#the cruellest cut

[myfandomprompts]

Unhealthy Addiction

(drugdealer!Aemond x Reader)

Synopsis: Your sister is a drug addict, at the mercy of a dreaded drug dealer group led by a mysterious man. When you decide to save your sister from this life that kills her, you didn’t expect to build a whole other addiction to a perfect stranger.

A/N: Just some illogical & weird moderndark!Aemond smut in the October mood.

Words: 5.6k Masterlist

Warnings: dirty talk, dom, oral , vaginal, fingering, manipulation, possessive, begging, light bdsm, slight mention of drugs, praising

Your sister was at her lowest.

She kept screaming at you, scaring the neighbours, alarming the entire street when she went into one of her tantrums and you didn’t know what to do. She was hurting, a pain that only something chemical could ease and you refused to indulge her. This was all she had in mind, getting that fix, and she didn’t mind doing the most violent things, saying the cruellest things to you in order to plead her case.

She kept screaming how she could not be done, how she bought all the drugs from this scary guy, that he convinced her to sell for him. That she couldn’t refuse.

She had no control over herself anymore, but you didn't back down, you had to get her clean.

So you decided that you would take care of it for her. 

You made her tell you where she got it from, a shady little place on Silk Street with shady people going around all day and night with business even the police didn’t even dare looking into as you forced her down to the ER. If it was the last link that tied her to this life and her addiction, you would cut it, and, as she dozed off in her hospital bed, you rushed to her flat in apprehension, grabbing the bag full of those terrifying substances and heading down to Silk Street.

You knew it was a bad idea, but you knew you had to do it. You just had to give the bag back, explain to them that your sister wanted nothing to do with them anymore, pay up whatever amount was necessary to make them forget about her and leave.

How naive you were.

You knock on the scruffy-looking door with a trembling hand, the chilly night already settling around you as dogs barked in the distance. 

The door creaks open, dim light filtering through a slim screen of smoke that comes out of the  messy room. The few people inside look concerningly calm, the soothing electronic music making their head bob inconsistently as the smell of weed slowly reaches you and tickles your nose.

“What?” the huge man at the door says in a flat tone, tattoos on his face but alert eyes strained on you.

“I… have stuff to give back to you,” you courageously state, staring back at him with all the fierceness you could muster and only earning an unimpressed look.

You owed it to your sister, you could do it.

He gauges your appearance mercilessly, unfit for this place and only when you take out the heavy plastic bag out of your purse does he nod silently and step aside to let you in. 

You retain a cough, the scent of smoke becoming much stronger as you enter and making your eyes sting. Several pairs of eyes which weren’t hooded and gazing into the void looked lazily at you, eyes so dark there was no more colour in them, swallowed by the blackness of their centre. Two or three men stared at you like they would jump at you at the first false movement while the few women present were half laying on the couches, mouth open in what looked like delight, but you knew better.

A chill goes up your spine, hearing the door close behind you in a sharp snap while you feel the air shift around you.

You did not belong here.

“Who are you?”

The man came out of nowhere, brown skin and brown eyes, luxurious dark hair falling to the side of his face and all dressed in white with a heavy chain hanging around his neck. He scrutinises you, looking you up and down with a judgmental frown.

“It doesn’t matter,” you state after a difficult swallow. “I’m here to return this.”

The man eyes the bag you extend to him, a flash of recognition passing through his features but he doesn’t take it, rather deepening his frown. “Where did you get this?”

You bite your lips, growing uneasy under his gaze. All that you wanted was to leave this place as quickly as possible, even if you had to lie to achieve that. “Maria doesn’t want to do this anymore, and we don’t want any problems. So I’m doing the right thing, and returning it to you.”

The man sneers, an amused smile dancing on his lips and you tense. “Yeah, I’m afraid it doesn’t work like that, sweetheart. You’re her sister, aren’t you?”

You don’t have time to answer as the man at the door approaches him with a serious look on his face, ignoring you. “Cole, the boss is back.” 

“Perfect timing, he’ll want to see this,” the man named Cole answers without taking his eyes off you. “You’re coming with me, sweetheart. We’ll sort this out, don’t worry.”

You could feel it, the trap closing in on you as he takes the bag from your hands and turns away for you to follow him. “I just want to give you this and leave. Please.”

He gives you an uninterested look over his shoulder, shrugging. “It’s not up to me.”

You shiver as panic starts to fill your nerves, the desire to flee, to run becoming stronger but you make the sensible choice and do as you’re told. 

He leads you into a cold-lighted room where the sole wide window is draped with a thick grey curtain and blocks your view of the humid night. The carpet floor is dirty, rendering you uncomfortable as you advance further into the room, chairs and stools stacked along the walls and an old looking desk standing at the opposite side. Even the huge couch below the window isn’t welcoming, the mess on the low table in front of it is filled with objects you don’t recognise.

You shouldn't be here.

Cole throws the bag on the table unceremoniously, the sound startling you as he commands you to wait. “Don’t touch anything.”

You try to settle your breathing, the room suffocating you as you realise that you are stuck, led there by a fool’s hope of coming to an understanding with these men, with dangerous people. You recall the frightened look on your sister’s face as she yelled at you, saying that she couldn’t fail them, couldn’t upset them.

Maybe you should have listened to her. Maybe you should have been scared too.

Muffled whispers filter through the door over the faint music, making you turn around with renewed anxiety as you recognise Cole’s voice. You know your time is running out, and you have no idea what’s going to happen. But then the door opens and you freeze.

It isn’t Cole, but someone much taller, leaner, terrifyingly attractive. 

He has long silver hair, silk cascading down over his shoulders that are wrapped around a dark green vest. He wears black trousers, matching with his tee-shirt that clings to his form and contrasts with his skin, fair and white. He effortlessly radiated an unsettling confidence, which you could feel even from a distance, making every muscle in your body tense, and you don’t know where to look. He hasn't even spoken yet.

His eyes are fixed on you, a perverted glow shining within them but you can’t meet it, too focused on the angular features of his face, on how flawless his marble skin and thin red lips look under the dim light. Everything about him is captivating, from his collarbone that peaks from under his shirt to the long scar that runs across his left cheek and further up his eye.

At this moment, you understood why your sister had been scared.

He stares at you for a while before finally smiling briefly in unconcealed satisfaction and closing the door. You don’t move, too stunned to utter a single word as he slowly walks towards the table to pick up the plastic bag and examine it closely, humming to himself. You watch, speechless, noticing the red marks over his knuckles, the bruises that stain his fist and you swallow the taste of iron in your mouth. 

The bag is carelessly dropped again as he reaches for a cigarette within his vest without a word, fingers enticingly coming to trap it between his lips and you’re hypnotised, desperate for him to acknowledge you, to say something. But then he flicks the lighter, casting an orange flame on the upper side of his face and you can’t help but gasp.

Unnoticed in the dim light, you can see it now, see how one of his eyes shimmers an icy blue, while the other one shone darker, deeper.

Blue as the night sky.

“You’re Maria’s sister?”

His voice makes you jump, his deep and velvety tone making the hair stand at the back of your neck and your heart race in your chest.

“Y-Yes,” you stammer, words coming out of your throat in strained sounds.  “Yes, I am.”

He nods, one corner of his lips curving upwards slightly as he takes a drag, making a thin curtain of smoke escape his sharp nose. “And you’re here because…?”

You manage to swallow the lump in your throat as he draws closer, intelligent eyes searching your features, making you hyper aware of how small you are compared to him. “I… just want to give the drugs back, so she can leave this part of her life behind. We won’t cause any trouble, I-I promise.”

He stops inches in front of you, his body going rigid as his eyes turn a shade of black, making you take a step back in reaction. “And what makes you think I can let that happen?”

You widen your eyes at the soft-spoken threat, freezing as you cower under his gaze.

He sees this. It makes him smile. 

“Relax, kitten. I'm not going to hurt you…” he says in the same unsettling tone as his blue eye lowers to the way your chest heaves under your shirt. “It’s just… not how we do things. When you take my stuff, you make a commitment, and you have to go all the way through with it or you get punished. There is no return policy.”

You could see it now, right beneath the scar, the gemstone shoved inside of his eye socket, as blue as the starless sky. It glowed softly, beautifully, and you were left to wonder how a man like him could be so dangerously pretty.

You urgently chase the thought away, slapping yourself internally as you feel yourself shrink under his gaze. “She can’t-,” you try uselessly, feeling the noose slowly constricting around your neck. “I understand, but I’ll pay for you to take it back. I beg of you, it represents almost nothing for you. Please…”

Something noticeably shifts in his eye at your last word, his nostrils flaring as he takes some time to compose himself before asking. “What’s your name?”

You hesitate, thrown off by the question and unable to come up with the simple answer and he grows impatient at your silence. He takes a firm step forward, making the back of your knee hit the chair behind you as the faint heat from the tip of his cigarette reaches your sides somewhere over the skin of your hand.

“What’s. Your. Name?” he repeats slowly, a hint of darkness in his voice.

“Y/N,” you finally blurt out, barely hearing your own voice as he claims your space like it’s his own, prowling.

His lips form silent syllables as he repeats your name to himself, finally satisfied. “And do you know mine, kitten?”

You silently shake your head, feeling excitement rise at the prospect of knowing, shameful eagerness taking hold of your mind, not thinking for a second that it might anger him.

But he only clicks his tongue in disapproval, watching you like you’re nothing more than a nuisance. “I’m Aemond, and if you had known that, kitten, you wouldn’t be here. Because everybody fucking knows I don’t take things back.”

Your nerves stir in renewed fright as his words ring like a death sentence in your ears. You have to find something, anything that would suit him, please him, but your mind draws a blank, the intensity of his gaze holding you in place. You remain silent as he takes a drag from his cigarette, not tearing his eye from you and when he suddenly turns away, it leaves a cold trail of chills along your spine.

You let out a quiet sigh of relief, your lungs burning from your previous lack of air as he wanders around the room.

“I take it you don’t use?” he says unexpectedly as he crushes his cigarette in the ashtray before taking the bag again on the table, drawing a round white pill out with his usual soft tone.

“No…” you answer weakly as he rolls the pill between his fingers, your eyes following the movement, transfixed.

“Mh… You’re one of those… The ones that don’t take wrong turns, the good girls.”

The stress that had settled between your ribs turns into something warmer at the calling, his tone inexplicably making the last ounce of courage you have left emerge. 

“If I didn’t take any wrong turns, I wouldn't have ended up here.”

He stills, his eye darting towards you like a single-eyed hawk and you bite your lips in instant regret, almost drawing blood as teeth sink into the thin flesh. His eye lowers to it and you instantly let go with a bashful expression.

He chuckles darkly, a devious smirk appearing on his features and you blink. “See, this is where you’re wrong. I don’t think you’ve realised the opportunity you just walked into… Y/N.”

You feel your stomach turn as reality hits you, your worst fear taking shape right in front of your eyes. Whatever he wanted with you, you could not let it happen, you could not fail your sister and get into the system like she did. She needed you. “Please, Aemond, I only want to be square with you and-”

There was a loud sound, plastic being crushed under immense force as his hand wrapped around the bag and violently squeezed. He took a deep shaky breath, his flashing gaze fixed on you as his knuckles turned white under the pressure. But it was gone seconds later, acting like it had never happened as he dropped the bag and started walking towards you.

“I used, once. This is how it all began,” he stated, a single slender finger brushing the edge of the table as he advanced. “I wasn’t really addicted, but I knew it was enough to cloud my mind, to make me believe that I needed it. But do you want to know what I really need, kitten? Why I stopped?”

You tried to hold his gaze when he lifted a single heated eye at you, excited by his little story, excited by something. He was in his element, he had the upper hand, he knew he was in control. You were only a slave to the fiery blood in your veins.

His finger had reached your arm by the time you registered his question, looming over it like a reverse magnet, untouching. He smiles when he sees chills prickle over your skin there, right before his pupils spread wider, an ink drop in water and you hold your breath.

“I like people begging me. I like the desperation in their voices, their scared little expressions as they mutter pathetic excuses, their pleas as I beat them…” You can feel the thrill in his tone, the pleasure that radiates off him, and you gasp when his finger finally touches your skin, burning. “I like hearing them beg me when they realise there is no escape, when they realise I’m the only solution, that I alone can give them what they want…I like this sensation of control, and I need to feel it on my own terms. Without any substances."

His hand has travelled down your arm, finding your pulse and you feel the thrumming of your heart meet his fingertips, pressing the delicate vein there. You wonder if he can feel your blood running within it, hot and wild. 

“You know, when Cole told me there was a lost pretty girl that wanted a refund, I laughed and could not wait to scare that girl. How naive she must be, how foolish. Coming here, wanting nothing more but to protect her poor little sister, asking what I cannot grant you, thinking you’ll get out of it like it’s nothing and not realising the mess you’re in. Just… perfect.”

You want to talk, argue, but you had stopped breathing altogether when his face leans slightly closer to your shoulder and you hear him breathe in your scent, humming within your neck. 

“But then, here you are… Pleading me, not once, but three times, kitten, with your sweet little tone of yours and I just-” he inhales brusquely, his pupil now completely blown out as you tremble beneath him. When he manages to talk again, his voice has dropped several octaves lower, guttural. “And now, let’s say that scaring you is not the only thing I want to do to you.”

The air feels sucked out of the room as tension fills it, palpable within the silence and you retain a whimper. His hold on your wrist turns stronger, as if to mark it, your pulse constricted beneath his fingers and you suddenly feel dizzy, gravity pulling you backward as you lose balance. You drop in the chair behind you like a stringless marionette, overthrown by him and his overwhelming presence.

He doesn’t flinch, neither does he comment as he leans over you, strong arms resting on the armrests at each side of you, trapping you as if he had planned everything. You huff when the tip of his hair grazes the skin of your cleavage, a silver curtain dropping under his face.

“So we're going to try this once…. Say please to me again, and I might reconsider your sister's situation.”

A ray of hope cuts through your foggy mind at his words, determination spurring within you as your treacherous tongue already rolls to form the words, eager to please him despite the lack of air in your lungs. “Please...”

The wood at your side cracks as he tightens his grip on the armrest, a repressed hiss dying within his throat as he composes himself again, hooded eye fixed on you, smothering.

“Hm… Yes,” he breathes, content visible on his features. “But the thing is, kitten, your sister was useful to me. She had access to people I didn’t, people like you. I’m sure you can see why it’s difficult for me to let her go.”

You know he is taunting you, dragging out what he wants from you and you know you have no choice but to indulge him, you need to indulge him. “She won’t survive if she keeps on, please.”

You can feel it, the pleasure he takes out of it, the delectable sensation he draws from your words as he licks his lips, a devious smirk tugging at them as he speaks slowly. “And what about you… Kitten?”

The near whisper makes your spine go rigid, his nose coming to loom over the junction of your jaw and you truly try to answer. “I- I don’t understand…”

He is the first to notice as his eyes are drawn to the sudden movement of your body under him: how tightly your thighs are clenched together, how tense you are as you shift, muscle tenses.

You blush shamefully, untying your legs to try to soothe the ache there as well as the heat pooling between them. He lifts a knowing eyebrow, observing you with excitement. "Hm… Not such a good girl after all, are you, kitten?”

He slowly lowers himself, broad hands coming to stroke the length of your thighs from your knees to your hips, the heat of his palms scorching you through your jeans and you repress a whimper, failing. “Did begging me turn you on, kitten?” 

His voice is hoarse, playful. You notice his own arousal pressing against the fabric of his pants and it makes your legs widen, watching helplessly as your body responds to your primal urges. “Do you need me to touch you? Is that what you want?”

You struggle, trying to fight what had been evolving since he had entered the room but you find yourself overpowered by your desire, submerged by it. "Yes…"

He arches his eyebrow higher. "Yes, what?"

"Yes, please."

He almost groans as he slowly comes to unbutton your jeans, a warm hand sliding under it and your stomach tenses when he connects with your dampness. "Fuck, kitten. Do you want to say please to me again?” 

He rises, giving himself a better angle as he comes to close his face over yours, suffocating as he waits for an answer out of you. When you give him none, he proceeds to grab your chin, pressing your cheeks between his fingers as he continues to stroke the heat between your thighs.

His face is close as he breathes your ragged breaths. “Lost your tongue?”

His gaze is unforgiving, his lips parted in delectation as you moan under him, and you suddenly feel the need to taste them, to chase them.

The movement makes him pull back, tutting as he grips your cheeks tighter. “That was bad. Very bad of you.”

You let out a plaintive whimper when he steps away, his hands departing your wet core and mouth as he comes to stand before you, jaw hanging low, slightly panting. His gaze is fixed on your glistening skin despite the harshness of it, a punishing glare within his eye as he lowers his jeans and briefs in order to free his bulging girth. You feel your mouth salivate as he starts pumping himself in wide long strokes, gaze transfixed on your face.

You’re unable to look away, heaving and hands gripping the wood of the chair tightly. You don’t realise the grinding of your hips against the surface of the chair, unconsciously chasing for what he robbed you of, wanting.

“Stop that,” he commands in a strained voice as precum starts leaking from his tip. You immediately obey, your body stilling as he comes closer, a pang hitting your core at the sight of his continuous movement over him. “You want a taste, kitten?”

One of his hands reaches for your hair, fingers tangling in them softly as he continues to stroke himself steadily, looking down at you with parted lips and he almost purrs when you nod bashfully. He guides you on the floor, eyes blown wide as he makes you kneel before him by a slight pull of your hair. You lick your lips in expectation, soothed by his hand within your strands and feeling the heat radiating off of him. 

You feel warmth spread within your cheek as you approach but he suddenly yanks your hair strongly, holding you into place in a hiss. “Then beg for it.”

He has stopped his ministrations over himself, rather squeezing the base of his shaft and making the already swollen tip inflate with blood as he watches you with a harsh and wild blue eye. You have to swallow the saliva that has accumulated in your mouth to talk. “Please, I want you in my mouth, Aemond.”

He groans as he lets go of his throbbing cock and loosen his hold over your scalp, allowing you to finally run a playful tongue along his length and wrap your hands around him, appeased by the sounds you draw out of him. “That’s it… Good girl.”

You try to go slow, hollowing your cheeks while you take him deeper and deeper, but as the minutes pass you feel the pressure of his hand in your hair tighten. The next moment he is claiming your mouth, making his tip hit at the back of your throat in loud lewd sounds as well as gag several times before he lets you go with a low growl.

You try to settle your breathing again as he wipes the single thread of saliva that connects you to his cock before probing you up by your chin, chest heaving in lust. “Do you even know how good that begging mouth feels? Do you even realise?”

You only feel the aching inside of your lower stomach heighten through your daze, and your mouth forms lazy words you don’t know the purpose of, blinking weakly. “Please, Aemond…”

“Fuck, kitten. Are you going to ask me to fuck you, is that it? Is that what you want to say?”

His thumb grazes the side of your jaw and you barely acknowledge his length against your hip, hot against your flesh. “I- Yes.”

A low grumble escapes his mouth right before you’re pushed on the sofa without warning, his hands rushing to get rid of his vest and pants before tugging at yours, forcing you to dig your hands into the cushions as he bends you over.

You quiver as your skin is met with the cool air but the next moment he moulds his chest against your back and you freeze, his mouth coming to position inches from your ear as a rough hand grabs your throat from behind, squeezing.

“From now on, kitten, you beg me for everything. You want to be touched? You beg me. You want to touch me? You beg me. You want my cock? You say please. You want to cum? You fucking ask permission. You’re gonna be extra polite for me, you understand?”

You let out a strained sound against his fingers he takes for an affirmation before taking hold of your hips, not wasting a second to align himself near your entrance and you exhale in want as he lets go of your neck. Your fists clutch the fabric of the sofa as he runs his length against your folds once, twice, and you can’t help but close your eyes in frustration, feeling his pleasure growing at what he knows you’re about to say. “Please…”

You hear his satisfied growl as his fingers presses deeper into your flesh and you let out a quick gasp as he plunges into you in a swift stroke, quickly replaced by needy moans as you feel the ache in your loins sharpen. He fills you, his thrusts growing from controlled to erratic, faint praises whispered through the sounds of smacking flesh as he roams his hand over your back, and soon you feel your muscles pulse around him in building tension.

It makes him tighten at once behind you, fingers bruising the flesh of your ass as he suddenly withdraws and with a few last strokes, spills onto your back with a ragged groan.

“Fuck, look at the mess you’ve made…” he tuts while you whimper from the sudden loss, feeling your walls pulsating over nothing as he watches his cock glistens with your fluids. “You don’t care about being dirty, do you? You just like being a good girl.”

You whine again as he spreads his seed over your lower back soothingly, not caring for the stains but rather snaking a hand under your shirt, cupping one of your breasts to squeeze it as you wiggle under him, his name on your tongue.

“What is it, kitten? Do you need to cum?” he purrs as he caresses your breast firmly, hoisting you up against him.

“Yes please, please…”

His hold tightens, his face coming close to your neck and you can feel his hot breath on your cheek as he coos. “Prettier.”

The heat in your stomach thickens, heart racing against your ribcage in nervousness and you melt into his embrace. “P-Please, I need to cum. I need you to make me cum.”

He hums in satisfaction as he turns you around, flattening you against the back of the couch and yanking your shirt over your head as he spreads your legs, his jaw dropping in elation when he slides two fingers inside of you, making your head fall back with a loud moan. Your legs barely hold you as he rubs his thumb over your clit at a consuming pace, his long fingers finding the rough spot within you as if he had known it all of his life, and you’re soon panting heavily.

His gaze is fixed on your face, enjoying every moment, every painful expression as you’re closing on your high, waiting for you to say exactly what he wants and when he feels your walls clenching around his fingers, he stops, violently squeezing your inside between his three digits.

You wail at the sensation, meeting his harsh gaze and fascinated eye and soon you let out a strained sob, your inside muscles constricting painfully. “Aren’t you forgetting something, kitten?”

You swallow with difficulty as he smiles, his grip on you merciless, unmoving and you feel your legs tremble. “Please, don’t stop, I want- I need to cum. Please, I beg you.”

“Good girls ask permission, remember?” he grunts as he starts his movement again, rough digits now too slow on your wetness. “Try again.”

“Can I please… cum,” you plead in a strained sob, gripping the back of the couch more tightly but when he starts stroking your insides again, you see nothing but white, the coiling sensation within your core finally snapping and he doesn’t stop until you’re a puddle under him, letting you sink on the couch in a ghosting embrace.

“That’s it,” he soothes, grazing your waist and breast before gently making you suck on his fingers after the last shockwaves of your climax, tasting yourself through your heavy breaths. “Such an obedient little kitten.”

You slowly start to get the control of your legs back as he wipes some sweat out of your hair, but his gaze is nothing but soothing. “Fuck, look how hard you made me again, with you begging me so sweetly…”

He slowly runs one of his hands up your thigh, his hardening state hitting your flesh briefly before he lifts your knees up, positioning his weight over each of your thighs and you blink in anticipation, too dazed to utter a word. You angle yourself better against his body, the only confirmation he needs before he plunges into you again, this time his desire is too strong to wait for you to find your composure back.

It burns, vividly so, your swollen flesh barely recovered from your previous climax and you start moaning loudly, your hand rushing to your mouth to stop the embarrassing sounds from escaping your throat.

Two hands come to snap it away, lacing them over your head in a secure hold and you sink your teeth in your flesh when you meet his fierce gaze, the roll of his hips unfaltering. “No no no, kitten. Let them hear you, hear how desperate you are for my cock, how much you like begging for it.”

“Kiss me.”

He recoils slightly, his thrust slowing gradually as his single eye widen, the black of it taking over. “I don’t kiss my pets.”

“Please...”

Your voice sounds broken, a hint of determination within it that makes him blink and you can clearly see him battling himself for a moment before he crashes his lips against yours. The suddenness of it makes you moan against him as he devours you, the roll of his hips starting again deeper, needier.

It hits every right spot despite the overstimulation and soon you feel a numbness take hold of you, goosebumps spreading over your body. “Aemond, I’m going to-”

He grunts against your mouth as his hand comes to play with your breast again, freeing one of your own in the process that you bring to his face, stroking the smooth skin there along with the scar that marks his cheek. “You’re not cumming yet, I need you to wait a little while longer, alright kitten?”

His thrust slows again and you feel the pleasurable pain of being denied once more, filled by the need to obey him. “I can’t-”

“Don’t you dare cum before I say so, be a good girl and wait for my fucking permission, you understand?”

You close your eyes in a tremendous effort not to let the stretching sensation of him rocking inside of you overcome you too fast, your back arching under him and you feel his free hand flatten against your stomach to immobilise you, shushing you in a husky tone.

You beg one last time, feeling your guts heating up with the way he is chasing his own climax with deep thrusts and you dig your nails in his shoulder.

“Fuck… Come on, kitten, come for me, you can let go.”

Your vision blurs, your eyes rolling back as you cry out, your body going numb under the shattering pleasure and you don’t register anything, not how he follows you minutes later as you clench around him nor where he spills himself. You just feel like your limbs don’t obey you anymore.

You huff, feeling Aemond’s scent and sweat envelop you and when you open your eyes he is looking down at you with a hooded eye.

His thumb massages a spot over your shoulder and a sorry expression passes on his feature as he sets a strand of your hair aside. “I can’t grant you what you asked for.”

You feel cold all of a sudden, the air biting your damp skin as his warm fingers graze your cheek, feeling your disappointment. 

“I’ll leave your sister alone, as you wished, but I’m not taking the drugs back. You’ll have to find a way to sell, as Maria promised she would.”

A wave of relief runs through you, happiness for your sister but an odd sensation takes place within your chest as the man next to you watches you with fierceness. “Because you… you’re going to be very useful to me, kitten.”

You don’t glance away, you don’t recoil.

Because you’re not sure you want to leave anyway.

Tagging @watercolorskyy and thanking @babyblue711 for the beta reading. We cannot disappoint.

[jiminiesfavouritecolourisblue]

Our Little Love part seven - OT7 Mafia/Yandere au

What’s that saying? One step forward two steps back? 👀 6K words containing: manipulation, toxic yandere men, non-consented acts of affection, lies, possessive behaviour, jealousy, allusion to crime and kidnapping.

“Little love,” Jin calls for you absentmindedly, frowning when you don’t look up from your book to answer him. It’s one you had read a million times before, maybe you didn’t hear him.

“Little love?” He tries again, looking confused as you let out a disgruntled sigh of annoyance.

He can see your jaw clench, something had pissed you off. Your foot became restless as you sat in the arm chair, it was only when Jimin cleared his throat obviously he remembered the terms and conditions you had enforced.

This time he lets out a big sigh, one of tested patience. He mumbles an apology before turning away, a bitter feeling creeping up his chest. Fuck, he resented the fact he couldn’t call you that anymore, it was like asking him not to breathe. Fuck fuck fuck, they needed to earn your forgiveness soon or this might actually kill them. Not that they ever underestimated you, but you really did know which weapons to pull to hurt them the most, and fuck did he have to admit they deserved it. Didn’t mean he had to like any of it.

Jimin follows him out, a quick glance back at you to see if you were paying any concern but of course not. Since the day you announced the break you’d been keeping your distance, Jimin had complained about it childishly with tantrum tears in his eyes but you had patiently explained you needed the space to clear your head. 

Jimin scoffs at the memory, feeling sour about it still. The pout he wears gives away his thoughts when they both find Yoongi in the kitchen.

“Little love giving you a hard time?” he says almost amused. 

It’s Jin’s turn to scoff dramatically, ears burning so red, Yoongi swears there’s steam. 

“We can’t call her that anymore,” he complains, sulking. 

Yoongi smiles a little, not because he truly found his hyung’s pain entertaining, but because he understood the pain. 

“It’s a difficult situation,” Yoongi agrees, “but the alternative would have been so much worse.”

Jimin and Jin stare silently at him, their gazes aggressive as if they wanted to hit the male but they didn’t because he was right. The worst alternative wasn’t expecting you to leave, they all knew they would never let that happen, but if you had become a ghost of yourself, if they had broken you so badly there was nothing left to rebuild, then what would be left of you? 

“When did you become so considerate?” Jimin scoffs, rolling his eyes. He didn’t like any of it, he didn’t care if you were right and they were wrong, you had taken away their most prized and valuable possession, you. He couldn’t help the internal tantrums as if someone had taken away his favourite toy. Call him childish, call him whatever the hell you wanted, he hated this situation, and he couldn’t hide it. 

They apologised, and apologised, and apologised, and you still gave them the cruellest punishment you could think of. 

“You’re still thinking with anger,” Yoongi acknowledges, knowing when Jimin cooled down from this he would probably be the one with the most regret and remorse, what he didn’t know is Jimin was clinging to his resentment with all his might, because once that gave way he would have so much to answer for. 

—

Men would pay money to see Jung Hoseok hesitate, but that was exactly what he was doing now. Another book in your hand (you were reading a bit too much lately, he didn’t like it, it was as if you knew you couldn’t leave physically so you were doing so mentally), and he was stalling himself with interrupting you. 

Your rejection cut holes into him, and that’s what he was afraid of when approaching you today. When he was younger he used to be afraid of everything, but after indulging in the horrors of survival and the syndicate, nothing terrified him any more, or so he thought before his heart belonged to you. 

“Litt-” he catches himself before he says it too loud, clearing his throat quietly hoping you didn’t hear him. “Y/n?”

He sounds more confident, his more serious persona going up as if that would protect him here. He knew he needed it, any sane person after experiencing his pleasure and pain games would run at the sight of him, and a part of him was getting ready to catch you if you did.

You look at him and it has him crumbling. Something in his chest physically hurts him so bad he thinks he needs to go see a specialist, one glance from you and he’s ready to beg on his knees again for your forgiveness. The distance between you, although you were here in front of him, killed him. It felt eerily similar to what it did when you left, and it confused his brain and body so much. 

He had to remind himself every day, you were still here, you still loved them, this was just temporary. 

“I-I wasjus- I was just heading to the b-basment,” forget money, men would lay down their lives to see Jung Hoseok stutter and stumble over his words. 

You frown in question when he doesn’t continue, but stares at you expectantly, until he realises he hadn’t explained what he wanted.

“For a workout!” He rectifies himself quickly before taking a breath to calm himself, “I wondered if you wanted to join me?”

He mentally pats himself on the back quickly for sounding more put together, but then his nerves start to shake again when you don’t respond immediately. You contemplate it, for too long in his eyes, stretching out the pause until you have the man sweating. Who needs a work out, just piss your girlfriend off and try to spend time with her while she's still mad. 

“Yeah, okay,” you nod, finally putting down your book (he should get Jimin to burn them all). “I’ll go get changed.”

The relief and joy that floods Hobi almost makes him pass out, a genuine smile he hasn’t felt on his own face for days bursts through. This was a step in the right direction, you didn’t hate him or you would’ve shut him down. With the amount of hope in his system, he was getting giddy.

—

You wanted some time alone this evening, without them lingering around you, with poor attempts of covering their intentions with busying themselves. As if you couldn’t see Jimin’s imploring stare as he walked past you from the corner of your eyes. Or the way Jin would walk towards you, hesitate and then walk away. 

You didn’t say they couldn’t talk to you, you were just on a break. Part of you knows you should seek them out and start civil conversation but that part also knew once you opened the door they would come barging through. An inch would turn into a mile and you would be back where you started. 

So now you were busying yourself with the world’s worst chore, just to escape and breathe for a second, laundry. You were sorting through the load at a snail’s pace, knowing when you were done you’d have to endure them again. You’re so embedded in your own thoughts you don’t feel another presence join you.  

Arms wrap around you, making you still. His figure almost engulfs you from behind, his nose already finding purchase on your neck as he buries himself against you. You try not to sigh, you were sick of hearing the sound yourself but it was always  one of patience.

You understood how hard it was for them to accept your decision for a ‘break’, but all you wanted was some respect for it. And this broke your no touching rule.

“Tae let go,” you say without an ounce of emotion, continuing sorting out the laundry in front of you.

His only reaction to your words is the opposite of course, holding you tighter against him making your heart skip too many beats to count. Your skin sizzled with something akin to longing, a fire he only seemed to ignite when his breath hit your neck.

You don’t give in. You throw the item of clothing in your hand down, both hands on the edge of the basket as you still, standing statue as he tries his hardest to work through your defences. You don’t respond when he nuzzles his nose against where he’s buried, or to the rumble of his chest when he breathes you in deeply. His eyes are closed, you know they are, he’s relishing the moment all he can before you take it away.

He doesn’t feel you respond the way he wants you to, he wants you to melt against him and the urge is so strong but somehow you resist. He whines, the sound so soft near your ears you almost miss it. He tries holding you tighter still, his thumb stroking soft circles on your skin, trying to tempt you to break your resolve. Gentle, almost whisper like kisses are placed on your shoulder as he finally breaks away.

“Are you done?” You say almost coldly as he steps back, picking back up another item of clothing.

You hear him sniff but you don’t let it move you.

“Heaven, please,” he begs, a fist in your top clutching onto you.

That’s when you turn to face him. If he expects to see any softness in your gaze he’s sorely mistaken, it’s not a glare you’re giving him but it’s close enough that it burns. You don’t even flinch when you see tears in his eyes.

“I asked you not to touch me,” you state quietly but your words are firm. “Or that if you did, you asked first.”

He looks down, partly in shame, partly in grief. You can’t stand to see the sight, it makes your heart ache, so you walk away.

—

“Y/n?” Jungkook asks for your attention, biting his lips in worry. “Can I ask you about the book you’re reading?”

The others in the room feel an overwhelming sense of envy when you smile at the maknae. Jimin’s jaw goes slack as you scoot over to let Jungkook sit beside you. Envy was a dangerous thing, how he wanted to pluck the youngest of them out of the seat and take his place, but he hadn’t calmed his emotions down enough yet to approach you properly, and he knew if he did he’d ruin whatever rebuilding the others had done. No, he had to be patient with himself and withdraw, even if that meant physically. He was playing cards with Yoongi and Seokjin, but he places his cards down and leaves. 

Jin’s pout overtakes his face when he turns away from the sight of Jungkook grinning while you talk animatedly, putting down a card without thinking and letting Yoongi take the win this round. Yoongi didn’t even notice, his gaze goes soft at the way you laugh at a teasing comment Jungkook made, a sound he hasn’t heard in what felt like forever. The sound even makes the corners of Jin’s pout pull up. 

The youngest of the group honestly thought he was in paradise, he didn’t even care about the book he just wanted to hear you talk without reservation. His focus was on the way your eyes lit up, the genuine smile on your face, how does he try to make this moment last forever? He pays attention to every word you utter, asking the right question to keep you going, even making a joke here and there and feeling so pleased with himself when you laugh. 

How did the relationship regress back so far that he felt like this was the start of it, like he was still pursuing you to give him a chance, like he had to work up the courage to ask you out all over again. The answer of course was in their mistakes, the thought dampens his mood but he pushes it away. He didn’t know when he would get another moment like this, he had to soak it all in and cherish it before it was over. 

—

Your defences go up when you spot Jimin bringing Taehyung to you, the shorter male holding his hand guiding your bear like boyfriend in front of you. You look at them both expectantly, wondering what the theatrics were for. Taehyung sniffles, his face hanging low, his red hoodie pulled down as far as he can get it to hide himself. 

“Taehyung has something he wants to say Heaven- I mean angel- I mean Y/n,” he corrects himself repeatedly with a shake of his head, cheeks burning in slight embarrassment at the blunder, but he wouldn’t apologise for it even it that made him a hypocrite for what he was making Taehyung do. 

He pushes his friend gently, encouraging him to speak.

“Tae?” you say gently, remembering how harshly you spoke to him the other day. 

Apparently that was all it took for the man to break down into tears in front of you, falling to his knees as he bawled. Your jaw drops in shock at the action, but you’re more surprised at the fact he holds himself back from launching into you for comfort. 

You can see how hard it is to do so, he’s hugging himself, but his nails dig into the fabric of his clothes. He still doesn’t look at you, his gaze on the floor. You give him a second to compose himself, the sobs turning into little hiccups as he wipes his face with his sleeve. 

When he looks at you it's your turn to grip the armrests of the chair with all your might, those glassy eyes beg you for love and it takes everything not to smother him in your embrace. But that would undo all the work you’ve been doing, you had to talk it out first and then maybe if this was resolved you could reward him with physical affection, just a little. 

“I-I’m sorry,” he says through a hoarse voice, the sound only breaking your resolve further. “About the other day, I s-should’ve asked first.”

He tries to take a deep breath in but it’s shaky, for some reason what he wants to say next breaks him out into more tears. He covers his face as he cries, Jimin rubbing his back providing him with the comfort you couldn’t give just yet. 

“Doyouhateme?”

The muffled question breaks your heart, Jimin can see it on your face and it has him fighting down a smirk. He may have played a hand at manipulating the situation, convincing Taehyung this was the best way to get back into your good books.

“Tae no,” you breathe, eyes watering but you blink back the tears. You didn’t want to show them any weakness anymore. “I don’t hate you.”

You sigh, eyes to the ceiling, as if begging for control over yourself as you try really hard to not give in to the feeling of wanting to crawl into his lap and hold him. 

“I just really needed some space that day,” you explain, “and you caught me at a bad time.”

That wipes away Jimin’s elation, all this talk about space and distance, it already felt like you were living on Mars. How much space did you want? In his opinion there had been too much space, that was the problem, or were you forgetting the long agonising months of your absence? 

Taehyung nods, thankfully retaining your attention away from Jimin who couldn’t hide his thoughts from his face. 

—

You can’t sleep, tossing and turning from your side to your back and then to your side again. Were you fighting a losing battle? Were you being unfair in asking them to change? You remember cases of forgotten wives refusing to leave their no good husbands, the amount of inane times you heard the cries of ‘I can get him to change’... had you become one of those women? Then of course came the others, the women who knew they could not work miracles on their partners and gave up. Some left, some stayed, and you remember watching them all in the years of your career, arrogantly thinking it would never be you, no man would ever trap you like this. There was a joke in there somewhere, one man certainly didn’t, but seven did. 

The knock on the door thankfully interrupts your endless circle of pity, a meek Jungkook peeking around as he opens the door. Something about the scene felt familiar but the shoe was on the other foot. He was waiting for permission to come in, you don’t know why the sight made you smile, made you warm. 

If anyone was proof that they were trying for you it was Jungkook, Yoongi had kept his distance out of respect for your rules, you know he only did so because he couldn’t help himself if he got too close. Jimin was similar although, you could see he was keeping his distance mentally, angry with you and your conditions. It would pass, you were sure, or at least you hoped. 

Jungkook was the only one that accepted everything without complaint, and you knew it wasn’t easy. You were so grateful to him for it, for respecting your boundaries sincerely, for giving you hope that this relationship could be salvaged. 

He almost trips over himself when you pull the covers back wordlessly, inviting him in, the stumble of his legs as he races towards you makes you giggle. He climbs in without hesitation, about to reach out for you but he stops himself, eyes looking up at you, wanting to ask you out loud but too afraid to. 

“It’s okay,” you reassure him quietly, as if talking loudly would break the peace you felt with him there, that you’d second guess yourself.

Arms you’ve longed for wrap around your waist, pulling you towards him. You hold him back gently, not letting yourself get lost in him the way you wanted. In the darkness, your gazes meet, talking loudly in a way filled the silence. 

“I’ve missed you,” he breathes out hard, unable to hold it in any longer. 

“I’ve missed you too,” you admit.

He bites his lips to refrain from saying anything else, to break the illusion that everything was okay.

“I used to think I understood your darkness,” you murmur, stroking his hair out of his face.

He pulls you closer, burying his head against your chest, the youngest didn’t like how that sentence was going and part of him didn’t want to hear the rest.

“But I don’t think I ever did,” you confess in a whisper, starting to ramble. “I don’t get it Kookie, why me? This obsession, I thought I felt it the same as you, I thought you guys understood me too.”

You let out a shaky breath, trying to keep up with your thoughts when you felt the hands of sleep trying to catch you.

“Maybe I was just trying to excuse my own darkness,” you sigh, almost in defeat. “Or maybe I just fed yours too much.”

“You gave us your love,” he mumbles against your skin, eyes closed as he breathes in your scent. “Your acceptance, you didn’t feed our darkness baby, you just didn’t see the extent of it.”

—

The silence is suffocating. Yoongi normally appreciates it but in this situation it was unsettling. They’re all in the living room, some pretending to do their own thing, but no one was paying any attention to anything other than you. Yoongi and Namjoon did so blatantly, Yoongi sitting on the couch away from you but his stare is nowhere else. This didn’t break the rules, you didn’t tell him he couldn’t soak you in with his eyes whenever he wanted. 

The others were also very obvious with their glances towards you, Jin was dusting the same spot of the living room over and over. Hoseok flipping through the tv channels with Jungkook sitting beside him, the maknae biting his lips in worry with every peek he took, a habit he hadn’t had since he was a teenager. Taehyung and Jimin uncharacteristically played chess but all the pieces were in the wrong places, arbitrarily moving them just to keep appearances so you didn’t call them out. 

And Namjoon… the man was staring daggers into your form. Elbow on his thigh, leaning forward, his chin on his thumb, his finger on his face tapping away on his cheekbone impatiently. He was supposed to be going over the papers in his lap, but they were being scrunched in his other hand. Yoongi thought he looked like a bomb about to explode, and he wasn’t wrong.

“That’s it!” Namjoon almost growls as he slams his file down, standing from his seat while everyone stares in shock at his outburst.

He walks towards you, and you meet his glare but refuse to move from the comfort and safety of the tub chair, you don’t even close your book.

“This ‘break’ is over,” he snarls, gestating with his hands trying to find a conduit for his anger. “Do you understand, little love?”

You look up at him with eyes simmering a fire he only ignited, meeting his glare head on.

“I decide when this break is over,” you say calmly, refusing to fight him at his level.

“No.”

“No?” Your brows scrunch in disbelief and anger, there goes your plan to remain calm. “What do you mean ‘no’?”

You throw your book back into the seat as you rise to meet him eye to eye, although he’s still looking down at you.

“I mean…” he breathes gruffly, grazing his hand with yours at your side. “No.”

“You can’t b-“

Your voice is smothered by his lips, his soft touch turning into an iron grip as he pulls you closer, devouring you like a man starved and in his eyes that’s exactly what he was. You push him away, but he doesn’t allow for any space between you.

Even when you’re banging your fist against his chest, unable to breathe, he doesn’t budge. You’re at his mercy, only when he decides he’s had enough (for now), does he pull away.

You look dishevelled almost, breathing hard, your eyes glistening with tears. The sight shouldn’t arouse him but it does.

You have the audacity to childishly wipe his kiss away with the back of your hand, a tough swipe that does nothing to erase the force he handled you with. He chuckles, the sound makes your ears burn, feeling the warmth of shame colour them in.

The others stare with the jaws wide open, fear settling in that this was taking too many steps in the wrong direction. It takes everything not to call you back when you storm away, it takes everything not to follow. 

No one says a word, but they all glare accusingly at their leader except Taehyung, who only looks down in shame. 

—

“Where do you think you’re going?” Yoongi asks gruffly, sleep still in his voice.

“Out.” You respond bluntly, avoiding his gaze.

“I asked where,” he pushes when you pull Taehyung’s hoodie over your head. You were drowning in the fabric, and he pretended the sight didn’t make him ache for you. The same way you were trying so hard not to let his sleepy state bring down your defences, no matter how cute he looked in the shorts and grey top.

“What does it look like Yoongi,” your head was spinning with too many thoughts and you needed to clear it. “For a run.”

“I’ll come with you,” he says it like an offer but it’s not, you know it’s not. 

“No,” you refuse simply, finally meeting his stare. “Send one of your men to keep an eye on me, it's what you did before anyway.”

He’s quiet, observing you for a moment. You hated it when he did that, it was like he could see inside of you and yet, despite that, you felt like he couldn’t understand anything he saw. You break eye contact first, putting on your trainers while he continues to stare. Why couldn’t you read him the same, how could he still get under your skin with his silence even after all this time?

“I’ll send Jungkook,” he says as you open the door. “He’ll keep his distance.”

He doesn’t take the slam as you leave personally, he knows you just need to vent your frustrations, but because you were so isolated- sorry, because they isolated you, you had no one to vent to, no one who was objective to talk to. Physically stretching your mind would maybe do you some good. 

“Did you seriously let her go out unsupervised?” Namjoon seethes as he approaches Yoongi, quick to dial one of their men regardless of what nefarious time of the morning it was. The first call goes to voicemail.

Yoongi sighs, he was on his way back to bed, guess not.

“She deserves our trust,” he replies. “And I was about to send Jungkook.”

“It’s not about trust,” Namjoon bites back, another call unanswered, “it’s about safety, or are you forgetting our enemies hunt our weaknesses.”

“Our enemies know if they touch her they’ve signed their own death certificate, no one would dare cross us now, not with the amount of blood we’ve shed,” Yoongi groans in aggravation. “Not to mention you’ve bought out the police Namjoon.”

“But not every policeman, or Captain, or are you forgetting what we did to him?”

“You gave him a warning, he’ll behave,” Yoongi states, ready to leave the conversation but he can’t help himself with what he says next. After Namjoon’s actions last night, he was feeling a little vengeful, even if he didn’t completely mean his words. “We should’ve left him unharmed, we knew she didn’t want us to hurt him.”

The shock in Namjoon’s eyes flashes for a second before they compose themselves to a stare. He puts his phone back in his pocket, maybe Jungkook was the best one to go, you didn’t seem to punish him as harshly as the others.

The silence between the men turns the air cold, their gazes stoic but speaking volumes. Namjoon wouldn’t stand for mutiny or disloyalty, he especially didn’t stand for anyone questioning his decisions.

“He hurt her,” he explains himself patiently, “he wants to take her away from us.”

Yoongi scoffs, a humourless grin on his face as he stares back in ridicule at their leader.

“We hurt her,” he states, eyes blank of emotion, “where’s our bullet to the knees.”

—

If you were being honest with yourself, you hated running, you hated the way each breath burned as it filled your lungs, how each limb could feel like lead, but the pain was better than the thoughts you were trying to clear. 

You remember at the police academy, Suho and Kai used to run circles around you, but somewhere along the way your competitiveness got the better of you, and you trained harder than them both. It used to annoy you to hell that they were physically much stronger than you, but those days were some of the best. The three of you were so close, each other’s confidants when things went sour, the two you’d hang out with when a case went wrong. Now who did you have to confide in?

Maybe it’s your conscious or unconscious thoughts making your legs move in a particular direction, but you don’t realise where you’re headed until you see the sign above the door. The breakfast place… where everything went to shit a third time.

You barely glance inside as you run past but the sight of someone familiar makes you double take. Think of the devil and he appears?

His eyes catch yours when you stop in your tracks, he’s sitting at a table alone and the sight of him brings back that day like a breath after being underwater for so long. An apology is at the tip of your tongue, your eyes start to water, you know you have to keep running, if any of them finds you here with him, he’d be dead. You’re about to turn away when he waves at you, a simple smile that didn’t meet his eyes sent your way as he watches the realisation hit you.

His hand was covered in thick bandages, and your stare doesn’t leave them. There’s no thought in your mind as your legs move you into the building, ignoring the waiter's greeting as you walk towards your old Captain with dread. 

He shifts in his seat, letting you see the bandages on his leg, around his knee, the crutches resting on the seat next to him. Your eyes are wide with shock before your gaze turns into one of mournful rage. Tears start forming in your eyes as you shake.

The sense of betrayal that overwhelms you has you reaching a hand for the table, gripping the edge tight to steady yourself. 

They lied. 

They looked you in the eyes and lied. All of them, including Jungkook. You don’t let yourself sob, not when a fire burns any attachment you felt towards them to dust. 

You move your gaze from his injuries to his face, his stare never having left you. 

“Arrest them,” your voice is hoarse but without a morsel of regret, anger paving the way forward now, filling the loss you felt deep inside of you. 

They must’ve thought you were fucking stupid, they must’ve laughed behind your back, humoring you with their acts of trying to change. Fuck, you were a fool, they played you again and again and you just took it every fucking time. There was never going to be any change, and you refused to be their prisoner any longer.

“I’ll be your witness,” you say it with conviction, although a part of you grieves. “I’ll give you all the evidence you need, just send them away.”

Suho doesn’t say a word, and that makes it all so much worse. You can feel something creeping around you, shadows of them that have latched onto you, crawling all over your skin. You wanted rid of this dark energy, you wanted out. 

You don’t break his stare, not for a second, you can tell he’s deep in thought, contemplating your resolve, and if he saw a hint of uncertainty in you he would do no such thing. Why would he risk it? They hurt him, they could hurt him again. 

He reaches for his phone, and you take a premature breath of relief.

“Make the call,” he commands, handing the device to you. 

—

When Yoongi dragged Jungkook out of bed this morning, the maknae had begrudgingly crawled out of the house. His body ran on autopilot when he left to find you, eyes half open, yawning in the morning air. His hoodie pushes his hair to fall in his face but he’s too tired to drag the fabric back.

It wouldn’t take long to find you, he could run circles around you if he wanted but the thought of maybe spending some time with you alone made his legs pick up the pace, a goofy grin on his face as he thought about it.

Yes you were probably mad about Namjoon’s actions yesterday, not that Jungkook blamed him all that much, it was hard to stay away from you, but he was starting to understand your perspective a little more. Especially after the last time you pulled away, and he couldn’t let that happen again, he wouldn’t survive it another time. He wouldn’t blame you if you gave him the cold shoulder, he just hopes you don’t punish him because of Namjoon, deflecting your anger wherever it did damage.

He’d calm you down, he’s sure of it. He’d tell you that what their big bad boss did was wrong and he was on your side, he’d tell you that he loved you and respected you, and it didn’t matter how long you took to forgive them he was sure the relationship would heal.

He’s so lost in thought he doesn’t realise how far he’s travelled, it’s only when there’s still no sight of you his grin begins to fade. He should’ve caught up to you by now, this was the route you normally take, and you knew better than to go another way.

What if… no. You wouldn’t dare leave again, you wouldn’t. Jungkook breaks into a sprint, running every route he can think of, not stopping for a moment even when his lungs and legs burn. He’s looking round like a mad man, but he can’t find you. What if something happened? What if someone got to you or hurt you? Memories flash in his mind to long, long ago when that was almost the case. What if?

Shit. A hand to his pocket tells him he’s left his phone, he couldn’t contact the others to join him. His best decision was to get back to the house asap. Jin would still have the tracker on your phone, they would find you, it was all going to be fine.

The fear that seized his heart was not fooled by such idealistic thoughts, his eyes had seen the true brutality of the world, sometimes caused by his own hands, and now his mind played a myriad of images of his little love in all the situations of pain he caused others. He always wondered if karma would catch him one day, he never thought it would take you.

—

He slams the door open so hard it struggles to stay on the hinges.

“I CAN’T FIND HER!” He yells into the open space of the home with all the air in his lungs.

It doesn’t take long for the hoard to assemble.

“What do you mean you can’t find her?” Jin yells back, reaching for his phone to track you without prompt.

Jungkook doesn’t miss the way Namjoon glares at Yoongi, the shorter man ignoring him.

“She’s probably taken another route,” he says calmly. 

“You better hope that’s all,” Namjoon says through gritted teeth. 

“What if someone’s got her?” Jimin panics.

“No,” Hoseok shuts that idea down, “everyone knows there is nowhere in Seoul to hide from us.”

“There’s always one idiot that’s willing to try, or have you forgotten the last time someone tried to take her?” Taehyung says heatedly.

“And we know how that ended,” Hoseok growls back.

The bickering among themselves grows in volume, so loud that they almost miss what Jin says. 

“What?” It’s Yoongi that dares to ask him to repeat himself, the drumming in his ears drowning the words. He must’ve misheard…

“She’s at the police station,” there’s no mistaking it this time. Jin looks solemnly at Namjoon while all their heads spiral.

“She’s not gone there of her own will,” Yoongi shakes his head in denial, “they’ve arrested her or something.”

Namjoon says eerily quiet, his breathing hard, his jaw clenched. 

“Namjoon we own the police,” Hoseok pushes, “make a fucking call see why she’s there.”

“Fuck making a call! I’m going over there,” Jungkook announces, turning back to the front door, but the sight of a police van pulling up at their mansion makes him stop in his tracks. 

“Are they dropping her home,” Jimin asks stupidly, unable to comprehend why else they would be there. 

The older four men look at eachother knowingly. 

“Should we run?” Jin asks, making Taehyung and Jimin whip their heads to stare at him incredulously. 

“Why would we run?” Namjoon breaks his silence, “they’ll take us right to her.”

As if on queue a smoke grenade rolls into the room, blasting off within seconds, covering the air. Namjoon almost laughs, they sent the fucking swat team, how ridiculous when they could’ve settled this like gentlemen.

Bodies swarm in, yelling commands and they all fall to their knees as instructed. On any other day, if you were home, these men wouldn’t make it through the door, but Namjoon was right, they were a one way ticket to finding you.

[fluffyneondinosaur]

It wasn’t even two years after the incident by the lake than Lily started dating James. It was only a year! Petunia and Vernon get married in winter of Lily’s 7th year and she introduces James to them at dinner before that, so it’s already serious. Meaning that Lily and James basically had to get together as soon as 7th year started. Snape’s Worst Memory happened in summer of 5th year. So we’re talking 14/15 months, max.

I know I’m meant to believe that Lily is just such a wonderful person who gave James a chance because of her wonderful forgiving nature and her wonderful way of seeing the best in people and giving them the space and grace to change. But I’m not buying it. To get in to a committed relationship a mere year after she witnessed James choke, humiliate, and sexually expose another boy…either she was extraordinarily naive, or she already liked him when he was at his cruellest and jumped at the chance to date him the minute he became a bit more socially acceptable.

Yeah fr, that's my main problem with Lily's character

Like she's not friends with Sev anymore, so she might just not care about him, but idk I'd be terrified to be near a person who can so easily do that to any person.

I mean really, I'd be horrified if someone did that to Tom Riddle himself, so it's pretty clear that the compassion for people she's not friends with is just not there.

Keep in mind that James has literally been harassing her to go out with him like the entire time she was at Hogwarts, the fact that she could think "oh, he changed, he's learned how to accept boundaries!!" a year after he sexually assaulted Severus and then asked her to go out with him in the same sentence, man I'd run the other way.

Now, as much as it hurts, Lily was completely justified in cutting Severus off when he called here a mudblood, but dating his bully a year later like holy shit she must've hated him.

Poor Severus, he deserved a better friend.

[wilcze-kudly]

While mostly find Kuvira a relatively straightforward character, I do love how the theme of rejection is just so ingrained into her character.

Of course we have Kuvira herself experiencing what many would call the cruellest rejection possible, being literally given away by her own biological parents.

Kuvira: [She angrily turns her head toward Korra as the shot cuts to a wide view.] Don't pretend you know what it felt like! [Wildly, waving her free arm.] The Avatar is adored by millions! I was cast aside by my own parents like I meant nothing to them.

We also see that, while Kuvira is invited with a lot of love by Su, who clearly is open to taking Kuvira into her family, Kuvira clearly didn't feel like part of the family. It isn't exactly concrete why this is the case. We can be certain that Opal, who was most likely working through her own issues surrounding not being a bender and feeling that Suyin is replacing her.

I know it's very easy to theorise that Kuvira was somehow isolated and ostracised from the Beifongs and while I can see this being the case, I haven't seen many people talk about just how avoidant Kuvira herself is.

I mean, Kuvira was horrifically rejected by the people she was meant to unconditionally trust and rely on. As a child who doesn't exactly understand why this is happening to her and that it wouldn't happen again, what better way to defend yourself if you reject them before they can reject you.

I think Bolin hit the nail on the head here. (When will we get a Bolin Kuvira argument i need it in my life)

Kuvira fears rejection. She struggles to form proper relationships, even her one intimate relationship with Baatar Jr had a certain amount of.... padding? If you know what I mean.

I don't doubt that Kuvira had a lot of affection for Baatar. I just think that she still kept a healthy dose of diatance in her relationship with him.

Her relationship with Baatar Jr is actually really fun. It sort of mirrors Kuvira's own childhood disillusionment with relationships.

Baatar also suffers a brutal rejection from someone. Kuvira, the woman he loved, and to some extent, for whom he abandoned all previous relationships tries to kill him. Directly after he pours his heart out to her and and restates his love for her. And now it's him isolating himself, particularly from Kuvira, even when she does try to reach out. (I do giggle at how much Kuvira gets consistently swerved in the comics)

The parasocial relationship Kuvira fosters with her Empire is also worth taking into consideration. Kuvira obviously is projecting her own childhood trauma onto the entire damn country which is my fave part of her character because who does that lol.

I've mentioned this in my comparison of the Earth Empire and Russia in the throes of Stalinism but I wouldn't be surprised if Kuvira cultivating a cult of personality to bolster her leadership is also her attempting to build connections that she deems "safe".

She holds the power in these relationships, she's basically a celebrity and if someone does step out of line, they are betraying not Kuvira, but the Nation. Postulating herself as an untouchable emperess also, once again, allows her a certain level of distance from others.

I'm not sure if Kuvira is aware she's perpetuating her own loneliness. I wanna say yes, because when she is alone, she acknowledges to herself that Suyin indeed was there for her and that she can rely on her. But she's so good at manipulating and gaslighting that she may have tricked herself fully into believing she's the victim, like she had with her warcrimes at the beginning of RotE.

All in all, I think Kuvira is a very interesting character if not one that is simply putting an slightly new spin on tried and true tropes. I will say I find it quite odd how many people take what she says without a second thought when she clearly has a vested interest in lying, but she is very charismatic and fun to analyse lol.

[theredofoctober]

DARKNESS— an Alicent Hightower/Rhaenyra fic

Synopsis: Alicent and Rhaenyra's meeting at the Sept ends in a sensual tryst wreathed with forbidden lust and longing...

Written from Alicent's POV

Pairing: F/F, Alicent and Rhaenyra

TW: internalised homophobia, technically stepcest/step incest

Read after the cut

-

Wretched under the eyes of the Gods I made to flee the Sept, where I had gone to pray and give up to that place of stone and tallow all my sins, of which there were now many. But she who had met me there, disguised in modest cloth, called out to me with urgency.

"Alicent."

I should have run from her, called a guard to shackle her or cut her throat across the flagstones. But I could not, could never even at my cruellest turns have hated or wished ill upon her.

Scoffing, I looked over my shoulder, damning myself for the chattering bird of my heart, which has sung for her long and always.

"There is nothing more to say," I spat. "We cannot agree on this matter."

"No," said Rhaenyra. "But there are other things I would speak of with you, as we did when we were girls. Is there not some private chamber where you might sit with me?"

There was, but I knew that I should not trust her by me alone, that I might as well hold the blade she had in her sleeve to my own throat, such was the risk. But I saw in the winter moon of her soft face upturned, beseeching, that she meant me no injury, that she thought only of the days we'd lounged together on warm grass in happy youth.

I could not deny my longing to return to those hours of languid pleasures in which I'd yearned for her as one woman should not another. This crisis I had muttered over candlelight, ashamed of it, and yet I found myself nodding to my enemy and awaiting her as she gathered her skirts to rise.

Even in a Septa's formless garb Rhaenyra was beautiful, her long eyes like troubled jewels, her strong nose a pleasant slope above her slim rose of a mouth. There were those that whispered she'd long envied me my looks, and yet as she walked by my side I could not think how I would improve her visage.

For all her inner faults she did not wear them outwardly in any clear regard.

In silence I took her to a small room used for private worship whose door I locked behind us. The chamber was comprised of a simple cushioned bench, a high, narrow window, and a sparse row of candles, their modest light enough that I withheld a breath as my old friend unveiled her hair. It fell like the tail of a tumbled down star upon her clothes, so white amidst the gold of fire.

For all my bitterness against her and her clan, for all that I grieved for those dead and that would die I craved to run my hands through that hair as I had done while braiding it as a child. I burned there like some hapless wick, and sat as stone, my fists hard in my lap.

"Alicent," said Rhaenyra, again, and sitting by me on the bench she took my hand, a furrow cleaving her pale brow as I flinched, skittish, from her.

"You are bold to touch me," I said, "after what you have done. And what has been done to you."

"Perhaps," she said. "But have I not always been?"

I thought of her kissing me, once, which she'd done as a girl, a secret thing we had been caught at, and scolded from doing again. As Rhaenyra spoke I watched her mouth as I'd done then and wondered if it was soft still, how it would taste unsweetened by the cake she'd favoured.

My innards coiled with shame at the fancy, and I despaired that I was given so helplessly to aberration, whether through my lying with Cole or this other hunger.

"What is it you wish to discuss with me?" I asked.

My voice was cold, I'll warrant cruel, and yet I betrayed something of my thought, it seemed, for again Rhaenyra put out her hand to mine.

A fool, I let her take it. Like some plush bolt of fabric her skin was against me. Her fingers coiled, gentle, through mine.

I found my breathing laboured.

"My love for you remains," she said. "Remember this, when darkness falls. Through everything, I have loved you."

"And I you," I said. "It has been difficult. I do not deny it."

Rhaenyra lifted up my hand and kissed it, her lips like some pretty ring between the knuckles. She kept them there with soundless joy, her eyes half-closed in reverence. I shivered as she held me thus, and blinked my eyes of tears.

"My heart has strained for some solution to all that is between us," she said. "I came here in pursuit of it and have found none, and still this love remains."

"It is a doomed one," I said. "This we both know."

We looked upon each other without hope of altering what we beheld of fate, and as though impelled by one sole mind we moved into embrace, my arms about her shoulders, hers a link of iron at my waist. How warm and firm she was, smelling of leather, of travel sweat, and the sea.

I was overcome then with a joy contorted by my mourning of the friendship that was, by my resentment that in this world which was a trap for any woman she had thrived, defied it, had sinned often and without a care. That she had come to this place of worship and soundly dashed from me the prophecy, from which I'd clawed a desperate hope that all the motions I and those I loved had made against her claim were righteous—

She, this gleaming serpent of a woman, was the glass in which I saw myself descended from all grace. Yet as I held Rhaenyra I was overcome by love, by want of her; as I drew back I saw she felt the same, her eyes—always her most honest feature—flitting a dance of fire before me.

"We will not be together like this again," she said.

Her voice was soft, alluring. One hand came up to stroke my cheek, and only through fear of judgement did I resist her caress.

"No," I said. "Rhaenyra, I forget myself—"

"So forget with me," she said, "and think instead of how we were, once. What I dreamt in some other life could be."

She inclined her face to mine, our lips parted only by a lattice of breath.

"We must awaken from that dream," I whispered. "We cannot flee on dragon back together."

"That is not what I ask," she said. "Only this."

Slowly Rhaenyra brought her mouth to mine, and I opened to her willing, pulling her slim form to my breast with searing want of her proximity. So fierce, that kiss, a flagon that slaked me; I felt through it her care for me, the agony that was the gully of time and injury that would drive us both mad.

The crimson length of her tongue found mine, and I parted my jaw to take it, giving myself to violent abandon as I did to all beckoning sin.

She kissed me, kissed me, bent me back against the pillowed bench until I lay upon it, her figure in its dress of false innocence between my thighs. I tugged at my underskirts and the fabric beneath with haste, my hand at Rhaenyra's wrist, pulling her to the hot and urgent longing there.

She paused a moment, her white cheeks flushed with passion.

"You are certain?" she asked.

"Do not speak," I said. "Touch me. Touch me."

I kissed her, my hand a talon in her hair, exalting in the texture of it, the oily scent of it upon me. Rhaenyra moaned into my eagerness, led by my words to touch the cleft between my legs, the pistil of the lily waking to her fingertips. Digits by two she curved within me, guided by the upward wave of my hips in their wanton rutting.

I murmured against her lips, pulled at the Septa's dress until, gathered about her chest, I worked my palms beneath it. Rhaenyra's breasts fell into them, beautiful still, though like my own they had been changed by age and childbirth I felt and saw only loveliness, and wished I could have lain with her all the day to know them more. I turned my face into their weight, afraid my cries would give away our folly.

Rhaenyra slipped down from me then and knelt upon the floor, bowed in the mode of prayer between my trembling legs. Her eyes were the glittering of a wave as she caught my pleasure in the glass of her mouth, her tongue at play where her forefinger had been.

I gripped the bench and hissed through my teeth.

"Rhaenyra..."

I thought before I had known pleasure, not from Viserys, but from Cole— yet now as my enemy licked cunning fire through me those sensual heights seemed a phantom of the peak to which I leapt with Rhaenyra. Her fingers made a butter of my flesh, all salt, all molten sun— I saw her face turn, crowned with it, as she kissed my seam farewell.

"Come here," I said, and I tugged her up onto the bench in my place, earnest that I should return what she had given.

Rhaenyra laughed at my ferocity, and yet obeyed, watching from that greater height as I scrambled on all fours in a blinkering frenzy of desire to see this out.

There was a greed in me to taste her, a kind of lunatic helplessness to which I could put up not an ounce of resistance. I ran my face across her mound, the white arch of hair and dawn pink opening beneath; I sucked and lapped to cure the thirst that had me twisting, abject, a decade in my bed.

I felt her hands upon my nape, heard distantly her stifled cries as I—at last—had the flavour of her, the female musk I'd known before only from my own fingertips, or on the breath of my fallen knight. I ate of her clumsily, without expertise, my hand prying her lower mouth until its slickness let me in.

By the rhythm of her breathing and her motions against me I found how she was pleased, what touch, what tempo was her body's music.

Her mouth dropped open, her eyelids half-fell; her hands upon my scalp were sweat-damp, and I dismissed in my necessity to satisfy her the wickedness of what we did. Always such storm winds of lust took me away from myself, and did so then. I knew nothing of anger or despair, only the triumph of having Rhaenyra moan and rain her delight between my open lips.

I climbed up and sat against her, kissing her still, our pleasure one in the fluid melded on our tongues and lips. Then we sat still, her head on my shoulder as though we were but youths once more, both of us crying, sombre now in the loss that was to come.

There was nothing to be done to keep her by me; I had no power in this war between men, although I'd played my part in it.

When again I was to rise and leave the Sept we would be on either side of a crevasse that history would tremble to recall, this, like some glint of foresight, I was certain of.

And so I stayed beside her some minutes after, watched with longing as she rearranged her dress and put away her lovely hair again. But then I, too, rose from the bench and blew the candles out.

"Darkness," I said, at Rhaenyra's questioning glance. "It is a fitting end."

[onsunnyside]

yet another prompt from my bestie’s ask: drum roll please (pun intended)… here’s drummer!Rafe

The road to stardom is wild and loud, full of flashing lights and cheering crowds in a new city every night. It's also full of distractions that come in various shapes and colours, whether that be liquor bottles, a white powdery substance, or the endless line of groupies. Rafe and his band are no strangers to indulging in those distractions, the rugged and crazy lifestyle quickly became a part of their rockstar image.

You have a dream to make it big, and to see your name on the silver screen with the generation's greatest. Unfortunately, Hollywood was beyond tough on those who weren't already born within the golden gates. You're a lucky one, with all your hard work and sleepless nights, you go from waitressing and living in a trailer park in L.A. to living comfortably in your dream home with a resume that just keeps getting longer and longer.

You meet Rafe at a mutual friend's party. You've been close with one of his bandmates for a little while, and finally got the opportunity to meet the rest of them.

Your first impressions are awful, to say the least: you were excited to meet the drummer of the famed rock band and have been staring at him all night, working up the courage one smidge at a time. When he slips out the balcony doors, you take your chance.

Rafe's leaning over the railing, cigarette hanging from between his fingers as he types on his phone. When you step beside him, he glances at you, blue eyes lazily dragging over your figure.

"I thought groupies weren't allowed in here."

You stand there dumbfounded, jaw on the floor as he blows the smoke.

"I'm not—"

He cuts you off with a heavy sigh, "don't tell me you're a friend of a friend, or a classmate from childhood, or someone's long-distance girlfriend. I've heard it all, trust me."

You cross your arms, heat filling your chest, "Do you talk to everyone like that?"

"Just those who deserve it." His voice is low, "Beat it, sweetheart. You don't want to get thrown out and risk ruining that pretty dress, now do you?"

You don't know what his problem was. For someone so loved and adored, he was a fucking asshole. You supposed that's the lovely work of PR teams, they can make even the cruellest monsters into angels. Hell, even your team worked tirelessly to maintain your image.

"You're still here? Don't you have a security guard to blow, or a tour bus to break into?" He asks condescendingly, hair falling over his forehead as he leans down, studying you with that stupid smirk. “Who are you fucking, huh? Is it one of the desperate socialites, or the wannabe models?”

His laugh breaks into a shout when your drink splashes on his face, the alcohol dripping down his chin to his chains and silk blue shirt, "what the fuck—"

You don't stay long enough to hear his curses and return to the penthouse, promising yourself to never speak to him again.

I'm sensing... hate fucking: his hand is over your mouth and you're pressed against the tiled wall, dress hiked up and legs around his waist. The party rages on inside the club, hopefully still lively enough that no one will notice your absence. Tonight was for you to celebrate your first big award win, you didn't know Rafe was coming with your mutual friend, and you'd die before admitting that you're glad he did.

You can't help your moans, his cock effortlessly hitting your sweet spot with every rock. He fills you so deeply, stretching your hole with his fat girth, and it pains you to know that he's ruined you for anyone else. You just know you'll be a limping mess.

"Shut up. God, you never fucking shut up." He grunts, his hand falling to your throat, "You wanna get caught? Want everyone to know you're fucking a... what is it you called me?"

He grinds into you and you gasp, gaze locked on his lips. He was a great kisser, the best you've ever had, but you'd never tell him that, just like how you refused to ask for another.

"A-An ungrateful prick."

His eyes gleamed dangerously, sweat brimming at his brow, "Yeah, that's it. I bet you're grateful I didn't leave when you told me to."

He keeps you pinned to the wall with his hips and his other hand slips where you meet. His skillful fingers toy with your needy bundle and your body convulses, your juices nearly dripping down his length.

"And you said I never shut up."

A harsh slap lands on your clit and your choked whimper turns into a loud whine when he repeats the action again, harder this time. The lewd sounds of your wetness bounce off the washroom walls. If you had any shame left, it was gone now, tucked in his pocket with your torn underwear.

"You'll be on your knees and thanking me by the end of the night. I can promise you that."

I can only imagine how nasty drummer!Rafe is 😮‍💨 the kinks, the spitting, the choking, the messy "let me fuck my cum back into you," the tasteful nude polaroids, and wiping your tears when you cum so hard you cry, "that's it. let it out, baby. such a good girl for daddy."

Can't forget about the disgusting lyrics he'd write about you (ofc there are sweet ones too but that's not until later), telling the whole world how much he loves the way you taste and feel, how you're his filthy little angel and that you bring him closer to heaven with your body.

Oh the sexting !! When he's on tour and you're working, it's hard to make time for each other. Sometimes he'll send you a picture of his hard bulge through his jeans with a cheeky "wish you were here." When you win another big award (and inevitably become a style icon overnight bc of your dress), he sends flowers, cute lil note, and ofc, a nut video with sound 😌 "the next time I see you, I'm fucking you in that dress."

[itsamebubza]

Drabble of sorts below the cut.

[TW: objectification]

Numb.

If he had to describe the way one felt when the compelling took hold of one’s mind that would be the undisputable term for it. At least then he didn’t have the time to truly feel the extent of the hunger unless his master willed it.

It hadn’t been until he had finally tasted freedom - true freedom - again that it dawned on him how much of a blessing the numbness had been in its own twisted way. He would have guessed he would never miss the empty echo in his mind but it ached. His dry throat ached painfully as the warmth lingered in the air. It was then that he realized this was perhaps the cruellest joke the Gods had planned for him - shackles gone but the true master rearing its ugly horns in unholy claim for his thoughts and actions, making evidence of how he would forever be a slave to The Hunger.

Then, he thought, maybe Numb was better than this Hollow. At least then the touches were easy to ignore, and he didn’t have to feel each one like a piercing dagger, leaving his body heavy with the grime of disgust thick on his skin. How he craved for the sweet poppy milk of his master’s power to finally… slip away into oblivion and just forget the pain.

He was much too aware and that was maddening in itself.

The emptiness, the Hollow as he would call it in his mind, the one that nothing but the life of another could fill, was much too painful. The void that roared inside his body and burned his trachea was constant reminder that he was not in charge. That the reprieve was only momentary and the only way to quieten it was by consuming or death. And death was just out of the question when he was so close.

The air surrounding him was sickeningly sweet all due to the warmth emanating from the body he had used as a tool for protection - the halfwit leader of the group that was all too eager to join him in his bedsheets, now laid resting with slow placid breathing as the camp slept unaware of the predator lurking in the darkness at arm’s length. The pretend tenderness he had mirrored onto the cattle, to the shield, to the tool had given way to breathy moans and pleas of release in his name, successfully signing the unspoken contract of his safety and subsequent protection.

Because that’s all everyone ever was and would be - tools to use and be used and this was no different. At least now, he was the user and such power is addicting. What was one more push towards self-gain in the grand scheme of things? Surely the tool wouldn’t object and it would be so easy to finally answer to the beckoning song coming from the body beside him. After all, dinner was served so prettily in his sheets.

It would have been so easy, but the breathing tensed and suddenly he was all too aware of her eyes staring up at him in fear.

“S-shit”.

[proudfreakmetarusonikku]

anyway necessary abuse analysis after I watched the episode bc like. c’mon I cannot avoid that.

as of episode 12, obviously i do not know much about ozai, azula (I am spoiled to hell on this show i know she exists), and even really zuko (i was not expecting him to be that obviously a child at that moment jesus fucking Christ) but i think there’s a lot you can gather from specifically the dynamic of abuse set up.

ozai clearly sees his children as extensions of himself- less as people and more as status symbols he can throw out if they stop working. and that’s really shown in the way zuko was abused. not just the very obvious severe physical abuse- not only did he severely and painfully scar his like twelve? maybe? year old son, but he likely at the very least also severely hampered his vision (look at his eye, it’s noticeably unable to open properly where the scar tissue is) and disabled him for life)- but specifically how it was set up to publicly humiliate zuko.

the agni kai was a public spectacle- there’s so many people in the audience, it’s horrifying to think about (though thankfully it seems that it's not entirely common knowledge)- one where he humiliated and degraded zuko for his lack of “honour”- which was him showing compassion and him being a child who loved his father and was terrified of hurting him and just wanted to know how to fix things. it’s a very calculated, deliberate act of abuse, and considering the severity it almost certainly was not the first instance- in fact, zuko's immediate apologetic behaviour and terror at the idea of his father seems to suggest he's been abused before, being (understandable) trauma responses.

i think the way azula acts supports this even further- she’s not at all surprised at the, again, very very severe and visceral physical abuse happening in front of her, only reacting by grinning. she has seen this before. not to this extent, nothing that left scars- or at least, obvious ones- perhaps not even prior physical abuse, but her brother being humiliated and made to feel small and worthless in front of her is something that is simply normal to her. zuko gets abused, and she watches proud that it isn’t her. it’s abusive to her too, in that sense- it’s a threat of violence, if she ever makes her father lose face. their existence is to make their father look good and to be useful- and if they aren’t, they’ll be discarded in the cruellest of ways. that is just something the two grew up knowing, one way or another.

and like, this is clearly why zuko is like that. he’s obsessed with honour because that is a tool that has clearly been used against him to justify his fathers abuse even before this- it’s an ideal he strives for because he thinks it’ll make him worthy of love. and that’s all he wants, for his dad to love him, because he is still a teenager and inherently trusts his parents and blames himself for his own abuse because of that. if he was abused and discarded, it’s his fault in his mind. he needs to fix it, he's the problem in the family. he's fixated so heavily on it because he’s convinced that it’s the only way anyone would ever love or care for him at all- and even the love his uncle shows him can’t convince him otherwise, because he can't accept the idea that he even deserves it. zuko might appear cocky, but he’s the opposite- he’s been brought up to view himself and his worth only in the value he served his father, and cut off from that he sees himself as someone worthless, someone completely unlovable, and he's desperate to fix it, because he views it as his moral failure.

i just. ugh. fucking hell. i am killing ozai with my bare hands those are children those are Tiny how can you look at like young Zuko and fucking do that he’s so obviously a child and it’s so clear this is not the first time this has happened and I’m killing and maiming. ow.

[hoyotournament]

Round 3: Kaveh vs Neuvillette

(Propaganda under the cut)

Neuvillette:

neuvillette is a character with so much love at the core of his narrative. he was appointed chief justice, lived with the fontainians for centuries, watched how they behaved, witnessed them at their very WORST through the environment of the courtroom, and at the end of it all, he chose to save them. he had the power to easily condemn the citizens of fontaine for the crimes he had personally overseen them commit for years and years and years. he sat in a position poised to witness humanity at their cruellest. and despite that, he loved them anyway. he loved them so much, all he wanted was to live among them, watch over them, and protect them. and when the time came that his decision would decide the fate of everyone in fontaine, he chose to continue to love them

[camelliagwerm]

hmmm 13 for Vali? :3c

Oh thanks Rowan.

13. What is their biggest regret regarding their time as the KC?

I feel like you might potentially know this answer already, and I don't think I've made it a secret of this. I'd even argue out of everything he did during the crusade, this was probably the nastiest. Him at his cruellest. As a warning, it's Ember's worst ending, so I'm going to keep it under the cut.

But there's very few things about his time as Knight-Commander that he regrets, but the most significant one is how he treated Ember — she went insane following the death of her congregation in act 5, and he had constantly been cruel to her from act 3 onwards. In acts 1 and 2, he was fine towards her. A little concerned, but for the most part, fine. But then the narcissism and jealousy kicked in during act 3, when she started getting her own little congregation, people whispering Saint Ember under baited breath. He couldn't tolerate it — how dare they look to someone who isn't me? — and wherever possible he tore her down, shut down the congregation, did whatever he could to make sure her followers never truly took root. After all, he understands better than anyone what the power of belief can do — hell, the mythic Lich can even grant their undead followers domain, effectively becoming their deity — and the control one can exercise from that. He couldn't have a rival, so he destroyed her.

It was cruel, and it was only when she was tearfully begging him to take her with him into the final battle so she could die with everyone else that the green-eyed monster backs off and he realised what he had done to her. The guilt gnaws at him for it to the point, he makes sure to find her a place after the crusade and (anonymously) pays for her upkeep and care. But it's too little, too late. By that point, the damage is done. Irreversible.

[thorniest-rose]

okay i know we love borderline feral and mean gross eddie, but i can’t stop thinking about another relationship dynamic

eddie as Just Some Guy that’s dating stephanie, the meanest bitch anyone has ever met. she cares about one single man and it’s eddie and he’s her little meow meow.

all her little girlfriends are convinced she’s dating some hotshot swimsuit model or something when she starts talking about this new guy she’s fucking, only for them to meet mr scruffy raccoon man himself. and not only is steph fucking him, but she’s got moon eyes for him too!! she’s not even yelling at him for touching her hair!!!

her friends think the dick can’t possibly be /that/ good, but it is. it’s good enough that stephanie destroys some guys confidence and any feelings of self worth because he tripped eddie in the hallway once. she’s so mean, she’s such a bitch, but eddie loves her sm

oh my god this is SO funny!!!! I love this so much dhdhdhs like I just love the idea of beautiful homecoming queen and head cheerleader Stephanie dating Eddie Munson, who's a total loser and who plays D&D with all his nerd friends, and everyone's just like WHY???? But Stephanie adores him and asks him to meet her after class and walk her to her locker, and in the cafeteria they sit together and have lunch, and then after school she asks Eddie to drive her home. And Eddie's completely whipped and does everything she says. But if anyone messes with him, Stephanie is so ready to cut a bitch and if any jock or meathead tries to make fun of Eddie or beat him up, she throws the cruellest and most withering insults at them that their dicks practically fall off. And even when other girls quiz her about it, because they want to know why she isn't with some gorgeous hunk and why she's going steady with a weird, awkward nerd, Stephanie's just like "he makes me laugh". But it's more than that, because Eddie's her sweetheart and her goofball and she loves him. Like she was half a virgin when she met Eddie and now she isn't, and that shows just how intensely she feels about him. He belongs to her and she'll destroy anyone who touches him <3

[adventure-showdown]

What is your favourite Doctor Who story?

ROUND 1 MASTERPOST

synopses and propaganda under the cut

The Lodger

Synopsis

A mysterious force blocks the TARDIS — with Amy inside it — from landing, keeping it stuck in a materialisation loop. It's up to the Doctor to work out what that force is, lest Amy be lost forever along with his home/motor. As he investigates, the Doctor learns of a house on Aickman Road, with a staircase which people walk up but never come back down. To solve this mystery, the Doctor must pass himself off as a normal human and share a flat with Craig Owens.

Propaganda no propaganda submitted

The Rebel Flesh/The Almost People

Synopsis

The Eleventh Doctor, Amy Pond and Rory Williams visit an acid-mining factory. A solar storm hits the factory, turning the workers' gangers into self-aware individuals. The Doctor must mediate between the original workers and their rebellious gangers.

Propaganda no propaganda submitted

Let’s Kill Hitler

Synopsis

In the desperate search for Melody Pond, the TARDIS crash lands in Thirties Berlin, as the time-travelling drama returns for the second half of the series shown earlier in the year. The Doctor comes face to face with the greatest war criminal in the Universe. And Hitler. Old friendships are tested to their limits as the Doctor suffers the ultimate betrayal and learns a harsh lesson in the cruellest warfare of all. As precious time ebbs away, the Doctor must teach his adversaries that time travel has responsibilities. And he must succeed before an almighty price is paid.

Propaganda no propaganda submitted

Cold War

Synopsis

In 1983, the tensest point of the Cold War, a Soviet submarine discovers a strange creature frozen in the ice of the Arctic. When one of the Firebird's crew breaks it free, it starts attacking. As the crew strikes back, the Eleventh Doctor warns them that the attack could be considered a declaration of war on the entire Ice Warrior race...

Propaganda no propaganda submitted

Nightmare in Silver

Synopsis

The Eleventh Doctor takes his companion, Clara Oswald, and her wards, Angie and Artie, to the biggest amusement park in the galaxy, Hedgewick's World of Wonders. However, the theme park is empty, occupied only by a "punishment platoon" and a lone impresario with empty Cyberman shells as exhibits... or so it seems. When the Doctor decides to stay a while to investigate strange insect creatures that are roaming the park, he soon discovers that these insects are really machines seeking to convert the life forms on Hedgewick's World into the newest generation of the ever-upgrading menace...

Propaganda no propaganda submitted

[automeris-io-moth]

Fear

“Please Villain, please,” Hero pleaded, grabbing Villain’s jacket to lift themselves up.

So small, Hero looked so small in their arms, trembling and crying, clothes torn in some parts from the fight they escaped, nothing but rags left from their knees down, telling Villain far too clearly that they had crawled at least a portion of the way there.

With that, too, came the self-blame, the grief from a team they knew they had lost the moment Hero stepped outside the battlefield, and the mourn from having the image they had created for themselves slip right through their fingers.

Coward, and deserter, and murderer, even if not by their own hand, were what they could hear as their own two feet dragged them away. As panic settled deep inside their bones and an unexplained urge to flee rooted somewhere in their chest.

Hero didn’t know what was happening to them.

“Make it stop Villain, please,” they prayed, fists white from the pressure in their grip. “I can’t breathe, I can’t think, make it stop, I beg you.”

Villain’s hands were shaking, wet with the other’s tears as they crushed them away, as they moved their dirty hair from their face, hands as careful as they could be when Hero’s rushed to grab them, erratically, panicked, to plead with them in their hold.

Hero was not in their right mind, delirious they kept sobbing and shaking, and asking, demanding, for the other’s help, Villain, with their heart twisting inside their chest, burning tears sliding down their cheeks, could not.

They had promised Hero, but Hero could not remember.

“I’m scared, I’m so scared I don’t know what’s happening to me, please help me,” Hero screamed.

“I can’t Hero, I’m sorry,” Villain murmured, lifting Hero closer to their chest “It’okay, nothing’s happening to you, you reached me, you’re fine.”

“Then help me!” they wailed, trying to push themselves away from the other “Help me! Why won't you help me?! Are you enjoying this?!”

Villain swallowed.

"Why are you so cruel?" a last cry, lossing it's strength.

A lot of things were wrong, yet, priorities were clear, infection was quick to settle when dirt was, as it was, deep in the cuts and scratches, they needed to be cleaned, to be bandaged, Villain had to look for the rest, for the bleedings and the burns, but for that Hero needed to be a close semblance to calm.

Supervillian was ruthless when they fought.

Hero’s eyes grew unfocused, they grew cloudy as their begging subsided.

But they would not calm down, their suffering only quieted, but never eased off.

The sobbing became wimpers, but the panic in their dilated pupils remained.

“You know what to do,” a voice called from the other side of the threshold, the front door still wide open from when the Hero scrambled inside “look at them, don’t they look pathetic?”

“And who’s fault is that?” Villain seethed, not looking up to the familiar face approaching their way.

A gloved hand entered their field of view, settling softly against Hero’s cheek, making them frown, bringing back the loud uneasiness in soft weeps, Villain slapped it away.

“You can help them, Villain,” Supervillian said “you know Fear won’t subside on its own, not if I don’t allow it.”

Villain looked up to meet their gaze, brows furrowed and hands shaking in anger.

“And I won’t.” Supervillian added “It’s your choice at the end, you know what to do with your gifts.”

“My gifts?”

“Indeed, happy work anniversary, Villain,” they finished, standing up and brushing the dust off “Have a good night.”

Upset, Hero kept their hold tight to the other.

And Villain sighed.

With one softly placed over Hero’s head, and the other gripping their hand, Villain apologised and crossed the bridge the other had once prohibit.

Hero fell limp at the other’s entrance to their mind, crying quieting down, breathing evening out.

Fear was truly the cruellest ability to endure.

_

Masterlist

This is a re-upload because of a little problem Tumblr had with the tags, sorry :(

[ladybrainrot]

Day 25 of @propagandistisk goretober: Experiment

Let me be honest, if the countries were in fact real, scientists would take full advantage of their immortality and perform the cruellest experiments possible to try and understand them / the human body better.

didnt have too much time to draw today whoops, sorry if it feels rushed. ALSO let me know if you want me to add my speed draws to these.

FULL IMAGE UNDER THE CUT: TW GORE

👩‍🔬👨‍🔬🧑‍🔬

[hobbitwrangler]

The way I absolutely FLEW here to ask you about your sort-of Umbar sequel fic from the WIP ask game!!! I looooved the original, and the whole concept is fully fascinating to meeeee!

So glad you asked about this, particulary since you're the one that gave me the push to start actively engaging with the idea!

What I have at the moment is a very rough concept but the idea is to follow events in Umbar after the Dark Lord's fall as it degenerates very rapidly into complete chaos as different factions (the ruling families, the corsairs, Sauron's agents etc) all torn on each other and seek to come out on top. The reason I refer to it as a sort-of sequel is that it might end up featuring one or two characters from the plain sight of our destiny is the cruellest thing of all, but that remains to be seen. Another thing that I'm struggling with is the fact that when I was writing what I have so far, the narrative style ended up very different. I'm not sure what I think of that and how the story will change both in content and in style but here's a snippet from what I have so far.

The priestess is dragged from the bowels of the temple and there is much argument over what to do with her. Those angriest, most fearful, most merciful, call for her to be killed immediately. Others, most embittered, most power-mad, most bloodthirsty, say that she should be tortured. Taken apart, piece by piece. Bled to death. Skinned alive. Locked in the temple to burn. The suggestions are endless. There is nothing like a thirst for suffering to spark human creativity. Still others, more curious, more detached, more politically minded, say that she should be questioned. And what questions would you ask? What answers would she give? They all know. The time for questions is over. They have come this far, and now the theatre of vengeance must play out. Someone comes to a conclusion, someone with a loud enough voice or a forceful enough hand, and she is dragged to the great square. She is chained to stakes driven into the ground and, so that she can work no magic, her hands are nailed to the floor, her tongue cut out. If she screams, it is lost in the roar of the crowd. But she does cry. Normally her tears would smear the black kohl that lined her dark eyes. Yet since the Shadow’s fall she has grown lax in maintaining her appearance. Maybe she knew. Maybe. She did not struggle when they dragged her out. She had plenty of warning. Plenty of time to down a strategic glass of poison. To put those knives of hers to use on her own wrists. Plenty of time to cast herself from the roof of the temple or to slice open her own pretty throat. Who knows what it was that kept her alive. Maybe it was guilt. Maybe she was paralysed by the loss of her master, the music in her head, the voices and the laughter gone silent. Maybe she had lost herself. Maybe she had not yet found her way back to herself. It must be a terrible thing to believe in something so deeply, to feel it crumble and die and know that your death is striding up the stairs on a man’s knife.

WIP game

[ravens-words]

The Israel Occupation, in the most calculated, brutal way, has cut off all telecommunications in Gaza before launching the cruellest, most damaging attack on this small piece of land that consists of 2 million people, 50% of them are children. The death count before this attack was 7.3k, 3.5k of which are children. Let that sink in- three thousand CHILDREN. Some not even a day old. This is not counting the injured, the orphaned, the ethnic cleansing (my mother's family has been completely wiped out).

And the world watches. For over 20 days. The videos I've seen of kids cut to pieces (actual footage, they don't need photoshop or AI to fake evidence) kids with their faces blown off, doctors having to identify their kids and then GO BACK TO WORK, because there's no one but them, a kid having to identify his family bc he was the only one left.

Meanwhile in Israel, their government has the time to make tweets going after celebrities. Their people have the time to make tiktoks mocking Palestinian deaths and struggles. Meanwhile in Israel, the soldiers are taking this opportunity to torture (aka rape) their female prisoners.

AND THE WORLD WATCHES.