spirits)...

‼️⚠️I do not give permission for any of my work to be copied, translated or reposted anywhere else but on my own blog and AO3.⚠️‼️

This is for you, my dearest @buckysdollforlife.

Masterlist

You blinked yourself awake that morning, not immediately remembering what you had to do later.  When the memory hit you, you almost physically recoiled, the sadness hit you like a punch to the gut.  The emptiness in your chest was like nothing you’d felt up until this point.

He must’ve sensed you were awake, because you felt his arm tighten around your waist as you were assaulted by the memory of the last couple of weeks.  You were so grateful to be able to lean on him during this entire thing.

“How are you feeling, darlin’?”

“Is this a nightmare, Jake?” you asked him quietly and without turning around to look at him.  “Is that why everything sucks?  Am I still asleep, stuck in some never ending hellscape?”

Jake pulled you back, tighter against his chest, resting his chin on your shoulder and leaving a trail of soft kisses.

“I wish I could say yes.  I wish I could say this was all just a nightmare and you’ll wake up in a world where she’s still here.  I’m sorry that I can’t.  I’d give anything to give her back to you.”

You turned around in his arms and placed a hand on his cheek.

“I know you would.  That’s why I love you.”  You gave him a small smile and leaned in for a peck on his lips.  “Thank you for everything you’ve done during this whole thing.”

“You don’t have to thank me”, he said with that cocky smile only Jake Seresin could give.  “You’re my person.”

You were still somewhat numb to the world by the time your aunt’s funeral came around and you had intended to simply dress in black, but Jake convinced you to have a bath and surprised you with your favorite bath bomb from LUSH.  As you sat soaking in the glittery blue water thanks to the Intergalactic bath bomb, Jake washed your hair and scrubbed away the tears tracks on your face.

You still dressed in black, but wore a cardigan with yellow and blue flowers, your aunt’s favorite.  When you were finished getting ready, you sat on the edge of your bed to watch Jake finish getting ready.

“You don’t have to dress all fancy, you know.”  Jake looks at you in the mirror and smiles.

“I know darlin’...”, he replies as he slides his belt through the loops of his dark blue pants, making sure the clip was on the correct side of the buckle.  “...but your aunt always said she loved a man in uniform, so I wanted to do this for her.”

“Jake…I just fixed my face.”

“Now, sweetheart, ya know there ain’t nothin’ ‘bout that face I’d fix, right?”

“Ok, wow, Mr. Texas”, you said with a laugh. “Your accent is sometimes almost non-existent and sometimes, just super strong.”

“It happens.”  He flipped his shirt collar up and turned to face you, holding his tie.  “Would you mind helpin’ a guy out?”

You stood and took the tie from him, placing it under the collar, and tied it in a Windsor knot.  When you finished, you carefully took his coat from the hangar and held it open for him.  After he slid his arms in, you smoothed the shoulders out and helped him adjust the lapels.  

“Thanks sweetheart.”  You unzipped the protective cover of Jake’s white service cap and handed it to him.

“Lookin’ good lieutenant.”

“You ready to go?”

“Do we have to?

“We do.”

“Let’s do this.”

The funeral had been lovely, a lot of the parts of the ceremony had been chosen by your aunt, like the music and flowers.

She’d also asked for the reception following the funeral to be held at the Hard Deck, as she’d fallen in love with the place after you took her there to meet the Daggers a few years ago.  Penny was more than happy to oblige.

After thanking everyone for coming, and having a few bites, you wandered outside and sat in the sand to watch the waves crash.  You felt the tears start to fall as you remembered the last time you were here with your aunt…

It was a gorgeous day.  Your aunt was perched in her beach chair, you next to her, as you both watched the Daggers play their weekly scheduled game of Dogfight Football.  Jake screamed out as he scored a touchdown, pointing at you with the ball and a smile.

“Hold on to that one, Sweet Pea.”  You turned to look at your aunt with a smile.

“I plan on it.”  You both smiled as you continued to watch them all play.

“He’s going to be the one you’ll need to lean on when I’m gone.”

“Please, don’t remind me”, you replied, trying to hold back tears.  “I don’t want to think about that right now.”

Your aunt took your hand in hers and pulled it towards her, placing a kiss on the knuckles.  The Daggers cheered loudly as Coyote ran down the beach and scored a touchdown.  Jake jumped up and down next to his friend as he celebrated.

“Oof, that boy sure is something”, your aunt said, with a bite of her lip.

“Nah”, you replied, smiling at Jake’s cheers with his team.  “He’s everything.”

Jake watched you sitting in the sand from the back deck of the Hard Deck.

“How’re they doing?”  Startled out of his thoughts, Jake turned to see Rooster, Coyote, Bob, Fanboy, Payback, and Phoenix standing around him.

“Not well, but that’s to be expected.  Their aunt meant a lot to ‘em”, Jake replied.  He looked back over at you and saw your shoulders shaking.  “Excuse me guys, it seems I’m needed.”

He hopped off the back and headed towards you.  When he made it to you, he sat behind you, a leg on either side, pulling you back towards him.

“Let it out sweetheart, I’ve got ya.”

“It’s not fair Jake!  She didn’t deserve what happened to her!  She’s going to miss everything, like if we get married or have kids or when you get promoted and all the awesome places I promised to take her if you happened to get stationed somewhere exotic.”

“You wanna marry me and have kids?”  You smacked him on the leg.

“That’s what you got from all that?”

“I’m sorry darlin’”, he said as he squeezed you tight.  “Please continue.”

“I just miss her so much.  She was so special to me.”

“I understand, I felt the same way when my grandma passed.  I didn’t think I’d ever be okay.  I don’t think I’m okay now, and it’s been years!  If I talk about Nana Seresin, I will start crying.”  He kissed you on your temple.  “I am by no means an expert in grief, but what I know is that it will get better, no matter how cliché that sounds.  One day, that stabbing pain you feel will dull, and it’ll be just like a bruise.  You’ll be able to think of her and all the memories you’ve got of her without crying and look back on them with happiness.”

“When will that happen Jake?”

“I don’t know sweetheart.  It’s different for everyone.”

“What if I forget her?”

“You won’t.  You know why?”  You shook your head.  “You’ll never forget her because a part of her will always live on in you, and everyone’s hearts she touched.  The squad will never let you forget because they loved your aunt too.  We’ll help remind you every day.”

You sat up straight and turned to look at him and placed your hands on his cheeks, running your thumbs over them.

“When did you get so smart, Lieutenant?”

“I’ve always been this smart sweetheart.”

“Cocky bastard.”

“And don’t you forget.”

PS: I'm real sorry if I made you cry my friend!

[deanstead]

Somebody’s Watching

Pairing: Jay Halstead x Reader

Request by danipearl16: Request- Jay has a girlfriend that nobody knows about and then they get a case where she’s being stalked and her stalker is killings women that seem to remind him of her and it turns out to be her ex-boyfriend from high school and Jay starts going downhill a little bit because he’s worried about her. Also his girlfriend is more on the younger than his side by 7 years

Word Count: 4,365

Warnings: cursing, mention of sexual assault/misconduct (non-graphic), mention of non-con touching, stalking, minor OC death, mention of injury, angst, fluff

A/N: Please beware of the triggers before you continue reading! I changed some parts to fit into the storyline but I still hope you like what I did with it! I’m pretty excited about this fic so I really really hope yall will like it! It’s my first time writing such a detailed case in so I hope it turned out well? Please hit me up and let me know what you think! Love yall!

---

You looked up from where you were sprawled on the couch, fiddling with your phone. Jay was sitting at the table, a small frown across his face as he pored over case notes.

Jay usually didn’t bring his work home with him but they’d just closed a big case and he had spent a whole week in the district. So instead of spending more time there to finish the paperwork, Jay had opted to bring it home instead.

You smiled to yourself just as Jay looked up. “Sorry babe.” He said, making a little face at the papers strewn across the table.

Chuckling, you climbed off the couch and moved towards him. You stood behind him, looping your arms around his shoulders, resting your chin on his shoulder. “I missed you.” You whispered.

Jay turned slightly, tugging you so that you now landed in his lap.

“Missed you too.” He whispered, smiling as one of his arms snaked around your waist, holding you securely to him, another hand reaching up to cup your cheek. “Sorry I’ve been busy.”

You shook your head, smiling.

You’d been dating for a while but no one else knew. Both of you had agreed to keep it on the down low, partly because of your age difference. Even though you had agreed you’d keep it quiet at least for the first few months, it had been a lot more than that and it had been going so well that you didn’t really want to purposefully invite anyone into this world that Jay and you had created for yourselves. Rather than keeping it a secret, you guys just hadn’t made the effort to tell anyone or publicize it to the world. This also meant that when he was stuck at the district, you didn’t get to see him but on such days, Jay was always mindful about checking in.

“What’s on your mind?” Jay asked.

“Just thinking I’m lucky to have you.” You responded, leaning in to try to give him a hug. Instead, Jay stroked your cheek and pressed his lips to yours. “Now, I really need to finish this.”

You laughed. “Go forth.”

---

Jay had taken a few well-deserved days of furlough, which he had mostly spent curled up with you. You didn’t have any complaints, it had been just what you both needed.

But Intelligence couldn’t catch a break. It was Jay’s first day back and now, he was already walking up to a crime scene.

Jay pushed the yellow crime scene tape upwards, letting Hailey walk through ahead of him before following behind her.

“What do we have?” Jay asked, approaching the spot where Adam and Kim were standing.

Kim turned. “Kate Whitewood, 22, stabbed multiple times.”

“She’s not in the system. No priors, nothing.” Adam added.

“No belongings on her?” Voight asked, looking around.

Adam shook his head. Jay frowned. “There’s barely any blood here.”

Kevin nodded, jogging forward to join them. “This is probably just the dump site. She must have been killed elsewhere.”

Hailey stood from where she had bent to examine the body. “She has defensive wounds on her. Maybe we’ll get lucky and find skin under her fingernails.”

Jay bent forward slightly. “What are those? Marks around her neck? We need to get her to the ME to get the exact cause of death.”

“Kim, bag her hands and get forensics to run a deluxe.” Voight said, as Kim nodded.

“My CI works this street, let me see what I can find out.” Jay said, turning away.

---

“So Kate was last seen at this bar right in town.” Hailey said, walking in and sticking a screenshot onto the board, which showed a camera view of the street outside the bar.

Kate could be seen on the image, her head turned slightly as she waved to someone, a man standing by her side. Hailey tapped the image.

“We can’t find this guy. His face is always turned away from the camera, facial recognition is out.”

Voight nodded. “Jay, have you heard from your CI?”

Jay nodded, resting slightly against Hailey’s desk, his arms crossed in front of him. “My guy says there haven’t been any deals going down. I think we can rule out drugs or gangs. Streets have been quiet ever since that big bust we did last month.”

“It was 28 degrees out last night, ME couldn’t find the exact time of death. But there were signs she was raped, signs of asphyxiation and five penetration wounds from a knife.” Kevin said, opening the file he had gotten from the medical examiner earlier.

Voight turned to Kim. “Who was she?”

Kim sighed. “Kate was a hard worker, she had just started her job as a receptionist at a dentist’s office in South Loop. Dad’s MIA, Mum’s remarried and relocated to New York so she’s living on her own.”

“Have we found who she was with last night?”

Adam nodded. “I’ve gone through her phone. Looks like she was meeting her friend Grace at the club last night.”

“We need to talk to her. I want to know about the last day of Kate’s life. Timeline. Check all sex offenders in the area. Comb her social media. Let’s go.” Voight instructed.

---

Jay knocked on the main door, glancing sideways at Hailey. The door swung open.

“Grace Archer? I’m Detective Upton, this is Detective Halstead, can we come in?” Hailey asked.

She furrowed her brows. “What’s this about?”

“You’re friends with Kate Whitewood?” Hailey asked, without directly answering her question. She nodded and without missing a beat, Hailey continued, “We need to ask you a few questions about last night.”

Grace stepped back to let them in, her face falling as she led them to the sitting room.

“I heard from her parents. The whole thing’s horrible.” Grace whispered, wrapping her hands around herself.

“Can you tell us what you remember?” Jay asked.

Grace looked up. “Kate’s boyfriend had broken up with her a few months ago, so I took her out. She needed to get out again.”

“Were you approached by anyone?” Hailey asked.

“Several.” She answered.

“Anyone that stood out?”

Grace paused, trying to recall. “Kate didn’t even really want to go. She barely looked at the guys… except…”

Hailey sat up a little. “There must have been something about this guy that she left with, something unique. We have a photo of him on the surveillance tape. Flashy?”

Grace nodded, “Yeah, he had this like... attitude… like he was hitting on us but he was making a joke of it at the same time.” She paused. “The last thing she told me was that she had a great time… I shouldn’t have forced her to come out.”

“This isn’t your fault.” Hailey leaned over and patted Grace comfortingly on the arm. “Thanks for talking to us. Please call us if you think of anything else.”

As Jay walked out of Grace’s house with Hailey, he looked at his partner. “This guy’s confident, he’s smooth and it doesn’t look like he knew Kate or Grace.”

---

For the rest of the day, the team had almost combed through the whole of Kate’s whereabouts before she had disappeared and all they had was a big fat nothing.

Jay typed a quick text to you to let you know that he wasn’t going to be able to come over tonight.

You read the text, smiling a little. Jay was busy but it was cute that he always kept you informed. You stopped walking, typing back a reply to tell him it was okay and to do what he had to do, before you kept her phone back into your pocket.

You walked along the street, the same street you walked on every night, frowning a little. You turned around, scanning the street behind you.

You could swear that it was like someone was watching you, or following you. But the street was empty. This wasn’t the first time you had had this feeling - like the little hairs on the back of your neck were standing but you had nothing to back up this feeling you had.

Holding your bag tighter against you, you pushed yourself forward, quickening your footsteps, only letting up as you passed the safety of your apartment building’s front door.

As you passed the threshold of your apartment and closed the door behind you, you pulled out your phone, staring at it for a while. Part of you wanted to call Jay, to hear his voice and have him tell you that you were just tired, imagining things. But the rational part of your brain convinced yourself that everything was okay, reminding you that Jay was so busy and deep in a case, he really shouldn’t have to worry about you.

Ultimately, you put your phone on the counter, chuckling at yourself. Maybe you really were too tired.

---

By the next morning, another body had turned up, not two streets away from the first dump site.

Jay felt an uneasy feeling spread in the pit of his stomach as he stared at the photo of the new victim that was already up on the board. They had a serial killer in Chicago and this guy’s victim type had physical characteristics that were scarily similar to you.

“Jay.” Hailey broke Jay out of his thoughts. “Emma Green, 23, strangulation marks, six stab wounds.”

Jay turned to his partner and nodded. “Did they go to the same club?”

Hailey handed Jay a file. “No, but look at what we picked up on the surveillance camera.” Jay opened the file, studying the photo.

“This is our guy isn’t it?” He pointed at a male figure who was standing next to their second victim, his face still hidden from the camera, wearing a plain cap.

“Hey guys, I might have found a link.” Kim said, walking in. “I checked the employee records and there’s a bartender that works in both clubs and he was on shift on each day our victims went missing. He’s got a prior for aggravated assault and harassment.”

“We’ll take it.” Jay said, grabbing his jacket and heading out of the district.

Hailey fell into step next to him, glancing at him. “Jay, you okay?”

Jay nodded. “Let’s just get this son of a bitch.”

They travelled the rest of the way in silence. Hailey seemed to pick up that this case was affecting Jay differently but she didn’t press further, allowing Jay to lead the way into the closed club.

“Ben Carlton?”

The bartender looked up from where he was, his eyes falling onto the police badge that was hung around Jay’s neck.

In a sudden motion, he ducked out and ran.

“Hey, stop!” Jay yelled, as both he and Hailey launched themselves after him, Hailey shooting out the front door to try to head him off.

“5021 George, I have a suspect fleeing on foot.” Jay called into his radio, sprinting after the bartender.

The bartender barely made it onto the next street before Hailey flung herself at him around the corner, rolling onto the ground as Jay pulled out his gun. “Don’t move!” He yelled, as Hailey pulled the bartender to his feet.

“Let’s go.” Jay snarled.

---

“It wasn’t me!” Ben yelled as he sat in the interrogation room, facing Jay and Hailey.

Jay sighed internally, watching Ben’s reactions and the way he was answering the questions Hailey was shooting at him.

“Those were mistakes, I didn’t do this!” He yelled again.

Jay pushed himself upright, getting up from where he was leaning against the wall and pushing the photos of the victims onto the table. “This. Look at this. We can place these girls at the bars you worked at just before they died.”

“Look.” Ben said, looking up at Jay. “I saw them but they left before I even finished my shift.”

Jay glanced at Hailey. “Who did they leave with?” Hailey asked.

Ben looked from Hailey to Jay. “Look, I don’t know the guy, he’s not a regular. But he’s white, about their age. I noticed him because he headed for them the moment that he walked in. Like he knew they were there.”

Before Jay or Hailey moved, a knock came from the door.

“You guys gotta see this.” Adam said, sticking his head in.

“Sit tight.” Jay said to Ben, following Adam outside, where Kevin was waiting as well.

Kevin handed the file to Jay. “We got another one.” Jay flipped open the file, which told him what he already feared. Another victim, of a physical type that not only matched the first two victims but also you.

Jay looked up. “His cooling off period is getting shorter. We need to get this son of a bitch.”

---

The feeling was getting a little stronger that someone had been watching you.

You glanced over your shoulder but as usual the street was empty. Maybe you needed to stop staying late.

You turned back towards the front. There were sounds of footsteps but you swallowed the lump in your throat, quickening your pace as discreetly as you could.

It definitely felt like someone was following you now. You were almost running by the time you rounded the corner, colliding with someone.

You gave a yelp of surprise.

“Y/N!”

You had collided with Jay.

You let out a breath, spinning around to look over your shoulder.

“What’s going on? You okay?” Jay’s eyes snapped from you to the empty street behind you.

You turned back to look at Jay. Now that he was standing in front of you, it didn’t seem that scary anymore - maybe you had imagined the whole thing.

You shook your head, taking one last glance behind you. “What are you doing here? You finished the case?”

Jay smiled but the smile didn’t really reach his eyes. “Just wanted to check in on you. I have to go back soon.”

You reached for his hand without saying anything and that’s how the both of you walked back to your apartment, your hand clenched securely in his, almost like the both of you had a tight bubble around you.

You could tell Jay’s mind was far away, and it was even more unlike him to come see you in the middle of a case. You knew there was something troubling him but you weren’t one to press. Jay would tell you when he felt he could or he wanted to.

Instead, you just squeezed his hand.

Almost as if you were prying him from his thoughts, Jay looked at you and smiled. He pulled you closer to him, tucking you under his arm.

“You’re okay, right?” You asked, without looking up at him, just as he escorted you to your door.

Jay turned to look at you and nodded. “I will be, once this case is over.” He leaned forward to give you a kiss. “If anything happens, you call me, okay? No matter what.”

You raised an eyebrow but nodded at him, watching him disappear into the elevator before you retreated back into your apartment.

---

Intelligence had been tirelessly chasing down leads but they now had four bodies and Voight was getting pressure to solve this quickly as well. They needed a break in this case and fast.

“Okay, let’s regroup, what do we have so far?” Voight barked.

“All four victims were raped and found with multiple stab wounds. We know he picks up his victims from bars and appears non-threatening enough that his victims are willing to leave with him.” Jay said, getting up.

Hailey headed to the board, frowning. “We dumped their phones but we weren’t able to find any connection between the victims other than their physical type.” Hailey cast a look at Jay, which Voight didn’t miss. “I think he’s working his way up to something.”

“Hey guys?” Kim spoke up as she walked back in, flipping open the file sitting on her desk. “I went back over the first murder to see if we missed anything. Look at this.”

Kim pulled in her chair, zooming into the photo. “This badge here on his jacket, it’s barely visible so we missed it the first few times. I sent it to the lab to see if they could enhance the image and this is what I got.”

Kim clicked and up popped the crest of a high school. “Look, it’s not just a general badge. Look at the year.”

“Okay, that is the crest for Lincoln High. It’s a jacket given to those who graduated that year.” Kevin said, frowning at it.

“I’ll run the list of students who graduated in that year.” Jay barked, heading straight for his desk, his fingers flying across his keyboard.

Cross-checking was the worst job ever but the moment Jay’s eyes landed on your name on the list of graduates, he pulled it together, eliminating the women, men who had moved out of state or country, until finally he only had three names on the list.

“Okay, I have a Steven Miller, Charles Shoemaker and John Marlin.” Jay finally spoke up as everyone looked up. “But only Steven Miller has priors.”

“For harassment, sexual misconduct, and attempted assault. Sarge, this has to be our guy.” Jay looked up at Voight.

“Do we have an LKA?” Voight asked.

“Already on it.” Adam said.

“Go pick him up.” Adam nodded, motioning to Kevin as they headed out.

Something was bugging Jay. Steven Miller. That name was…

Fuck.

Jay pushed back his chair, entering Voight’s office without knocking and closing the door behind him.

“Sarge.”

Voight looked up, frowning a little at the look on Jay’s face. He put down his pen and leaned back in his chair, looking up at Jay.

“I’ve heard Miller’s name before. It was bugging me, but I remember now.”

Voight sat up straighter.

“I’m seeing his ex-girlfriend.” The words slipped past Jay’s lips. “Sarge, everything makes sense now. The physical type, the way he’s building up because his actual target…” Jay trailed off.

You had told Jay about Steven just once. You hadn’t gone into detail but you had told Jay about the short period that you had been together with Steven – his need for control over all aspects of your life, how he had always been a little rough, how he hadn’t taken any form of rejection well, and how you’d ended it the day he struck you.

“Take Hailey.”

Jay was already halfway to the door.

---

You had left early today.

It had been a while since you had done such an early shift but you’d been feeling more and more uneasy while walking home at night and the news coverage on the murders that were happening at the moment didn’t help.

You didn’t need Jay to tell you that you looked exactly like those girls who had been murdered. It was clear as day.

You fiddled with the key in the lock, opening the door.

You felt your heart drop into your stomach as you registered the person standing in front of you. In your house.

“Steven.” You muttered, your voice trembling, barely registering the butt of a gun heading towards your temple before it went dark.

---

Hailey hadn’t said anything but she knew something was off.

“Jay, what’s going on?” She asked. “How do you know this girl’s the target?”

Jay didn’t answer but pressed harder on the accelerator, gripping the steering wheel so hard, his knuckles were white. The ringing tone going off through his bluetooth speaker in the car making him feel even worse.

“Jay.” Hailey said again. “I’m your partner.”

Jay glanced at her now. “She’s my girlfriend.”

Hailey’s eyebrows shot up. “I didn’t even know you were seeing someone.”

Jay let a beat of silence passed. “Miller’s her ex. I should have seen the signs, the physical type, everything, I…”

“Jay. She’ll be fine. Come on.” Hailey reassured him, as he turned his truck onto the familiar street.

“She’s still not answering.” Jay said, through gritted teeth. He’d been trying to call you since he had left the station.

Without hesitation, Jay bounded up the stairs, Hailey right behind him. From down the corridor, Jay could already tell your door was slightly ajar.

“Hang back.” Jay whispered, pulling out his service weapon.

Jay quietly approached the door. “Y/N?” He opened the door with his foot, freezing as his eyes landed on you, sitting in a chair in the middle of the room, your eyes frantic as Steven held a knife to your throat from where he stood behind you.

Jay gritted his teeth, using his foot to slam the door shut, knowing that Hailey would know what to do.

“Step away from her.” Jay growled, pointing his gun directly at Steven.

Steven smiled. “I was wondering when you’d arrive. Put that down.”

Jay grinded his teeth but didn’t move. You felt the cold blade of the knife press against your skin and inhaled sharply.

“Put. It. Down.” Steven repeated.

“Okay, okay.” Jay said, glancing at you before putting his hands above his head, disarming his gun and putting it down onto the floor.

Steven smiled again, tucking a stray hair behind your ear.

���Don’t you fucking touch her.” Jay growled.

“I don’t think you’re in a position to tell me what to do.” Steven answered.

“Jay, I’m sorry.” You whispered.

Jay looked straight at you. “It’s going to be okay. You focus on me, you hear me? I’m right here.”

“We broke up a long time ago, what the hell are you doing?” You asked. You were afraid, hell you were trembling, but this was crazy and you had to help Jay to find a way out of this.

“We wouldn’t be broken up if he hadn’t come between us.” Steven snarled, moving closer towards you, his lips almost touching your ear.

Jay growled. “Leave her alone.”

Steven looked back up at Jay again.

“What, you mean don’t do this?” Steven asked, crushing his lips against yours.

“Don’t you fucking touch her!” Jay yelled. “Is that what you did? How you forced yourself on all the other girls? What do you want, Steven? What are you trying to accomplish?”

“All I wanted was to be with Y/N! But you took her.” He spat.

“So you decided to go on a rampage?” Jay asked. You saw him twitch like he was looking for something so you started talking, as much as it made you want to gag.

“Steven, why didn’t you just talk to me?” You asked, trying to distract him.

“Talk? All you care about is him!” He yelled, lifting the knife and pointing it at Jay.

It happened in a split second.

The moment he lifted the knife, Jay yelled, “Now, Y/N!”

You threw yourself forward, covering your head with your hands as you heard the gunshots go off, just two. You weren’t sure who was shooting but you didn’t move until you heard Jay’s voice again.

“Y/N, it’s okay, it’s over.” Jay whispered.

You looked up, Jay’s face hovering above you.

“Jay…”

Jay nodded, “It’s okay, come here.”

Jay pulled his arms around you.

“He…” Jay shook his head, shielding your view of Steven’s now motionless body. “Don’t look back, come on.”

Jay tried to lead you out of the apartment, barely making it to the main door before his teammates appeared. “Jay!” Kevin called, as he spotted both of you.

Jay nodded. “Thanks.” Kevin nodded, his eyes lingering on the way Jay was holding you close to his side before making way for Jay to lead you back down to the ground floor where the ambulances were waiting.

Jay led you all the way to the waiting paramedics, not even leaving your side to get himself checked.

You weren’t hurt, not really. There was a little open cut from where Steven had pressed the blade a little too hard when he had been agitated but other than that you were fine. Well, that, and that disgusting feeling that came with remembering how Steven had pressed his lips against yours.

Voight approached you and Jay. Jay squeezed your hand. “I’ll be right back.” You smiled and nodded.

Jay and Voight talked in low voices until Voight turned to look at you. “And she’s okay?”

Jay nodded. “Yeah, she is. I just need to…”

“Do what you need to do. We’ll finish up here.” Voight said, nodding and clapping Jay on the back.

---

The paramedics had dressed the wound on the scene before Jay had brought you back to his apartment.

After getting you into a clean change of clothes and some warm food in you, you had ended up back in your favourite place in the world – on Jay’s couch, in Jay’s apartment, encircled in Jay’s arms.

You lay your head on Jay’s chest.

“So this was all because of me?” You asked in a low voice.

Jay sat up, looking at you. “What?”

“He killed all those women… because of me. I got them killed.” You whispered.

“No, no, baby.” Jay propped himself up, but didn’t let you go. “This is not your fault. Steven he… he did this, not you.”

You looked up at him. “He even… in front of you… he…” You could feel tears welling up in your eyes, you felt disgusting. He’d kissed you, he’d done it in front of Jay and he’d ruined everything.

You hadn’t said that much but Jay just tilted your chin upwards and kissed you. “Jay…”

“I’ll take it all away.” Jay whispered. “I’m sorry, I should have been there sooner.”

You shook your head, swiping away the tears that had slid down your cheeks.

Jay cupped your cheek again, pulling you into his chest. You balled your hand around his shirt, gripping at Jay.

“It’s okay, I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.” Jay whispered.

“I’ll never let anyone touch you ever again.” He half snarled, still caressing you gently.

You leaned into his embrace, closing your eyes as the sound of Jay’s heartbeat gently lulled you back into the feeling of safety and security.

[atinymonster]

mine

ateez 9th member.

when sunwoo’s jealousy gets the better of him during kingdom.

this is literally a combination of requests tehe but enjoy!

➴ taglist: @banhmi07, @jiyeons-closet, @jaeminpeachy, @mochibabycakes

➴ masterlist

"Let me go, right now! I am a second degree black belt—!

“Lovebug! Calm down, it’s just me!”

She didn’t think a trip to the bathroom would result in her arm practically getting ripped off by someone dragging her into an empty waiting room.

Opening her eyes, she realized she was face to face with someone’s chest. Eyes traveling up, she breathed a sigh of relief when it was just Sunwoo. Her eyes wandered his body, appreciating the stylists’ decision to put him in a black and red suit that made him look even more handsome—

“Liking the view?” his cheeky and teasing voice broke her from her reverie. 

Hold that thought. 

“I was until you opened your mouth,” she joked, punching his chest. “Why did you even drag me in here? Where are we even?”

“Just one of the empty waiting rooms. And is it a crime if I just wanted to see you?”

“Love, you literally opened the door and dragged me like a rag doll. While that was indeed hot, be careful, I don’t want the chain to hurt you.”

A sullen look passed over Sunwoo’s face. He really didn’t mean to be so rough, but there was a sense of urgency in him that he couldn’t explain. Or rather, he knew what got him all hot and bothered, but he felt stupid for voicing it out loud to her. Unconsciously, his arms around her tightened.

Peering up at his face with concern, she waved a hand in front of his face. “Hey, Woo, everything okay?” She figured something was wrong from the beginning since he wasn’t one to be this rough. 

“...You’re mine, right?” he softly asked, eyes trained on the familiar white bracelet that decorated her wrist. 

She furrowed her eyebrows in confusion at his question. Looping her arms around his neck, she played with hair, something she knew he loved when she did. “Of course, what made you think otherwise?” 

Sunwoo felt his face burn before he leaned down to rest his head on her shoulder. “Just...earlier...during the ranking announcement...”

She tilted her head in confusion. “What happened—oh.”

It wasn’t a secret to anyone that Jiyu’s popularity had skyrocketed after the first and second round. Her charisma and duality, not to mention her visuals, had been a hot topic amongst other groups for the last two weeks. And with the garnered attention, came admirers. 

“Hey guys,” Jiyu quietly called out to her members once a break started in the middle of the ranking announcement. “I don’t mean to be cocky or anything but do you guys feel the pairs of eyes on us?”

Yeosang turned to face her. “I’m surprised you only noticed now. They’re all on you.”

She pointed to herself out of disbelief. “M-Me?”

From afar, there was someone who couldn’t help but have his gaze wander over to where Jiyu was. He, much like everyone else, admired her stage presence and performance.

But it’d be a lie if he denied her being extremely attractive as well. 

“Hwiyoung keeps looking over there, what are you—” Before Inseong could finish his question, he followed the younger boy’s gaze and instantly started laughing. “Are you looking at Jiyu?”

Having been caught and called out, Hwiyoung instantly tore his gaze away from her before throwing a half-hearted glare towards his hyung. “N-No...”

“Don’t lie, you even said she was pretty multiple times back in the waiting room when ATEEZ were performing.” Jaeyoon commented—just a little too loudly to go unnoticed.

Jiyu awkwardly pressed her lips together at the outburst that she was pretty sure she wasn’t supposed to hear. Looking at her members, she was pretty sure they heard it, too. Laughing off her embarrassment, she shifted back in her seat.

Yeosang raised an eyebrow in confusion. “I hate to break his bubble...but he does know that she and Sunwoo are dating, right?”

“Our Baby Monster sure is popular today,” Wooyoung teasingly commented, throwing an arm over her shoulder. “But then again, we should know firsthand at how scary your duality is.”

Seonghwa couldn’t help the mother instincts in him as he noticed all the eyes on her. She was still a child in his eyes, so to see her bombarded with stares from others made him a little want to just cover her with a blanket. 

“I know he’s our sunbae, but he needs to get through us first!” San quietly declared, pretending to roll up his sleeves. Wooyoung nodded in complete agreement.

“San, no, like you said, he’s a sunbae!” Jiyu frantically whispered. “Besides, we’re not even allowed to interact with other groups, so I’ll be fine.”

San playfully huffed. “Yet that didn’t stop you from sneaking around backstage a few weeks ago. Maybe he’ll do the same.”

Jiyu snorted at their reactions towards the SF9 member. ‘At least they’re advocating for my and Sunwoo’s relationship...?’

Hongjoong peeked back over towards SF9 and caught a glimpse of a comedic scene. Quietly tapping Yunho’s and San’s shoulder, he discreetly pointed to what he saw. 

Following their leader’s finger, they saw a brooding Sunwoo, looking as if he was trying to hold his act together. His members, mainly Eric and Hyunjae, were laughing and teasing him. Seeing him bothered by jealousy wasn’t a sight they saw everyday—and boy were they soaking that up. 

Jongho followed their gaze and snorted. “You know what, I think she’ll be fine without our intervention if anything happened. 

Jiyu chuckled at the giant baby in her arms. “So you were jealous of Hwiyoung sunbaenim?”

He didn’t even bother to deny, nodding at her question. He pulled her closer to him and snuggled his face deeper into the crook of her neck. He knew being oggled at by others comes with the job, but he couldn’t help it when he has to witness it first hand. 

Not to mention, she was the only girl on the show. The only girl amongst five boy groups. 

Suddenly overcome with an urge, he picked her up and gently tossed her over his shoulder. Ignoring her questions as to what had gotten into him, he silently walked over to one of the couches and set her down so that her head was resting against the armrest. 

Jiyu stared up with wide eyes at the body towering over her own. They were in a pretty compromising position with his body hovering over her’s and her head caged between his arms. Literally anyone could walk in on them at any given moment and would assume they were up to something that wasn’t meant for the public to witness. 

But all words died in her throat when she stared into his eyes. Unlike the usual bright, bambi eyes that she absolutely adored, she swore she saw his eyes darken as they fixed on her lips. 

Smirking, she leaned up closer to him to the point that she could feel his breath fanning across her lips and tilted her head. Two could play at this game, and she certainly didn’t want to lose.

Taking that as a green light, he closed the small gap between them and melded their lips together. 

Jiyu let out a surprised, yet satisfied sigh at the foreign feeling of his lips against her’s. The feeling was just like had imagined, soft and gentle, but also an underlying roughness that she knew he was holding back. 

She wrapped her arms around his neck as their lips continued to part before immediately gravitating together again like two magnets. As cheesy as it may sound, it felt like their lips were made for each other. His lips against her’s felt like the missing puzzle piece. 

Unfortunately, they both had to pull away to catch their breath. Slightly panting, they both shyly smiled at each other as if they weren’t kissing each other with a newfound fervor a few seconds before. 

“I swear this wasn’t how I planned our first kiss to be like,” he smiled, gently stroking her face with one of his hands as the other stayed pressed to the armrest to keep himself up. Seeing her face flushed while trying to catch her breath stirred something inside of him, but that was another story.

“Hm...some things go better unplanned, don’t you think?” she mused, gently ruffling and tugging at his hair.

He smirked, picking up on her underlying teasing tone. Sitting up, his hands wandered to her side and gave it a small squeeze before assaulting her with tickles.

“You may be the only girl here, but just remember you’re mine,” he playfully commented, but there was a weight of seriousness to it, as well.

But hearing her laughter and watching her squirm broke his facade, and his adoring smile was back. Stopping his hands, he leaned back down and rubbed his nose against her’s like a kitten. The childish giggle that emitted from her was the most melodious sound he’s ever heard. 

“It’s kind of quiet in there, are you sure they’re okay?” 

Hushed whispers from outside brought them back to reality and they both craned their neck to look towards the door. 

“I say we barge in.”

“No! That’s just rude and I don’t want to see anything indecent.”

“Same, I could live without seeing two of my best friends at it.”

“Why would you say that?! Now Seonghwa-hyung looks like he’s going to pass out!”

Jiyu quietly chuckled at their running imaginations while Sunwoo looked like he just wanted to open the door and wreak havoc on the peeping toms outside. One last time, she cupped his face to make him face her before planting a soft peck on his cheek. 

“Love you, sunshine,” she innocently smiled.

Now how could he continue to be irritated after seeing that?

He kissed her forehead. “Love you more, lovebug.”

[dbphantom]

Rewatched Assault on Abysus again for like the 5th time because I cannot get enough of That Scene and man. The cup bit really got me this go around.

Like sure I went on a thirty minute rant about the drawing because oh my god my heart that poor kids dream got turned into a living nightmare because of course the event couldn't stop taking things from him even 5 years after it happened, it just had to corrupt this memory with his father as well

... anyway

Okay I'm gonna sound like I've absolutely lost my marbles but the cup is most definitely a story thing and it causes me so much emotional pain every time I see that bit bc I overthink everything

Okay. When Rex rights that coffee cup, him doing that means absolutely nothing to everyone else- nobody is there anymore and it will never be used again, so ultimately the action itself is pointless, but he still does it anyway. for one, is that not a reoccuring theme of the show, Rex curing one person at a time trying to save the world and fighting a losing battle, like they had a whole episode that season dedicated to that exact thing courtesy of black knight: who cares if you fix one thing? Everything else is broken around you. But Rex still does it anyway.

It's knocked over in the panic of evacuation and nobody gives a shit because they're all concerned about their own lives but here this kid is righting it anyway 5 years later, like is that meant to be a metaphor for when someone goes EVO and Rex goes to cure them even though while it's happening 10 more people have turned and he's fighting a losing battle but he's still trying even if 'in the grand scheme of things' it is pointless. sure the world is fucked and ten more people changed while he was busy, but he still saved one person. Someone's family or friend. The lab is messed up and permanently destroyed by the event and never returning to its former glory, but he still fixes this cup in his father's office anyway

So the thing is its not actually a pointless action. Because that office meant something to someone at some point. Even if he can't remember it beyond those flashes he gets, clearly it meant something to him as a kid. and I think that loops back around to episode two where he realizes he was the one hurting this kid's priest and how he doesn't want to be the bad guy by harming someone the kid treasures. So when he fixes that stupid knocked over cup it's almost like he's doing it for his past self. The little kid that had all those good memories of his father in that room. It feels very much like he's in a trance state simply Remembering things he had done in that place, if only for a brief moment, and fixes it because it's important that he does, because he knows it's out of place and it'd be wrong to leave it there like that despite everything because who wants to leave a place that important to someone a mess and I don't know I just aaaaahg it makes me feel emotions o k a y I'm sorry I'm not eloquent enough to really express what makes me love that single clip so much I JUST DO

But yeah it's probably just there to show a comparison between modern day and the Event taking place XD It still gives me chills when it cuts to the sirens blaring and people screaming. Now, Rex screaming in pain (???) when asked to identify himself before getting the nanite? that scene really deserves its own ramble post lol

Here, have these memes I made for my genrex group chat as a token of my appreciation for actually reading this lmao

[coltsbitch]

small world ~ colt grice x reader

colt grice x reader; 3.7k words; nsfw summary: colt didn’t purposely sleep with falco’s teacher

masterlist

Colt is a responsible person. He’s caring, polite, never late. All the qualities of a good person.

He is not the type of person to fuck his younger brother’s third grade teacher.

But let’s back track to that night.

Colt had finally given into Porco’s insistent pestering, who had even roped Reiner in to watching Falco for the night and let himself be dragged to a bar.

“Alright, who’s the prey for tonight?”

Colt grimaces, “I thought we were here to drink.”

Porco slaps a hand on Colt’s back, “How long has it been since you got laid?”

Colt rolls his eyes, and shrugs off Porco’s hand, “Kind of hard when you have custody of a nine-year-old.”

“Pokko, leave Colt alone.” Pieck sets down the drinks she retrieved from the bar, “We’re just happy you could come out tonight.”

“Thanks, Pieck.” It had been a rough year and a half for the Grice brothers, losing both their parents in one night and Colt having to drastically shift his life in order to care for Falco. Not that he’s bitter about, would give his life for Falco if he had to, but doesn’t make it any easier.

“But if you are looking for someone, I have a couple friends I could set you up with?”

Colt groans, dropping his head into his hand.

“Babe, he doesn’t need a relationship, he needs a fuck.”

Pieck raises her brow, “And what do you have against relationships, Porco?”

Porco’s eyes widen hearing his full name come from Pieck’s mouth, “Nothing! Nothing babe!” He pulls her into his lap, “Have I told you how beautiful you look tonight?”

Pieck scoffs before returning her attention to Colt, “So what’s new?”

The three spend the next couple hours catching up, Colt filling them on Falco, Porco making lewd jokes, and Pieck reprimanding him with swats to his head.

By Colt’s third drink Pieck’s eyes are dropping and she’s practically asleep on Porco’s shoulder, who’s trying to shake her awake.

“Such a light wight.” Porco is muttering, but there’s a lace of affection, “You don’t mind if we head out?”

Colt waves him off, “I’ll probably finish this last one and then get home too.”

Porco nods, “Let me know when you get home.” Colt smiles at his friend who underneath many layers of roughness, is truly a caring guy.

Colt watches as Porco practically carries Pieck out the door. He picks at the label on his bottle, wondering if Falco is asleep by now or if Reiner indulged him with too many sweets and might still be bouncing off the walls.

Colt downs the rest of his drink and moves to stand but is interrupted from his thoughts when someone slides into booth across from him.

“You get ditched too?”

Colt freezes, “I, what?”

You crinkle you nose, “Sorry, that’s probably weird. I just saw your friends leave and thought, that’s something we have in common.”

Colt doesn’t answer, can’t answer. Because here sitting in front of him is this gorgeous woman who quite literally came out of nowhere. And maybe it’s the alcohol making his eyesight fuzzy around the edges, but you look like a goddess with the neon lights of the bar hanging over you.

You bite your lip, hoping to still salvage this, “I’m ___.” You extend your hand, glad to see he is at least able to shake it back.

“I’m Colt. Sorry.” He shakes his head, “Just wasn’t expecting anyone else.” He gives an awkward laugh, rubbing the back of his neck, “Umm, so your friends left you?”

You settle into the booth, “Yeah. It was supposed to be my post break up girl’s night, but they all quickly found someone else to spend it with.”

“Sorry about the breakup?”

You wave your hand, “I’m over it. Cheating bastard wasn’t worth my time anyway. But what about you? You part of the lonely hearts club too?”

Colt laughs, “No, I mean, I guess I am. But it’s just been a rough year.”

You hum, and Colt’s thankful you don’t press further, not wanting to unload on the first pretty girl who’s looked his way in the last year, “Let me buy you a drink?”

Colt opens his mouth to politely decline, thinking about Reiner who’s waiting at his apartment for him to get back. But there’s something about the small smile on your face and shinning eyes that has him following you to the bar where you order two beers for each of you.

Now Colt will be honest, he knows he’s pretty helpless when it comes to flirting. Never quite sure what to say or how to say it. He’s watched his friends for years, even tried to get lessons from Zeke when he was in high school, but it’s all been for naught.

So with the way you’re laughing at all his jokes, even the one he knows aren’t that funny, and your knee that keeps knocking into his, or how you’ll accidentally place your hand on top of his before quickly pulling back.

There’s no way this is all in his head.

“I’m going to run to the bathroom really quick. You’re not going to bail on me, are you?”

“I’ll be right here when you get back.” Colt smiles. You bite your lip giving him a once over, causing Colt to flush under your gaze.

You nod and walk in the direction of the restrooms, and Colt throws a glance over his shoulder, seeing that you’re already looking at him as you push the door open.

What the fuck is he doing?

Colt needs to get home. He needs to prep Falco’s lunch for tomorrow, the laundry needs to be moved to the dryer, double check Falco’s homework, not to mention finish that project his supervisor has been hounding him for at work.

But Colt glances over his shoulder again and sees you still haven’t left the bathroom.

Fuck. Is he going to do this? That was a clear signal, right?

Colt flexes his hands a couple times before standing from his seat and making his way to the restrooms. It’s in a dark corner of the bar, and he double checks that no one is looking before pushing open the door.

You’re standing there with your arms crossed leaning against the sink. Your head pops up at the sound of the door opening and a grin splits out onto your face.

“Fuck.” You say, “I wasn’t sure if I was being obvious enough.”

Colt stands awkwardly, “I’m glad I wasn’t misreading it.”

You grab Colt’s hand and pull him into one of the stalls, locking the door behind you.

“What if we get caught?” Colt whispers.

You shrug, “I guess we’ll have to be quick.” You chew on your lip watching Colt process your words and the situation he’s found himself in.

He nods, face determined, looking like he’s about to enter a war or something. You giggle at his seriousness, threading your fingers through his belt loops and pulling him flush against your body.

Deciding the best way to move this along is to get right to it. Pressing your lips against his you wrap your arms around his waist, hands finding their way past his shirt, and you’re surprised to find the taught muscles that hide underneath.

Colt cups your cheeks and it’s sweet, the way he kisses you deeply. But that’s not why you seduced him into this grimy bathroom stall.

You sneak your hand down to his ass, gripping one cheek and giving it a tight squeeze, which earns you a desperate whimper and a sharp grind.

You let out a surprised laugh that turns into a moat when one of Colt’s hands lifts your leg around his hip and pins you against the stall. Colt pulls away to gasp and you use the opportunity to begin your assault on his neck.

He has to press his hand into the stall above you to ground himself, the kisses you trail along his neck not letting him think straight, but he needs to get this one thought out before he can continue anything.

“Wait, wait.” Colt puts a little distance between your bodies, “I don’t want you to think, I mean, I can’t commit to anything right now.”

You humor him with a smile, “Colt. I’m about to fuck you in a dirty bar bathroom, I’m not looking for a proposal or anything.”

“Oh, okay. Good, I guess.”

You roll your eyes, “You’ve never done this before, have you?”

Colt’s cheeks darken, “Made out with someone I met thirty minutes ago? No.”

You run your hand down his chest, and back up behind his neck, “I hope we’ll end up doing more than just making out.”

“Umm, right.” Colt grunted, “Uh, do you have a condom?”

You smile and pick up your purse dropped at your feet, pulling out the latex square. Colt reaches to take it from your hand, but you pull your hand back, “Let me.”

Colt swallows and nods, watching as you reach down to his belt, undoing the buckle. You work your speedy hands, unzipping his pants and pushing down his underwear.

You glance up as you’re ripping open the package, but Colt isn’t looking at you. His eyes are transfixed on where your one hand is resting close to his newly exposed cock. Taking pity, you grasp his shaft, giving a firm tug.

Colt shudders and thrusts into your hand, “Please.” He whines.

You roll the condom down his cock, rolling your thumb over the head when it’s situated, before turning around to face the door.

A beat passes and you glance over your shoulder wondering what the holdup is.

Colt’s cheeks are a dark pink as he stares at you.

“Well?” You ask, pressing your ass into his crotch.

Colt grabs your hips to hold you still. He doesn’t want this to be over before you even have your pants off.

The two of you work together to lower your jeans, pushing them down to your knees. He traces the line of your panties with a delicate finger, captivated by the pretty lace.

“Maybe if you do a good job, I’ll let you keep them.” You tease.

Colt chokes on a laugh, realizing you caught him in his transfixed state. He pulls down the lace to bundle with your jeans and can’t help himself when he reaches around your hip and dips a finger into your folds.

You moan at the contact when he brushes against your clit that’s been ignored all night. You don’t have anything to grab onto as he spreads the wetness along your cunt, so you ball your hands into tight fists.

“So wet.” Colt praises in astonishment, “Barely touched you.” He pushes two fingers into your cunt and thickness has you curling your toes.

“C’mon.” You whine, “We’re running out of time.” You’re really just desperate for his damn cock to fill you up already, but you don’t want to beg.

“Fuck.” Colt mutters, as if realizing he can’t take his time like he wants to, like you deserve.

Pulling your hips back and pushing you down a little, Colt lines himself up. The heat radiating from your pussy makes his head spin a little. But he pushes himself in slowly, inch by inch. And you have to stand there and take it, the door in front of you making it impossible to escape.

He lets out a groan when he bottoms out, and you squirm as his balls brush against your clit.

Colt’s arm wraps around your stomach, pulling you up against him as starts to thrust shallowly.

One of your hand flies to his arm, nails digging in when he hits a spot deep in you. Still bracing yourself against the door you let you head fall forward trying to suppress a groan.

Colt shushes you, kissing the back of your neck, “Need to keep quiet, right?” You nod meeting his thrusts, a particularly sharp thrust making you clench and Colt moans into your hair.

“I thought we needed to be quiet.” You tease.

Colt has a snarky comment on his tongue but holds it back when the door opens, sound from the bar spilling in. You both freeze. It’s pretty obvious what’s happening if someone were to look under the crack of the door, but you’re also in the last stall.

Both of your hearts are beating loudly in your chests as the sounds of someone washing off spilled beer on their shirt reaches you.

“Quiet.” Colt whispers in your ear that has you nodding along. But the thrill of getting caught reignites the flame in your core and you can’t even stop your body from rolling back on his cock.

“Fuck.” You harshly mutter, eyes rolling into the back of your head. The feeling only amplified when Colt shoves his fingers in your mouth, the same fingers that were deep in your cunt, now covered in your cream that’s assaulting your senses.

Your muffled moans test Colt’s patience while he waits for the person to exit the bathroom. And the second he hears the door shut, he’s slamming into you with a speed and power you didn’t think the blushing man had in himself.

“Such a tease.” Colt gets out between clenched teeth, his hands sliding down your front to rub tight circles at your clit.

You squeak at the sensation, unable to hold back your orgasm any longer, clenching and spasming around his cock that has Colt tipping over the edge with you. But Colt doesn’t let up, thrusting through his orgasm and still playing with your clit.

“Colt!” You yelp, having to rip his hand away from your body, unable to withstand the stimulation any longer. But he grabs your hand and locks it against the bathroom stall while he gives you a few more hard thrusts.

You cry out, tears filling your eyes while he slows behind you. Colt presses a kiss to your cheek as he pulls out, and you miss the fullness. You close your eyes, trying to catch your breath. You can feel Colt behind you trying to situate himself. Even going as far to pull your pants up for you too.

You huff out a laugh at his chivalry, “What a gentleman.” You tease, buttoning your pants, “I guess you don’t want my panties then?” You ask over your shoulder.

Colt blushes, which warms your chest, as if he wasn’t just balls deep in you, “So it was good then?”

You turn to press a kiss to his cheek, “Yeah, you did good.”

“Good.” Colt nods, “Umm, it was for me too.”

You smile at his awkwardness, “Good. So, did you want to finish our drinks?”

Colt’s face drops, “I should probably get home, actually. But maybe,”

“No worries.” You wave him off, ignoring and not dwelling on why that disappoints you a little. You unlock the door and step out of the stall, glad to see you’re still alone.

Colt follows you out and looks like he wants to say more but decides against it, “Right. I’ll see you around?”

“Maybe.” You look over your shoulder at the door, “I’ll go out first?” Colt nods, “Okay, well. Thanks again, for everything.”

Colt smiles and you feel a little weak in the knees and like you could go for another round all over again. Readjusting your purse, you press a quick kiss to Colt’s lips before heading out the door, not looking back. And Colt isn’t surprised when he returns to the bar to see you’ve already left, but none the less slightly disappointed at the fact.

Colt manages to make it home just a little after midnight. He quietly opens and closes the door, praying not to wake anyone. Reiner is sitting in the on the couch watching a silent television.

“Falco asleep?” Colt whispers, toeing off his shoes and hanging his jacket on the hook.

Reiner nods and flips off the television, “Crashed a couple hours ago. He was trying to stay up until you got home, but just couldn’t do it.”

Colt feels a brief flash of guilt but shakes it away.

“Thanks again. I know Porco roped you into it, but thanks.” Colt isn’t good at accepting help from others, especially when it comes to Falco, but his friends usually don’t take no for an answer.

“Don’t worry about it.” Reiner waves him off, “You have fun tonight?”

Colt shrugs, “It was nice.”

Reiner gives a noncommittal hum, eyeing Colt as he pauses at the door, “Might want to wash the lipstick off your neck before getting into bed.” Colt chokes on nothing as Reiner’s shoulders shake with laughter, “See ya later.”

The rest of the weekend Colt tries and fails to push you from his thoughts. Yeah, he was the one who made it clear it was a one-time thing, and maybe it’s because he hasn’t gotten laid in so long, but he’s really wishing he had at least asked for your phone number.

Monday morning he drives Falco to school, and he’s contemplating texting Porco about going to the same bar again this weekend, with the off chance you might be there again.

“Bye Colt!” Falco screams slamming the door. Colt winces at the sound, swearing one of these days that boy was going to break off the door. Out of habit he checks the back seat, and Colt has to repress a groan when he sees Falco left behind his superhero lunchbox.

Colt peers out the window to see Falco is already long gone, somewhere in the mess of children who are running around the playground for the few minutes they have before the bell rings.

He knows he’ll get a tearful phone call later if he doesn’t get the lunch box to Falco, so Colt resigns himself to being late to work and pulls into the parking lot.

Lunch box in hand Colt walks towards the playground, hoping that Falco will see him and make this detour faster than it needs to be. Colt is fiddling with the lock, making sure it’s secure which makes him walk straight into the playground monitor.

“Shit.” Colt mutters “Sorry, I wasn’t watching-” But the rest dies in his throat when he sees it’s you standing in the bright orange vest.

You’re just as surprised to see Colt standing in front of you. Thrown and honestly a little concerned as why the fuck he would be here at your elementary school.

“Colt?” You ask.

“Umm. Hi?”

You give him a once over, appreciating the button down and slacks he’s wearing today, also taking note of the children’s lunch box in his hands. A bit too old to be at this school, but also a little too young to have a child here, you think.

“Colt!” You both turn at the sound, and you realize it’s one of your sweetest students sprinting towards you, calling his name.

Falco comes to a halt, “Is that my lunch box?” He asks, grabbing it before Colt can even answer.

“You forgot it.” Colt is able to choke out, eyes jumping back and forth between you and Falco.

Falco follows his older brother’s eyes and realizes you’re standing with them. Somehow having missed the vibrant orange safety vest you have thrown around you shoulders, honestly making you a little self-conscious that this is what Colt is seeing you in after this weekend.

Not that you care what he thinks of you. You’re not looking for anything right now.

“Ms.___?” Falco pulls on your hand, “Do you know Colt?” You open your mouth, unsure how to respond, not like you could explain it to the nine-year-old.

“I’m Falco’s brother.” Colt sticks out his hand, which seems like an overkill to you since he’s literally been inside you.

“Oh.” You say, taking his hand, well aware of the Grice family situation. And your heart clenches at the thought, making a little bit more sense why he was so firm about letting you know Friday night was a onetime thing.

You’re spared from saying anything when the bell rings, signaling the start of school.

“Sounds like you better get to class.” Colt tells Falco.

Falco pouts, sad he wasted his last few minutes talking to his brother and teacher, “Okay.” But still takes the time to hug his brother, “Thanks for my lunch box!” Before sprinting towards the entrance.

You clear your throat, “Falco’s a good student.” Mentally face palming yourself for the awkward comment.

Colt’s eyes widen, “You’re Falco’s teacher?” You nod while Colt mutters out a curse, earning a giggle from you, “This is awkward, right?”

You nod, “A little.” You chew on your lip, unsure what to say, but realize most of the students have cleared out, and it’s probably not the best to leave your thirty students unsupervised for too long, “Well, I need to-”

“I know this-”

You both stop while the other tries to talk, quietly laughing. “You go.”

Colt rubs the back of his neck, “I know we both agreed to a one-time thing, but I think I’d hate myself if I didn’t ask for your number.”

Your mouth parts, “Oh.” And Colt flushes, “Umm.” You avert your eyes, “It’s just, your brother is in my class and I try not to mix personal life with work.” You stumble over your words.

Colt flushes further, “Right, sorry. That was rude of me to ask, especially here.” Colt glances at the ground.

You chew on your lip, still thinking it over. It’s not that you don’t want to see Colt again. But he is the guardian of one of your students and you just got out of long relationship, not looking to jump into another right away.

“Maybe I can get yours?” You offer, and Colt’s head shoots up, eyes a little wide, “I mean, incase Falco forgets his lunch again?” A small smile playing on your lips, holding your phone out.

“Right.” Colt agrees, typing his number in, “He’s very forgetful. And it’s not like he’ll be in your class forever.” Colt says but it comes across as a hopeful question.

You have to bite your cheek to keep from smiling too wide at his forwardness, accepting your phone back, “I’ll see you around Colt.”