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slttygeto · 4 months

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don't be so reckless, don't break my heart —MITSUYA T.

synopsis: an argument with your childhood best friend leads to sweet confessions in the middle of the night.

tags: fluff, confessions, childhood best friend! mitsuya, fem!reader, arguments (so, angst if you squint a little), mentions of the reader being in a panicked state, mentions of mitsuya having injuries and bl00d all over him.

word count: 4,2k

note: thank you to the amazing @jean-kirsteins-real-gf for commissioning me! I enjoyed writing this piece a lot :) what a way to start the year! happy 2024 <3!!

Your first meeting with Mitsuya is a memory that is always present in the forefront of your head. It isn’t something that you could easily ignore or brush off, how such a sweet boy who was about your age had a baby to his chest and a kid younger than you both holding his hand so tightly you could see their knuckles turning white. What a rare sight it was, for a boy so young to guide his sister (after you heard her address him as big brother), the gentle tone to his voice, the carefulness when holding the baby to his chest—his kind gesture seals the deal for you.

Shy and scared as a shrinking violet, your teary eyes face away from the two boys who had pushed you off the swing. Young you was never able to speak her mind so bravely, so freely—yet you watch as Mitsuya—(a total stranger at the time), come to your rescue with a baby wrapped closely to him. It is ridiculous the way he fights and scares them off so easily. At first, they mock him for his soft features, for his lavender eyes and for the tiny human being latching onto him. Yet a single kick to one of the boys’ stomach is enough to send chills down your spine. That looks painful, you think.

As you wipe your eyes, you are finally able to look away from the bullies scurrying away with their tails tucked between their legs, facing your knight in shining armor. Your savior. What do you say in such situations? What do you do? You forget to stand up and dust yourself, only realizing your position when your neck starts to hurt from craning it to look up at your hero.

“Are you okay?” he presents a warm hand which you gladly hold, and he pulls you up with so much ease as you wipe away the excess tears on your cheeks. “I’ve seen them around here, never been nice to anyone.” He continues to talk and you continue to give silent nods as a response. At one point, he questions your ability to speak and your face heats up.

“I’m just…”

“Shy?” The slight to his head, the sweet smile—the crush you developed for the boy was all too expected with how nice he was to you.

As the years pass by, the friendship the two of you have developed turned into something that none of you could quite decipher—not that you wanted to. Strangely, you enjoyed the confusion that paints his friends’ faces as you walk up to him, scold him for missing lunch, for not answering your calls—and he doesn’t blush nor does he shy away from returning your hugs, even more passionately than the way you almost tackle him to the ground. His arms have grown stronger than when you were kids, and the way he smells has become so sweet…so intoxicating—you feel dizzy when you pull away from him, unable to look him in the eye for the next 30 seconds as you listen to whatever lame joke Draken has to say about the two of you.

Unbeknownst to you, the boy remembers the day he saw you as though it was yesterday as well. Pretty girl crying on the playground, heart thrumming in his chest when he saw the tears painting your face—he wasn’t in Toman at the time, wasn’t even a thing to begin with. He lies to himself and says that his brotherly instincts kick in when he saw you, that the protectiveness stems from the fact that he would’ve done the same if it were one of his two little sisters. Nevertheless, whatever he was telling his stubborn brain would not go through. He hears you sniffle and helps you up, gives you a tissue to clean yourself and even questions your ability to speak—when you part your lips, your soft voice is what seals the deal for him at the time.

At the time, developing a crush could be from something as simple as saying hi a bit too excitedly or in Mitsuya’s case, the way you had always been nice to other kids on the playground. You weren’t that talkative, but you played with kids on the swing, built sandcastles with them—until those two boys bullied you and the lavender boy knew he had to do something about it.

Watching you grow was a privilege. In Mitsuya’s eyes, having you was perfect. Knowing you, growing with you, embracing you in his arms—you’ve become more beautiful, your eyelashes brush over your cheeks when you blink and your lips pout instead of wobbling when you get sad. Your eyes still hold the same amount of warmth in them as that summer day he met you. You smell as sweet as a jasmine, handle his little sisters as though they are your own, delicate fingers brushing their hair, fixing their bangs, prepping their meals—you treat him and his family with something that feels so special but he would hate to be falsely reading between the lines.

Empathy and kindness have always been one of your traits, you put other people first and although Mitsuya loved it when someone realized just how much of an amazing human being you were, he hated seeing you get taken advantage of. So nice, so sweet—an angel.

You are present when Toman becomes a thing, celebrate alongside the first few members of the biker gang the birth of something so small yet so significant (with a future so big, nobody could ever foresee it). However, violence was never your thing. And so a frown sits heavy on your face whenever you see small scratches on Mitsuya’s face, remind yourself to scold him later for the bruise on his jaw—how would he explain it to his sisters? They’re probably worried sick about him!

“It’s me, can you open up?” it is a rainy summer night, your favorites. You are wearing light pajama pants and a tank top as you approach the entrance door with your heart beating in your throat. At around 11:32PM, soft knocks come to your door. You don’t move from the couch at first. Maybe they’ve mistaken the property for theirs.

Until a second round of knocks come in, and you hear the muffled voice and—wait, you know that voice! As you rush to undo the locks, nothing could’ve ever prepared you for the scene awaiting you.

Mitsuya Takashi was everything yet nothing—a leader, an older brother and a best friend, but when he comes to you so late at night with bruises and cuts all over his face—purple and red knuckles, the bones almost visible, he hisses at the feeling of the alcohol against his wounds. Tears welling up in his eyes, the sniffles--you realize how utterly small and vulnerable he is, sitting on your red couch with legs that would not rest. His limbs shake and his head hurts, you doubt that he has eaten anything all day and he watches as you sigh and rearrange the first aid kit before making your way to the kitchen.

“I’m sorry,” his voice sounds harsh, the softness to it no longer there after having yelled so much during yet another one of Toman’s fights. You give no response. You don’t need his apologies, you do not need words right now—however, starting a fight was the last thing on your mind, and clearly not what Mitsuya was able to handle in such state.

“It’s alright,” you say as you make your way back to where he was and place food in front of him. Hot and delicious, the smell alone is enough to make his mouth water and he digs in with no regard to his wounds—you hear him hiss as he pulls the chopsticks away from his lips and for the first time ever, you give a small chuckle.

Mitsuya smiles at this, a little relieved that you weren’t that mad at him. However, he sees the way you sit and face away from him, how your eyes trail longer on the uninteresting, empty road out there rather than his face. This was unlike you. You were never one to avoid eye contact with him, having openly admitted that you find solace in his lavender eyes and his gentle stare. Clearly, something was wrong.

“Are you angry with me?” It is not a surprise that the emotionally intelligent man was able to pick up on the subtle hints you’ve thrown his way about your sour mood, and you suck in your lips for a bit before finally mustering up the courage to face him. Your eyes are tired, a deep frown sitting heavy on your face and painting your features in a darker light than usual. One that has the wounded man’s heart breaking for a bit.

“Only worried,” you want to say more, Mitsuya fixing his posture to look at you encourages you to do so. “Do you have to do this?” you whisper the question so softly, so afraid that someone in the empty apartment beside Mitsuya would hear. You don’t know why you are so afraid of being heard, perhaps because you know you are overstepping into a territory that wasn’t yours—something you’ve never had the chance to experience—Toman, the community, the people in it. They all meant so much to the guy sitting next to you, wouldn’t it be insulting to ask him if he has to put his life on the line for them every time?

Upon hearing those words, a sigh leaves the guy’s lips and you feel like sinking into the couch. Conversing with Mitsuya was easy, it felt natural and smooth—why was this topic so anxiety inducing then?

“You’ve been there… you know, when it all started.” His words serve as a reminder of the day it all started, the joy on everyone’s faces when Mitsuya handed them the old Toman uniforms. You’ve seen it, how dedicated all of them were. You were understanding—but this was too much.

“I have but—Takashi, this is ridiculous,” you turn to face him and Mitsuya’s eyes flicker down to your pouty lips before staring back at your eyes. He hates seeing you so upset.

“I know, I know…” his hand slides towards your own and you feel electricity through your body when you feel his touch, the way his fingers interlace with yours and his thumb brushes over the skin of the back of your hand. “I just have to and plus, kinda needed that beating as warm up.”

“Huh?” you stare at him confused, pushing him to continue.

“Toman’s been involved in something a bit nasty,”

“But you guys are used to nasty, right?” there’s nervousness in your voice.

“Yeah but this is… This is next level,” when Mitsuya leans forward with his elbows on his knees, the serious look on his face almost sends you spiraling.

“Who?”

“Hm?”

“Who are you fighting?” You’re fighting off high levels of anxiety as he keeps you waiting for a few seconds before replying.

“Tenjiku.”

“Tenji—“ you choke on your spit, unable to finish your sentence out of pure shock. “Tenjiku! You are fighting Tenjiku? No, no no no—you’re not,” you’ve grown agitated at the mention of the name of the gang, and Mitsuya suddenly finds himself unable to calm you down as he normally can.

“Hey, it’s okay we’ve got this, we always do—“

“You always do?!” You repeat, before pointing at his state. “Look at you! You’re barely coming back in one piece, think you can fight Tenjiku?”

“Well excuse you, Toman is also very strong.” Takashi also gets up from the couch, your words having too much of an effect on the usually calm and collected man. As he watches you pace around the living room of your apartment, his hands find themselves in front of his body, reaching towards you in a futile attempt of getting you to calm or sit down. But to no avail. It seems as though the mention of such dangerously reputable biker gang sets you off, and the possibility of what might happen to the man if not careful enough sends you spiraling down faster with each short inhale you take.

“That’s—what? A thousand men against a hundred? Don’t be ridiculous Takashi.”

“How am I being ridiculous? You know Toman,” his eyebrows are furrowed and his body stops moving, indicating that your words were starting to get to him personally. “We are strong, we got this.”

“You always come back beaten up and bloody!” you half yell out exasperated. “You don’t got this if most of your body is black and blue by the time a fight is over!”

The tension in the room has grown so thick. It’s unusual given your somewhat stable friendship with the man. Slight disagreements happened here and there over things that you could easily brush off and say ‘yes, I was wrong and you were right,’ or simply ignore it and pretend it never happened. But as your voice gets louder, and you show more and more evidence of how upset you are, it’s clear as day that ‘slight’ wouldn’t describe the situation accurately. You were having a full blown argument with Mitsuya, and it still hasn’t sunk in yet.

Mitsuya can hear his heart beat in his chest, he feels his ears heating up with the amount of negative feelings he was experiencing towards this—towards you being so against Toman winning. Did you really not believe in him? Were you faking being supportive this entire time?

“You know I’m still going to go and fight alongside them, right?” The tone Takashi uses with you is so unusual that you feel your eyes brimming with tears straight away. Cold and indifferent, two things you never thought you could associate with how the man felt for you.

“Well don’t come to my place for me to clean you up. Find someone else.”

“I will.” He doesn’t wait for you to open the door for him, doesn’t say goodnight as he usually does. He doesn’t even slam the door as he leaves. He is cold and distant as he walks further and further away from you, from the argument. Reality sets in and the heavy weight of your words and reactions to his announcement come flashing back like a short movie made to embarrass you, make you feel guilty.

“Fuck.”

“Mitsuya! You’re distracted!” Another punch lands on the lavender hair’s jaw, sending him flying into the ground with a loud thud. Although his injuries aren’t as bad as half of Toman’s, his disorganized state is sending most of his division members into a panicked state. He was never like this.

“Ugh--!” Before he can stand up, he is being kicked repeatedly in the guts until blood spills out of his mouth, and he takes the opportunity to roll over and away from whoever’s attacking him to avoid another harsh blow to his body. He gets on one knee with an arm around his middle, protecting his injuries and he coughs out blood before letting his wobbly legs help him stand up straight.

“Shit—sorry,” his hand wipes at the blood on his lips. He gets into a fighting stance and immediately, the look in his eyes changes into something fiercer, more passionate. He hates that the argument with you is the only thing on his mind. Your words, your tone, even the way you haven’t reached out to him in a couple of days. He hates fighting with you, despises the fact that maybe you were right, and that Tenjiku are beating them up. But one glance at his division members—at Toman, it reminds him that the roars of victory when the fight ends, the tears of joy. The pain in his body could never compare to the happiness and satisfaction of being in this gang, his second family. However, he cannot wait for everything to be over, and for you two to make up.

The universe has a strange way of showing that two people are meant to be. As Mitsuya makes his way back to his apartment, several groans escape his lips as he drags his bloodied and beaten up body up the stairs. He preferred going to yours because there were less stairs but…It looks like it wasn’t an option now. As his hand twists the knob of his door, he is fully prepared to see a mortified baby sitter asking him what exactly had happened—but instead, he sees something else. Or rather someone.

Earlier that night, things were a bit messy for you. Feeling as though you have been punched repeatedly in the guts wasn’t an enjoyable feeling—the nausea amplified by your shallow breathing, your nostrils hurting from the harsh cold air and your throat dry as a desert as your body refuses to swallow, instead sending you into an anxious state as it forgets to let the oxygen into your lungs. You choke as you get away from the window and run to the kitchen to grab some water, you open the tap and let the cold liquid hit your wrists, calm your nerves. You lean against the sink with your elbows propped against the surface and your lips pathetically wobble as tears threaten to spill. You couldn’t handle this anymore.

You were glad that Luna and Mana had gone down to sleep easily, a short story about a princess that wandered around the forest, slipping down a mystery hole into a magical world which she ended up ruling had the girls’ eyes sparkle, yet the tiredness was visible as their under eyes darkened, eyelids heavy and before you knew it—tiny snores resonated through their shared room. You checked on them a couple of times throughout the night, and although the sight of them sleeping so soundly had you place a hand on your chest as muscle memory, your body wanting to show its relief—your brain was running a thousand miles per hour. Takashi—how was he? Would he even make it back? You feel as though you were a bit harsh with him when telling him that you wouldn’t treat his wounds—but his stubbornness, you couldn’t handle it anymore.

There is a crackling noise coming from the fireplace, and you know that the coldness of your body calls for warming up but—but not now, not when Mitsuya wasn’t back home yet, and it was already approaching three in the morning.

As strange as it may seem, the invisible thread connecting the two of you was tugging from both sides and you find yourself staring at the door knob before it starts twisting. When the door swings open and a bloody Mitsuya comes in sight, the first thing that leaves your lips is a defeated “oh” before your feet rush you to the first aid kit you had brought with you from your place.

“What…are you doing here?” Takashi is the first to break the silence as he limps towards the couch. You don’t answer, you gently place him on the cushions before cradling his face in your hands. He doesn’t like the look on your face, how your eyes are brimming with tears and your bottom lip wobbles before you look away to hide the fact that you were very close to bursting into tears.

“I was never going to come.” You admit, but it was obviously a lie. Not with the way you carefully unbutton his uniform top and hand him a bottle of water to keep him hydrated.

“I know,” his voice had gone low, almost ashamed to be in such position.

“Did you at least win?” You whisper as you open the kit and pull out cotton and some disinfectant for his wounds, a bandage for his for his arms and legs. His uniform was ripped, destroyed from being tossed to the ground repeatedly, but the proud smile on his face eases your worries a bit. You miss seeing his lips curl up like that.

“Toman never loses.”

The next few minutes go by in complete silence, with the occasional hiss and groans from the man being treated and your soft apologies. The living room is filled with something so intense, ready to snap at any given moment. When Takashi groans as you press at a certain spot between his ribs, you freeze and look up at him.

“You broke a bone?”

“I figured with how hard I was getting beaten,” he holds his side with a slight wince.

“Takashi…” said man looks down at you, and his eyes soften when he sees that the tears you once held in were finally spilling out. “You’re so reckless, I—you stress me out,” you try to wipe your tears away, but it seems useless. The more tears fall down, the less control you have over your sobs. You are on the verge of a full breakdown and the man sitting before you on the couch can’t help but reach his hands towards you to smooth your hair, push it out of your wet face.

“Hey…hey I’m fine, I’m sorry that I caused you this much stress I just—“

“I don’t wanna lose you,” you cut him off abruptly, moving your hands away from your face and letting him fully cradle your face. “I can’t imagine living without you, Taka,” before your lip could start wobbling again, Takashi’s thumb gently brushes over it and pulls it down.

“You won’t lose me,” he whispers, leaning down to your level. “Ever. I know I get beaten up very often, but I always come back in one piece, don’t I?”

“But what if something happens?” you’re finally letting your worries float to the surface openly. Rather than telling him not to fight like last time, you are now fully admitting that you were anxious about his absence, how much he means to you and how his well being affects your life. “What if—what if you lose, you die and I don’t have you in my life?”

“That wouldn’t be so horrible, hm? I do cause you a lot of stress apparently,” he tries to joke, lift up your mood but you shake your head almost harshly, hands grabbing his wrists.

“I need you with me, in my life. I need you next to me, I wanna be selfish and keep you all to myself, Taka,”

“All to yourself?” His thumb then brushes your cheek, up to your eyebrows before pushing your sweaty strands out of your face. “Sounds like you got something else to say, don’t you?”

His voice isn’t playful, but rather encouraging. His lavender eyes are filled with something so comforting yet so intense. For the first time ever, you feel nervous in his presence.

“That I love you. I’m in love with you, you don’t even know how horrible it feels when I have to treat your cuts and wounds and have to watch you be so careless about something that is so precious to me,” your hands let go of his wrists to cradle his face, mirroring his actions. He melts under your touch, nuzzling into the palm of your hands like a feline craving heat during winter.

“Lucky you, I’d love to have you all to myself too,”

“You do?”

“I do,” he nods and tilts your head up to stare at him. “I have wanted you all to myself for so long, it’s kind of ridiculous. That warm smile,” his other hand traces your lips. “Those gorgeous eyes,” he leans in and presses a kiss to your eyelids. “This pure soul,” his lips then press against your forehead, between your eyebrows. “I’ve wanted you to be all mine for so long, watched myself fall in love with you harder with every moment we spent together. My heart, my soul—they yearned for yours. For your eyes to only stare at me, for those lips to only smile at me—I love you.”

You feel your cheeks heating up with every word, every honeyed sentence leaving his lips like a sweet melody. You can’t bring yourself to say anything in return, not when looking at him seems so difficult, your eyes, chest and whole body feeling hot at the realization that he feels the same.

Takashi was in love with you.

“You made my confession seem so lame,” you break the silence with a sniffle, and your face heats up even more when he starts laughing at your embarrassed state.

“It wasn’t lame at all, my love, my heart is about to burst at your words,”

“Don’t—you’re so comfortable already!” You try to pull away from him when he uses such sweet pet names on you.

“I am the luckiest to be with my best friend, my baby,” he presses his lips against your cheeks with a grin, going in for another kiss when he feels your hot cheeks. “Of course I’d be comfortable.”

Falling for your best friend seemed like the worst possible outcome when you realized you were developing feelings for him, but when he was holding you with so much care and staring at you with such warm eyes—all those worries melted away against the palm of his hand, accepting the love he had for you with open arms and an open heart.

2024: all works belong to @ slttygeto. do not repost my works on any other platofrm.

#moon's works #tokyo revengers #tokyo revengers x reader #mitsuya x reader #mitsuya takashi x reader #tokyo revengers mitsuya #tr mitsuya #tr x reader #tr x you #mitsuya tokyo revengers #mitsuya takashi #mitsuya fluff #mitsuya x you #tokrev mitsuya #mitsuya x reader fluff #mitsuya x reader angst

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pigeonpeach · 3 months

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Yandere Genshin

Prompt: youve caught their eye but… you’re already taken… that won’t be a problem…

Cw: yandere duh, mentions of murder and violence, manipulation, kidnapping, etc. fem reader

Characters: Jean, Diluc,Yelan, Neuvillete

Jean finds herself more and more infuriated with your commitment everyday. A simple hunter from Springvale is the one that catches your eye? How absurd! She knew she should’ve been more forward with her tatics. Oh this frustration and heartbreak has been tormenting her, impacting her work ethic as she tries to give you space. But its hard because you work for her. A cutesy little maid. You belong to her.. you’re everything she could want in a partner. So delicate, so plump, you’re the perfect bride. There’s no way she’s letting a man who can’t read s kid’s book without struggle surpass her!

So… she staged a little accident lets say.. she happened to cut the patrols in the area, making them closer to the city itself. That way there still was protection for the city… just not for the hunters. For awhile they’d been complaining sbout how the patrols spooked the boar. Even though those patrols were meant to cut down and discourage hilichurl camps. From a political perspective she just gave the hunters what they wanted. To up the anti more she had Kaeya tell him about a legendary boar deep into the wilderness. How the boars get bigger in hilichurl camps because they’ve started to fence them off and fatten them up, if he goes at night when they’re asleep, he could surely nail himself a big boar and pass it as a authentic catch…

The short of it was this. Your almost boyfriend snuck into one of the biggest hilichurl camps without the knights patroling nearby. And Kaeya knowing Jean’s work was negatively impacted by him.. may or may not have done something to alert the hilichurls to the the intruder. Quickly he was overwhelmed and beaten. With no knight in sight he was all alone. His struggle only made the hilichurls more violent. They threw him out, beaten to a pulp. When he saw Kaeya he was relieved thinking he was saved. But Kaeya had orders to finish the job of need be.

His death? A accident. Later hunters found him rotting near the camp, no foul play found. No one knew of his idea or who gave it to him, or who gave that person the idea. In your devastation you ended up right in her arms weeping.

“I am so sorry for your loss. I’ll make sure patrols return to normal and those camps are wiped out soon enough. I won’t let you experience such hardship ever again.” Crying to your boss felt so unprofessional but Jean was just so comforting to you. You had been putting on a brave face until now. You stood as she held you. “Lisa bought me this tea recently. It helps to steady my mind when I’m stressed, would you like me to give you some. I know it won’t remove your pain but it should help you somewhat. Unfortunately I can’t give you time off as two others are currently sick. But once they’re back I’ll give you some vacation okay?” She wiped your tears as you nodded.

“Th-that’s reasonable.. th-thank you.. oh god i must be such a burden. You’re already so stressed i didn’t mean to make it worse for you-“

“That’s not the case at all. I care about you. I want you to be safe and happy as every citizen in Mondstadt should be.” She kissed your forehead as she handed you the cup she prepared. “Here drink some tea. It was originally for me but I figure you need it more. I haven’t dranken from it.”

“Y-you’re sure that’s okay? I don’t mind waiting for another cup.” You asked. Oh how innocent you looked. Jean hated how she had to come to this, asking Lisa for a love spell to be put into the tea. But she couldn’t risk doing this to every suitor who got close to success. She needed to make sure you chose her otherwise she might go further next time.

“Its fine.” She said. You drank it with no further complaints.

Diluc was certain this was some sick prank. You, his beloved little maid, in love with nothing more than a simple merchant? Its not uncommon for the route from dawn winery to be used. But a certain merchant he purchased seeds from seemed to be getting far too close to you. Sure you two weren’t dating, he hadn’t even made the first step. But now he was absolutely was going to take drastic measures.

The first step: Distract you. You found yourself being assigned to chores more indoors an less outdoors. Diluc could sense how you would look out beyond hoping to see him again and he didn’t want that to continue. The second step was to lure said merchant back on a day you weren’t working. His arrival was horrible as the maids had all gone home leaving Diluc and Adelinde to recieve him, on a new moon, there was no moon to illuminate his path home so Diluc offered him to stay the night. He thought of this gratefully, originally the death Diluc planned was a simple killed in his sleep. But when he asked about you… oh it activated something in him. He even brought you a gift… how thoughtful… Diluc struggled to maintain his composure.

The merchant never did make it past the night. Despite his struggles. His body found beneath the bridge near Stone Gate. A investigation launched but ultimately blamed on bandits. With it his gift was smashed. You were devastated yes but your employer seemed to suddenly be more attentive than usual. He offered you meals and tea. Often requesting just to talk to you.

“Its getting late. I really should be going.” You set the tea cup back. “This was nice though. I wouldn’t mind doing this again but… oh.. is it raining?” You look out to see water coating the windows as what sounding like rain came from outside.

“Oh my it appears to be. At this hour you would be most vulnerable if you left now. You have no pets correct?”

“No.. oh dear…” you silently began to worry.

“You could always.. stay over. There is many a guest room and there’s spare pajamas for you. I’m certain it’ll be better than getting sick. Besides there’s bandits on the roads at these hours. You remember what happened to that merchant.” His voice luring you to s false sense of safety.

“Yes… I’ve been quite nervous going home now to be honest. Do you know if they ever found who did it?”

“Still nothing. Guards are posted more though. But it wpuld be easier. You do have a early shift here anyways in the morning so you wouldn’t need to go home right away. If that sounds alright.” He says, you jolted slightly as his hand gently grazed yours as you held your jacket. At that moment thunder clapped, startling you.

“I suppose that makes sene. I’ll take you up on that offer then..” you smiled shyly.

“I’ll lead you to your room then.”

He wasn’t going to let you leave.

(A/n: this is a alternative route to my other work Yelan vs Pantalone, dont consider this cannon to that piece but as its own spinoff)

Everyone has secrets. And Yelan’s is the fact that she stole a bride straight from Pantalone. It was mostly just to spite him, and also because she’s a sucker for a pretty face and couldn’t stand letting that happen. But oh they’re far more irresistible than she could’ve imagined. Now that they’re safely hidden in the jade chamber, working as a intern. She’s been visiting them when she comes to visit Ninguang, lucky her that Ninguang would allow her little damsel to stay in the jade chamber. But while her back was turned to her former life, she set her eyes on the people once known as parents to them. Her little Damsel cannot return to her former identity ever. And thus its better for her to believe that Pantalone went back on his word and killed them.

And that’s exactly what ended up happening. The Fatui’s search was halted and stopped because the Millieth wasn’t going to let the Fatui kill civilians just because they lost a bride. Even though they insisted they didn’t all signs pointed to that. She then forged documents to show to her beloved little damsel that this was the plan from the beginning, that Pantalone would have killed her parents upon acquiring her. Like the others so far, she used this opportunity to soothe them and bring them closer. At least this way they are alive and safe rather than in the hands of their families killer. Only… they are infact in the arms of their families killer. All seemed well until some stupid guard started poking around. He seemed more interested in courting them, believing they myst secretly be from s powerful family outside of Liyue and hiding. It was a rumor she purposely started to cover for their true identity. But now it backfired as this man saw a opportunity to climb up the social ladder. She isn’t quite sure what his exact plan was but her guess was he intended to make her fall for him and then marry him when she returned to her life, this guaranteeing a life of luxury. Unfortunately for him that won’t be the case. But Yelan can’t go killing her own. So she decided to simply use her influence to have him demoted to ground work instead. Convincing Ningguang that if allowed to stay he’ll uncover their scheme. The reason given to him was that apparently he was too loud or social than was acceptable in such environments. Afterwards he died to a hilichurl raid. Whoops.

“You.. you got my stuff?” You were surprised when she came to you with a crate.

“Yes, since legally you’re dead, your parents stuff was sold at auction at request of your family members. I grabbed what I remembered you valued myself.” She said with s smile as you beamed at the sight of your old things.

“It won��t raise suspicions will it?” Yu asked.

“I won’t let it. Don’t worry your pretty little head about the details.” She said patting you.

“I-i don’t know what I could do to repay you. You’ve done so much for me i-i truly have never had someone like you in my life.” You looked at her expecting a sort of humble brush off or something to actually be named.

“A date would be nice. Once everything cools down of course.” Her voice was like a purr, making you flustered.

“O-oh sure.. as long as it won’t cause you any trouble.”

“Perfect.” She said. You didn’t see it but she was considering drugging your tea that sat on the table behind her. A love potion, how typical but how effective. But seeing your blush she could tell you had infact fallen for her already. Which made the potion more of a backup if you ever lost feelings.

Neuvillete is anything but dishonest. But… seeing you cling to the arm of a guard, how happy you two looked.. it left him green with envy and red with wrath. To control himself he decided to simply change the guards routine to be out of your way. But you just went to meet them after work. His favorite little employee falling for the guard rather than him.. he felt deeply insulted.

Time for more drastic measures. He asks a favor from the clueless and happy Sedene (a simple melusine) to sneak into his house. To which she happens to find something. Just as planned he spends his time arranging scenarios to increase suspicion causing the other guards perform a check up right as he is planted with primordial sea water. He is quickly taken away to be questioned. Meanwhile you are distraught. You never thought him capable of such feats. But alas he was hardly the man you thought he was.

“I-I’m so sorry.. i truly didn’t know anything… i- Oh god ll this time..” you were hyperventilating as you were brought into questioning. “I-i.. oh god.. am i in danger? I could’ve ended up just like those missing girls..” Neuvillette’s hands reached out to your space as if to tell you to quiet down.

“I understand this situation is difficult. If necessary I’ll give you a moment to compose yourself. There isn’t any reason I have to suspect you but I still have to take precautions. You agreed to the random house search and no trace of seawater was found. I’m simply asking if he told you of anything suspicious or gave you any implications of his true nature.” He lowered his voice in a more gentle manner than he would in court. You sniffled as you wiped your tears.

“He.. he did keep inviting me to his place. I never went though. I didn’t think we were far along to do such things.. you know like… intimacy..” you nervously muttered. He still heard you, he was pleased to know you two didn’t get too serious.

“Were you two officially a couple?”

“No.. but we were close… i was going to ask him but then this all happened and… you know the story from there.”

“Hmm.. I see. It appears you infact were a target. Is there any reason you can think of?” He says. The sight of you so heartbroken and shaking is strangely attractive to him. So timid, so easily manipulated.

“No.. no not at all.. i don’t understand why?” You seemed more and more frightened. “S-should i not leave the house for a bit. This sounds very scary.. i don’t know if I can continue my routine as normal like this!” You whimpered as your hands seemed to get closer to your body. As if you retreating into she’ll to hide in.

“Fear not, I’ll have the secret patrol watch over. And each guard will undergo inspections from here onward. But i will be seeing you more. I want at least weekly updates to know of any strange activities or unexpected changes. Understand?” He said. You nodded. “With my life, I promise you, you will be safe. And I will let no harm come to you.. ever.”

#genshin imagines #genshin x y/n #genshin impact #diluc x you #jean gunnhildr x reader #diluc x y/n #wlw #yandere diluc #yandere jean x reader #yandere yelan #yandere neuvillette #neuvilette x reader #yelan x reader #yandere diluc x reader #yandere themes #mlw

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thebadboyfanclub · 1 year

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What Are You Waiting For Then? (Daemon x Reader)

Hey guys sorry for keeping you waiting, one of my friends was visiting so I was all day doing tourist activities, this was actually so exciting and refreshing to write!

“Nathaniel! Mother come quick Nathaniel is back!”

All Daemon saw was young woman ran barefoot heading towards his fellow soldier, Nathan was a man that got recruited to fight alongside Daemon to the Stepstones, he was a brave and honourable man that was shipped to the Stepstones under the fellow banners of the noble house resided in Lys named “Fyresteel”, they were the first to respond to the call for aid, the young strong man truly embedded their words

“None shall be left behind”.

The woman crushed her body to the knight almost knocking him over, she had wrapped her arms around him like her life depended on it, her clothes were semi tarnished and the hem of her dress dirty from the mud.

A few moments after she pulled away in arms length, examining Nathaniel with her eyes, the look she had on her face showed how close of a bond they shared, tears clouded her eyes as she gripped on to his biceps.

“You are back, safe and sound”

“If I died there would be no one to mess with you dear sister”

The woman did not respond, she only hugged him one more time to which the knight responded with the same warmth. Daemon was astonished by the tremendous declaration of emotions, he loved his family yet he had never been that close to his brother, if Daemon were to be back Viserys might share a hug however there would be no engulfing nor tears shed for his safe return.

“My boy! Oh my boy is back!”

A middle aged woman paced in their direction with her arms wide open. The younger woman reluctantly pulled away from her brother to make room for what Daemon guessed was the boys mother, she wiped her tears with her hands as she sniffled.

“I apologise, it is just we have not seen our brother in such a long time, I am (y/n)”

“Daemon and no need to apologise, you should be proud of your brother, he fought fiercely and was one of the most trusted soldiers in battle”

“You should thank me for that, Nathaniel always liked to wrestle with me in the mud when we were children”

“Come on, don’t stand there they are probably hungry, come inside”

Daemon was stunned by their hospitality, they had no idea who he was, no clue of his heritage yet they welcomed him with open arms to feed him just because he appeared with their family member.

It was a small cottage, mostly made out of wood and stone, it was warm from the fireplace that burned under a big pot, the smell of home made food hit Daemons nostrils like a brick, his stomach rumbled with anticipation and his tastebuds begged for something warm.

“Does your friend like goat?”

“Goat is excellent my lady”

“Oh bless you young man, I have not being called lady since I gave birth to Nathaniel”

“Mother please!”

“What? This tall handsome boy was at the same size of a little kitten when he was born, he gave us all a fright we thought he would not survive”

Daemon chuckled at the comment that made Nathaniel hide his face behind his hands. Nathaniel was the only man that followed Daemon at his crazy plan of invasion, now he had to withstand his mother ruffling his hair and pinching his cheeks with endearment.

To be honest Daemon did not care much about that, his eyes were set on (y/n), the girl had the same energy of her brother, noble, altruistic, bright, as supper was served he got caught in a trance that was her voice, he could listen to her speak about anything all day, the affability that radiated off from her was addictive to say the least, if you combine it with the earthy scent he was in true bliss, surrounded by people that took care of one another and honoured the word “family”.

Daemon had stayed with them until the moon turned, he would go around the farm with (y/n), not allowing her to lift a finger or doing her daily chores, to see a Targaryen prince milk a cow and gather chicken eggs was truly a surreal sight for anyone, Daemon felt at peace with being just Daemon, he was not “the rogue prince” nor “prince Daemon Targaryen”, his name sounded the best when it rolled off (y/n)s tongue.

“I will marry you one day”

“Will you take me back to the castle? be a princess of the seven kingdoms while I twirl in pretty dresses?”

“No, I will give you your own castle, you will be the queen of my heart and the ruler of our family”

“What are you waiting for then?”

Daemon flew to Kings landing at dawn, to bend the knee in front of the iron throne and beg for his marriage to be annulled, to humbly request to wed another now that he proved himself worthy and honoured the kingdom.

“Annulment? I thought you were a bit loose in the brain but this is a new type of madness even for you brother”

“I won the war against the crab eaters, I led the army to victory”

“And you assumed that it would make you invisible, you swore to be with this woman until the end of your days”

“Your grace, I am sure you are aware that the wedlock I am under was not a burden I chose to carry”

“Burden!? The lady Rhea is a respectable lady, you stand there and ask me to make Runestone our new enemy so you can marry a common beggar?”

“She is not a beggar”

“She is nobody!”

“She loves me! I do not know why but she chose to love me”

“My starlight, you are ravishing”

“Daemon, we are to attend a funeral”

“You will be ravishing at the funeral”

“I hope so, this is the only dress that fits me”

(Y/n) had given birth to 5 children already, to squeeze out children one right after the other meant her body had changed since they got married, her breasts had swell from breastfeeding their youngest son and the weight had managed to get comfortable.

Daemon could not keep his hands off of her, he found her new curves to be tempting, she looked like a well taken care of woman, the woman that blessed him with creating a home and children inside her, the goddess that put herself in danger to expand their family.

After moving to Pentos to elope against the kings wishes Daemon wanted to fulfil his promises, give her a castle and make her his queen.

(Y/n) was a marvellous wife and confidant, Daemon had spend all his life fighting for a place at the table, to be seen as worthy as his noble brother, the heavy weight of competition was suddenly lifted by (Y/n)s magical touch that showed him what it truly is to be accepted, to be nurtured and cared for with compassion and respect, Daemon would often watch her sleep while she rested her head on her pillow and just admire her, how could she be so… good to him?

“You are the most wonderful woman I have ever laid eyes upon”

“Seems like you are the only one that thinks like that, they are all eye balling us like we are their lunch”

With that mention from how beloved wife Daemons focus shifted from the diamonds (y/n) held for hues to observe what was behind him, to his displease he found the people from his bloodline gawking at his family, to the point that the eldest son Maelor of theirs clung a little closer to his mother, grasping her clothing with his fist for comfort and protection.

“Listen to me, stay close to your mother and myself and everything will be fine, understood?”

“Yes father”

The second born child, their first daughter Melody responded, Melody had a soft spot for her father, ever since she could walk she would wobble behind her father and wait for him to pick her up and spin her around. Daemon pinched her cheek before he took his wives free hand -since she was holding their youngest babe Aelor with their other arm- to lead his family to the place the ceremony would be held.

Daemon had promised his wife that he would not leave her alone, he guarded his partner and offsprings during the whole ceremony, choosing to stay far back than get close to his immediate bloodline members Viserys and Rhaenyra, he was content with sitting down on the bench and play with their fourth child their daughter Hera on his lap.

“I know my sweetling, I know”

(Y/n) cooed at the babe that was starting to get fussy, (y/n) had done her best to keep the babe comfortable however no one can predict when the babe wants to feed, only thing we know it’s babes are hungry often and they do not like to wait.

“What is the problem starlight?”

“I must feed him”

“Go on then”

“Daemon we are not home, if I start feeding him-“

“You will be a mother that is taking care of her babe and does not scoff in the natural way by having other woman nurse your kin”

“We know that stands true, they do not”

Daemon puffed out a breath before he reluctantly let his daughter off his lap to stand up and take (y/n)s cape to create a little curtain around his wife, as a way to assist her with putting her mind at ease so she can breastfeed that youngest member of their family.

“What is happening?”

“She must be feeding the babe”

Ottos face squirmed up in disgust at the sight of the babes own mother pulling her breast out for the babe to suckle on and in such a prestige setting, Alicent on the other side was certainly intrigued to say the least, not for the feeding part but to how attentive the rogue prince was to her, the man that had a heart made of steel was now pulling silly faces to make his children laugh and shielded his lover from invasive looks of disapproval like the one her father had.

“I think he is finished”

“Let me do the rest starlight”

Daemon had done this multiple times, their children had been very close in age so sometimes Daemon had to do the digestion process while the older one was in their “I only want my mother” time of age, so in order to relieve his wife he gracefully took his youngest son in his arm to pat his back so he can digest his food.

“Father, why is mom a starlight?”

“Often times I had to travel at night with Caraxes, the light that came from the stars gave me hope and guided me to safety”

Their daughter was a sucker for fairytales, so to listen to her father talk in such a poetic way for her mother compelled a weak smile dance on her lips, (y/n) reached to tuck a small strand of the toddlers dark hair out of her face until Melody wrapped her arms around her mother to hide her face in her mothers neck.

“What a beautiful scene, you have grown to be a wonderful father”

Viserys interrupted the precious moment by slowly approaching with his cane. Daemon instinctively took a step to stand in front of his wife, his natural need of protecting her kicked in and even though Viserys was his brother he did not take the chance.

“You honour me your grace”

“we are brothers Daemon”

“Mayhaps, long time ago we were”

“Daemon”

“Maelor why don’t you take your mother and siblings to play at the shore? I’ll be with you in a moment”

“Oh yes! Come on mother let’s go”

Maelor was smart but not witted enough to figure out why his father allowed him to lead his mother away from this interaction, the young boy was too excited to notice the stern look (y/n) shot to her husband as she took the small babe from Daemon to give him and his brother some privacy.

“I know we had our differences howbeit I come with good intentions”

“I am sure you do, until Otto whispers accusations against me”

“We mustn’t hold grudges, I am here to offer a sumbol of peace”

“Which is?”

“Your children are unfortunately considered illegitimate, I own up to the mistake of not treating your lovely wife as equal, after the funeral I shall announce to the court that we affirm your wife and children as such, let us become a family again”

“My children are my family, my wife is my family”

“And your brother is willing to acknowledge that”

Daemon let his gaze fall upon his children, (y/n) was chasing around their children while they laughed along, all of them adored their mother, every time he would watch their faces light up and (y/n) smile it was equivalent to floating around the clouds, that was the reason he took them to Pentos, to ensure they were safely tucked away in their own world, no harm, no ill minded people, just pure and utter bliss.

“I would deeply appreciate that, I however have nothing to offer you in return of that favour”

Daemon was rudely awakened by his wife bursting in their room, clearly disheveled she stared at him as tried to catch her breath, (y/n) would often wake up in the middle of the night to make sure her children are alright, this time it seemed she was right about it.

Daemon was on his feet in no time, silently he followed her and she was making it difficult since (y/n) was basically running.

“Maelor!”

“I am alright mother, I cannot say the same for Aemond”

“What happened?”

“I wanted to go for a ride and I found them fighting so I called for help, I did not get involved I promise I just called the guards”

“I am not mad at you sweetling you did the right thing”

“Right thing? He ran away when my son was been beaten”

“He called for help”

“It was too late for that”

“What would you rather have him do? Fight off all the others and risk his own life”

“So it is better than my son is the only one that got injured?”

“I did not say that-“

“Stop! All of you. We are family”

“It was my sons that were forced to defend themselves your grace”

The young woman spoke up as she stood in front of the two brunette boys and one of them was also stained by blood. If she had to be honest she did not care about what happened, only that her children had no part in any of it.

“He called us bastards”

The young one explained, the room grew cold all of a sudden, like someone had stolen the light out of everything. Daemon stepped a tad bit closer to his wife, the word scratching his heart enough to irritate him, it stand true but unfortunately his children could technically be called such ridiculous words.

“Where did you hear such lies Aemond?”

“It was Aegon”

All eyes were on the boy with the king white hair who was somehow dumbfounded by the accusations. The king, even though he was frail and had almost withered away approached his son, Daemon could detect some type of fury on his weak and dissolved face.

“Now you tell me… boy, why did you say that? Aegon!”

“We know father, everyone knows. I do not understand why is there a problem with it, prince Daemons children are also bastards”

“Careful now young man, we do not want you to miss an eye as well or a tongue”

Daemon was taken back by his wife threading a prince, he also noticed how her hand clenched Maelor shirt compelling him to get closer to her. (Y/n) was his wife, his love, his body, mind and soul belonged to her, she was aware of how devoted Daemon was to their family, still to hear such vile insult made her blood boil.

“My father offered for your children to become legitimate, so for the time being and the past few years they were considered b-“

The only thing that interrupted the prince was Daemons footsteps that approached Aegon, he did not touch him, he just stood right in front of him and eyeballed him right into his soul. Aegon by just pure instructed had shrunk as much as he could and avoided making eye contact with Daemon.

“Finish your sentence, go on”

“Daemon I can handle my son”

“I disagree brother you can allow your children to dig their claws into one another until the only thing that is left of them is bones but I refuse to let this idiot speak like that about MY children. With that, we shall bid you goodnight, we will be departing at dawn and hopefully we will not hear from you ever again

Requests are open!

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lovifie · 4 months

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Her Royal Highness Pt.2

Masterlist

Prologue — Part 1 — Part 2

Three days go by before you open your eyes again.

You are starving and feel like you are swallowing glass.

A look around you lets you know you are in your room, still as always, as if nothing has happened.

But the moment you sit up and let your feet touch the ground, you remember.

And the excruciating pain that radiates from the centre of your torso, makes it hard to think of anything else.

You tried to kill yourself and protect the kingdom, and you failed.

That's how you feel, like a failure.

And that you let everyone down.

You try to stand up, and the room begins to spin uncontrollably right in front of your eyes.

You sit back down.

Looking around again as the room comes to a stop, you notice a teacup on the nightstand.

You would laugh if it didn't feel like getting stabbed all over again.

But you remember you are alive, and obviously thanks to somebody taking care of you. It wouldn't make sense for them to try to kill you now, but you are not going to risk it.

You stand up again grabbing the headboard to balance yourself.

Slowly, you make your way to the little basin in front of the mirror. The sight that looks back at you is nothing but worrisome. Even though it is dark outside already, you can see the dark circle under your eyes, sickening pale skin and the sweat from the fever you must have experienced in the last days, all pretty visible but still not the most striking thing.

You are wearing what used to be your favourite nightgown, the silky material thin enough to be see-through, and under it, you can see the bandages. They must have been changed a dozen times, but you can see the blood suppurating through them; most likely from the movement of standing up.

The cold water is refreshing on your skin once you begin to wash your face as if it could help with the way you look. Your hair is another mess, and you brush it with your fingers doing a loose braid on the back to keep it away from your face.

Once satisfied with the improvement, you put on your slippers and begin to make your way to the Sun Room, assuming that's where everyone must be.

The hall has never seemed so long, each step feeling like running up a mountain and every time you take a breath it pains you.

The combined sensation of the physical constraint of the bandages tight around your body and the asphyxiating pain from the wound makes it impossible to take anything more than a shallow breath.

Trying to stand straight, you take a deep breath slowly, not wanting to mess it up right as you are about to meet them. You were never a great actor, but putting on a brave face is not a big performance; if you can lie to yourself maybe, just maybe, they will buy it too.

The doors make a creaking noise as they open, only adding dramatism to the scene, and you enter the room making eye contact with the not-so-foreign king.

They all look at you, obviously not expecting you to be walking so soon on your own. When you look into Kyle’s eyes you see a drop of guilt inside them, ashamed of himself for not being faster than you in taking his blade back.

The Prince is also looking at you, for the first time you make eye contact with him, and on that exact second his eyes move going down your body until the source of the blood stains everything it touches.

The nameless knight is also looking at you, with an almost amused expression on his face. You don't even know his name, and still, you feel you will like him the most out of everyone in the room.

Your eyes travel back to the king's face, it is difficult to read it. It feels as if he is not sure himself whether to be relieved that you are alive or disappointed that you come back from the dead ready to jump at his neck.

‘‘Why that face, majesty? You look like you have seen a ghost.’’ You say, even though you know you are in no position to make jokes and expect the king to let you know, but the only thing you hear is a snicker from the knight you still don't know the name of. ‘‘Am I allowed to sit with you to eat?’’

‘‘Please, Princess, it would be a pleasure to eat all together.” He says pointing to the chair opposite him. He is sitting on where your father used to sit. Just now it goes through your mind that you don't know whether your father is still alive or not, deep down you do know, but you are not ready to formulate the question. ‘‘Kyle, serve her a plate, please.’’

‘‘No.’’ You say a bit too quickly to even try and play it out as not being nervous as you try to sit down on the further seat available on the table without breaking eye contact with the king. ‘‘I would like to switch my plate with yours, Your Majesty.’’

‘‘Mine? It is already half eaten.’’ He answers, but still stands up with the plate in his hands and walks up to you.

‘‘I know. I’m sure you cannot blame me for feeling unsure of ingesting something somebody else has not tried already. Really untrusting of me, I know. Must be heredita-’’ A strong grip on the back of your neck makes you shut up. The warm hand far from being reassuring caresses your neck once you are silent.

“Now, now, child. Play nice.” Price whispers close to your ear and stands back up moving his hand to your shoulder. “I’m sorry for your loss, really, I am. But you cannot let the pain overtake you. Imagine how I felt when I entered your dad's room, to find him on his last breaths and you laying there, obviously too scared to be on your own and rather ending your life. But don't worry Princess; I promised your dad before he passed that I would take care of you… he even signed the documents that allow me to reign this kingdom until you are ready.”

You were never a great actor, but you still feel like you are being told the history you must perform. Did he really talk to your father? Did your father really trust him this much?

“Now eat. It must already be getting cold. You should really get your own plate, but I’m too tired to fight you on that.” He says letting the plate in front of you and sitting back on his chair. He picks up his pipe from the table lighting it up and giving it a puff before he begins to talk again. “Organising your father's funeral has been a bigger task than I anticipated.”

The confirmation of your dad passing settles on you and it makes your heart ache, you look down at your plate too tired to try and dissimulate your expression. Your cup is empty, and the wine bottle on your left reminds you of how thirsty you are.

The nameless knight notices you staring at the bottle, and picks it up raising it close to your cup. “Ye look like ye could use a drink.” He says, the strong accent catching you by surprise, but moving your glass closer so he can pour it before he regrets it.

The first glass goes down your throat way too fast to be an alcoholic drink, and after the second one is poured, the king speaks again.

“Soap, the girl hasn't eaten in almost half a week. Wine on an empty stomach mustn’t be nice.” The king scolds him, finally letting you know his name, oh… well… his nickname.

“Sorry, Sir.” He says, obviously not sorry, and puts the wine bottle down smiling your way as you take another sip.

“When is the funeral?” You ask after eating a couple of bites.

“Tomorrow, it has not been announced yet. The people don't know, we will send a messenger tomorrow at daybreak. The wake will begin at sunrise.” He informs you, looking at you waiting to say something.

But you don't. You nod your head and keep eating slowly, kind of expecting to choke at any given moment. A lot is going on in your head, and you end up thinking about your clothes.

You must wear black clothes, mourning a dead king and a father at the same time. You must look completely desolated, even if you feel numb.

The same happened at your mother's funeral, not a single tear left your eyes on the whole day; standing next to your father who did the same. Almost as if competing with each other, both stubborn as a mule. You cried yourself to sleep that night.

The wound on your torse pings, as an alarm going off that you cannot eat more without damaging it more, and you put the cutlery down. You stay seated finishing your cup of wine until you look up and realize that they are not talking and it makes you feel like you are intruding on their space. Even though this is your palace, even though Price is sitting on your father's seat, even though it should be them feeling bad.

“I’ll leave you to finish your meal.” You say taking a breath in to find the strength to stand up again, a warm hand find its way to your lower back and you look up to blue bright eyes.

“Please, let me walk ye back to yer room, Princess” Soap says smiling softly at you, and the wine in your veins and the pain in your stomach, make you agree without another thought.

He lends you his arm and you intertwine yours with him, you say goodnight to everyone else on the table and walk along with Soap back to your room. You notice how he is walking slower than a man his height would walk and you realize he is only doing it so you don't have to walk faster.

“Yer a wee of a lightweight, Princess.” He says chuckling softly. “Ye just had a cup o’ wine”

“I’m not drunk!” You exclaim suddenly feeling highly offended by his words.

“The tip o’ yer ears are red.” He says unfazed by your anger.

“That’s just the fever.” You say getting your arm free from his and walking faster wanting to get to your room. “Thank you for walking me back, Soap. You can go back now.” You say trying to be as straight as possible, raising your chin a little even though you still need to look up at him for the height difference. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“A’ll see ye tomorrow, Princess.” Soap says smiling and once you enter your room he walks back to the Sun Room.

You barely get any sleep before the maids wake you up and enter the room. They fill the bath with warm water and help you enter removing your clothes and bandages.

The wound doesn't look as bad as you expected, it was a clean cut and the sutures pulling it together were symmetrical and not that big. A little scar for a big dumb decision. The outside is not what worries you, but the inside. And the fact that there must be an equal scar on your back from where the blade comes through.

After scrubbing the three days' worth of grime off your body, you step up of the bathtub just as Laswell comes into the room.

Kate Laswell is the sage that has been working for your family the longest time, the person you trust the most on the castle and ever since your mother passing, the closest to a maternal figure you have.

“How are you feeling, kid?” She asks, royal formalities ignored and forgotten years ago.

“As if I have been stabbed in the stomach.” You say drying the skin of your face with a rag.

“Hm, it matched the diagnosis then.” She says smiling stepping closer. “Let me have a look.”

She caresses the skin around the sutures checking the temperature to see if it is infected, moving from the one at the front to the one at the back to check it as well.

“Kate, if I stab myself but I don't die, does it make me weak or strong?” You ask, always keeping the dumbest question for her, knowing just how much it gets under her skin.

She stops looking at the wound and stands up before you. The expression on her face makes it almost worth the whole ordeal.

Almost.

“Stupid, a lucky stupid child. That's what it makes you.” She says sternly but with so much care in her voice you know it's just her way of saying she is glad you are alive.

She puts the dressing back, promising to talk with you later, and lets you with the maids to get you dressed.

It is your kingdom's custom to wear all-black clothes and to cover as much skin as possible. Lace and delicate fabrics slowly cover your body, gloves, tights, underskirt, a floor-length dress and in request to help you stand straight a corset around your midway keeping your wound in its place and protected.

A black-laced veil covers your head, and though you can see through it, it still hides your face from those who look at you. The last time you needed to put on the mourning clothes, your father refused to let them put in on you, arguing that it was too lugubrious for a child.

The person in the mirror doesn't look like a princess, it looks like a shadow. Like the ones you see on the corners of your eyes when you turn too fast, the ones kids would be terrified to see.

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

Tired of looking at yourself in the mirror, you make your way to the entry, where Kate told you the procession would start.

Your dad’s coffin is being transported from inside the castle all the way to the church beside the cemetery down in the town. The carriage was pulled by horses decorated with candles and veils only adding unnecessary dramatism to the process.

You managed to make your way almost all the way to the middle before anyone noticed you, but Kyle looked up right at that moment and let the king and the prince know my signalling at you with his eyes.

They are also dressed in black, all of them wearing their battle armour. The black metal looks intimidating, especially since you are used to seeing your kingdom's silver armour.

The Prince once more has his face covered by the helmet so you can only see his eyes and for the first time even if it is through your veil, you make eye contact for more than a mere second, holding each other gaze for a longer moment.

It gets interrupted by the master of ceremonies, calling your name and telling you to get to your place. He doesn't need to tell you, it is the same as it was for your mother. So you take your place in front of the carriage and hold the banner with your family’s emblem on it against your chest.

“Princess.” A hand on your shoulder makes you turn and you look up at Kyle who looks at you sympathetically. “The king and Simon are riding horses at the back of the carriage, but Soap and I are walking right behind you, all right? Let us know if you need anything.” He says and once you nod he puts the helmet down covering his face.

The master of ceremonies looks at you once everyone is at their place, and when you nod at him he orders you to open the doors.

The sun is barely out, and the chilly wind gets inside of your bones. But everyone is waiting for you to begin walking, so you do, and take the first step towards the church.

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

It stinks.

The whole damn church is packed with chrysanthemums.

All white.

Artificial love and appreciation.

The church was full of them by the time you put your feet in, nobody from town had arrived yet. So it is not the flowers of the kingdom.

The coffin gets moved from the carriage to the middle of the altar in the church, and you stand before it.

Alone.

Covered from head to toe in black.

Even the banner you brought all the way here was removed from your hands and moved somewhere else.

The townsfolk begin to arrive once the church bells start to ring, and you get yourself ready for what is about to begin.

Hundreds if not thousands of people are going to walk in front of you, bowing, showing their respect to the deceased monarch.

As time goes by, you begin to feel sick.

Your wound is no longer comfortably being held by the corset and is hammering at you to take it off.

The smell of the flowers makes you want to throw up as you are not able to smell anything else.

The lace of the gloves is no longer soft against your hands, and it keeps getting caught on your nails.

Your feet hurt for the walk and standing all morning, the shoes no longer being comfortable.

The faces of the hundreds of people walking in front of you become a blur, unable to recognise anybody.

You are getting dizzy and you know you cannot get away with it. You remember Kyle's offer and you are about to ask for help when you feel a hand.

It's almost as if he materialized from thin air, the Price is standing next to you. One of his hands on the small of the back involving it, the warmth of his hand covered by the glove brings you back to your feet.

“Hm?” He hums trying to see if you heard him, and you shake your head. “I said if you are all right? You look like you are going to pass out any moment, do you need a rest?”

It is kind. His voice is deep, and he almost growls it. But it is kind, with worry interlaced with the words that leave his lips.

“I’m okay. Just the smell, makes it hard to breathe.” It's hard to stop looking at his eyes, the only thing you can see of him. He is tall, you barely reach his chest standing so close to him. His shoulders are broad, and his armour only makes more prominent his strong build.

You managed to peel your eyes away from him and look back at the townspeople in front of you. It does not go unnoticed how the woman in front of you looks from the Prince to you with a curious look.

To them, this must be like the unthinkable, the princess who is almost always hidden finally makes an appearance and not alone, but with the Prince of a foreign kingdom on her side.

The Prince's hand is still on your back and moves up to your waist caressing with his thumb ignoring the rest of the people. “I’m right here, Princess.” He whispers just for you to hear.

And suddenly the chrysanthemums are not the only thing making it hard to breathe.

—————————————————————

“They are having a party.” You tell Laswell. “My father is dead and they are having a party.”

After the funeral, when it was considered that everyone in town had visited the chapel, your father's coffin was taken by the cemetery workers and the gravedigger to bury him.

The moment people started to dissipate, the Prince left your side and didn't give you another look. The king sent him a look you could not understand and he came to replace his son's place.

He interjoined his arm with yours and walked you to where both the knights were standing.

Everyone was moving around and it began a blur of movement, not even realising being back in your room.

You peel the veil off your head and throw it on top of your bed. Still feeling nauseous from the whole ordeal, you move to open the windows in your room and that's when you notice.

Downtown, everyone seems to be invited to a party. You can hear the music, the laughs, smell the food, see the dancing.

You close the windows.

Laswell enters not too much later and looks at you lying down on your bed looking grumpy like a punished toddler.

“What do you mean?” She asks back at you.

“People downtown, look at the window. I have never seen them having such a party. They are celebrating my father's death!” You exclaim sitting up and feeling tears in your eyes. “My father was not that cruel… was he?”

Kate looks at you sighing as she walks to sit next to you.

“How should I say this? Princess, your father…” She sighs, staying silent for a second before she keeps going. “Your father was a really great father, but… not so great of a king. He was not born in this kingdom, it never belonged to him. Ever since your mother passed away it was more your kingdom than your father, that's why it never felt nice to me that he insisted on keeping you away. The townspeople wanted to see their Princess, but instead, they only saw their deceased Queen's husband.”

“But just because they didn't get to see me doesn't mean my dad was evil. He still took care of them, right?” You argue back.

Laswell sighs, trying to look for the right words to make you understand. “On all the years that have gone by since your mother's passing… how many parties has the town done? How many seasons festivals? How many jousts?” You look up to her thinking about it. None. Not a single celebration of anything. “Exactly.”

—————————————————————

“Farah!” You half whisper-half scream once you reach the forge inside of the castle looking for here.

After your talk with Kate, you are determined to check by yourself how the townspeople feel about the late king. But to do so, you need to visit them, and to do so, you need Farah. So you switch your mourning dress for some pants and a white loose blouse and begin to make your way down the stable.

She is the only person on the castle you would classify as a friend, being only a couple of years younger than her, you grow up together.

The blacksmith's daughter was never the first option of your parents as far as friends were concerned, but you were way too stubborn as a child and Farah was not that bad of a girl.

She's cleaning her latest invention, always working at night when she cannot be reprimanded by her father to do what she is supposed to be working on and not on her own project.

“What are you doing here?” She answers back standing closer to you. “I thought you were sleeping, the maids said you went straight to your room.”

“That's not important now. I wanna go to town, see the people. Have you seen the party?” You ask fidgeting with your hands as you wait for her to answer.

“I don't know, Princess. It's late, and you had an important day. Maybe next time?” She asks looking apologetic at you while she crosses her arms.

“Maybe… but I brought money.” You say smiling getting a coin out of the pocket of your pants. “C’mon, Farah. My treat, yeah?”

Farah stays looking at you for a second trying to look serious, but quickly her expression changes and walks up to you picking up the coin herself. “Yeah, I think you are right. It can be fun.” She says as she exits the forge and starts to work toward the stables. “Which would Her Majesty fancy?”

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

Taglist: @kristalhi

Hii, how are you doing?

I wanted to say a couple of things:

I said already I think that English is not my first language, but just in case I wanted to remember it. Especially to write Soap's dialogue cause I'm pretty much making up the accent so let me know if I'm butchering it too much.

I think at some point in the same chapter I said Simon had blue eyes, and I'm not sure why since they are brown. So from now forward if I mention them I'll say they are brown, sorry for the mix-up.

And that's it. Hope you like it and thank you for the support!!

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cheegu3 · 1 year

Text

𝐉𝐉𝐊 - 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐣𝐮𝐝𝐠𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭

genre > yandere, royal au, one-shot

pairing > prince!j.k x f.m reader

wc > 3.7k

warnings > yandere themes, murder, blood, sadism, asshole jk, inaccurate depictions of trials, mentions of rape, classism, corruption

summary > In the country where justice was the center of everything, things seemed a bit different when it came to the royal family. The prince had never been taken down before successfully, do you dare try although others have failed?

You stared up at the palace in front, stretching as far as your eyes could go and covering the sky above with its height. Perhaps its size was intentional; intimidating those that were contemplating going up the wide steps.

It could be the reason why many didn't dare do what you were about to do - demand a trial against a royal family member.

Your country took pride in being a just society. More justice is served here than any other land, they'd boast. If you demanded a trial, no matter how big or small the concern was, you'd be granted one as that was your right.

But even though the fair state made no exceptions for the royal family or anyone being upperclass or otherwise '' more important '' people - very few dared bring the royals to court.

It may be more because of the way that they are. Royals were usually charming, either loved or admired by the people. Although that was obtained by manipulation, it was a fact no one could argue.

The Jeon family were different from other royals however. They were honest in all of their feelings, wether they were good or bad ones. There was no room for sugarcoating and they were therefor pretty disliked but well respected.

A cold, almost sinister or dark aura seemed to follow them whenever any of their members were seen - even more so when they were together.

The king and queen had two sons, Jeon Jungkook and Jeon Wonwoo. Both had beautiful faces and tall physiques, fit for a prince. But the younger of the two brothers, seemed to be the worst.

He was a loose cannon in the family. Committing several crimes such as murder, arson, kidnapping, torture and genocide - rightfully earning him nicknames like '' the psycho prince '' or '' the dark knight''.

Since almost no commoner dared take the royal family to court - he was left to do whatever he wanted. The ones that had been brave enough to try it after they had gotten their loved ones murdered, all for some fun for the little prince, had lost every single time.

For being such a fair country in theory, it was far from it when it came to the court and the family. They were the ones ruling it, making the judgements very biased when it was a case against their own kind.

You had been at a handful of public trials before, and it was brutal. One time a poor man had tried taking on the Jeon Jungkook after he pillaged a town and murdered all the kids there.

And the psycho smiled right at him, confidence and arrogance radiating in his oddly innocent looking bambi eyes, a feature of stark contrast to his real personality.

No lawyer, and the prince still won in the end. That's how they work. Yet even for the more complex cases when they'd need one, they would hire a family friend and win anyway.

You knew all this as you walked the steps with your head held high. You knew it but you had lost everything to him, and you were going to make him pay, being the first to do so - even if it meant dying in the process. Because you had nothing to lose after all.

The grand doors swung open just as your hand hovered near the handle. A man in his 60s stepped out and gave you an empty look, his face void of any emotions.

He must be from the royal family

You mustered up a polite smile, trying to look composed, despite feeling anything but at that moment.

'' We're closed '' he muttered tight-lipped and glared at you.

'' I know, sir. But I will be quick '' you gave him another smile and batted your eyelashes, trying to feign an expression of innocence.

You weren't sure how you'd react if he rejected your judgement proposal. But you had a feeling you might lunge at him as rage had already started to form upon realising he was from the same family as the boy you hated the most.

He sighed deeply and swung the door open again, disappearing without looking back. You hurriedly ran after, almost getting hit by the door because of the force he swung it open with.

It had to be quick, and you couldn't irritate him further or else he'd reject you immediately.

'' Sit '' he beckoned towards a chair beneath the high table he was now standing at in his office.

'' I'd like to request a judgement '' you blurted out, as soon as you sunk down on the cushion.

'' For? ''

You hesitated for a moment, it was hard to believe you were actually going through with this. Some had been sentenced to death before doing exactly this, due to '' false accusations '', and that could very well be you soon.

'' Eh...the prince '' his eyebrows raised '' Sir '' you added, swallowing your anxiety.

'' Very well '' the man muttered, engrossed in some kind of book he had in front of him.

'' I'll schedule it. But I must ask, are you aware of how hard it is to win against the prince? ''

You furrowed your brows in surprise. Since he was a part of the prestigious family himself, he surely wouldn't admit to there being foul-play involved in the trials with the royal family, right? Or maybe he was trying to warn you subtly of not wasting their time, due to the slim chances of winning.

Either way, you nodded. The passion of hate burning within and making you appear confident. He only scoffed at your newfound confidence. It was laughable to him since he knew you'd lose, without a doubt - everyone did after all, why should you be any different?

'' Very well '' he said again, but this time with a slight sigh.

The man threw the paper towards your direction and you carefully picked it up into your hands. It was just a document stating that you had demanded a trial and the date it would take place, a week from now.

That's plenty of time to make a good case

Since you were poor, you couldn't afford a lawyer and the city didn't give out public defenders - everyone had to fend for themselves, which probably contributed to the royal family's win-streak.

Even the rich didn't dare take on the family. It was always those with nothing to lose that tried their luck, expecting the outcome to be different than those that tried it before, and you were no different.

'' Now, begone. I've got better things to do ''

'' Thank you '' you said and left, mind racing with all the arguments you could come up with.

*******

You didn't shy away from the piercing glares from the stands in front of you as you took in every word the judge was saying.

She had just introduced the case, what its circumstances were and the other judges behind her. You only quickly glanced at them, their matching features telling you that they were all part of the royal family.

That's all you needed to know to make the judgement that they would be very partial. But that didn't bother you because it was a public trial.

You had specifically asked for it, so you knew some people could still be on your side. Therefor you paid the stand with the commoners more attention as you gave them a polite smile.

'' Jeon Jungkook, please come up to the podium ''

Your eyes followed the crowd to find the young man in the middle of the royals' stand. He looked just as surprised as the rest. You almost rolled your eyes visibly at the realisation that the family loved theatrics and had probably refrained from mentioning who the accused was, until the very end - for the ultimate dramatical effect.

The prince still got on his feet and walked up to the podium as he was told, he only spared you a stoic look, signature of the Jeon's.

But you weren't scared, even as the male took his place next to you and towered over you; his narrowed eyes on you when you spoke.

'' I accuse the Jeon Jungkook of the murder of my father '' you hesitantly looked down at your notes, the next part was kind of an improvisation just to further add to the length of his imprisonment that you were hoping for.

'' And mass killing of the Village of the West, where I reside in ''

A few gasps erupted from the crowd and you could hear a chuckle to your right. All eyes were on you right now, and it was impossible to not feel it.

'' On the night of January 24th, the man next to me galloped in with his horse straight into my town. His men plundered the houses, and-'' you swallowed thickly, voice starting to shake from the memories of the screams ''-And raped them, while Jungkook did nothing to stop them. He was busy murdering the many innocent civilians for fun ''

The accused only hummed next to you, arrogance evident in his tone. But you refused to let it affect you - everything in your delivery had to be perfect, otherwise you'd lose this case and be sentenced to death like all the others.

'' I begged him '' you did as you had practiced, pressing the tears out as a pained expression overtook your features.

The prince watched you in awe, a slight sarcastic smirk on his face.

You were different from the others, weren't you?

'' I-I tried to stop him, but he didn't want to listen- '' you wiped the tears tactfully away from your stained face.

'' I could only watch as the blood ran out of his body, until it was cold. I held him until he took his last breath ''

You shook your head.

'' This country prides itself on its fairness. But what justice is it if the murderer of my father gets set free? Shouldn't he suffer, as I have suffered? ''

Your glossy eyes darted towards the commoners' stand, trying your best to beg without audibly saying it. Then they briefly brushed over the royal family's stand too, although they looked less sympathetic.

'' Do you have witnesses? '' the judge asked, looking rather bored by the whole thing, like she had better things to do.

'' Yes, ma'am '' you nodded, enthustiacally.

The doors' to the witnesses' quarters were opened and out came a shy looking boy, around the same age as you. Behind him was his father, following him closely while staring at the ground.

They took their place at the witnesses' stand and you let out a breath of relief, half expecting them to not show up as you had predicted the royal family of paying the witnesses off.

You smiled at them now, feeling more confident than ever that you'd win this case.

'' Where were you on the night of January 24th? '' you asked.

The father nudged the soon forward, urging him to speak.

'' Uh...I was at my home. In the Village of the South, ma'am ''

'' And, what did you see? ''

The boy's eyes seemed to flick momentarily towards the savage man next to you in fear. Maybe he was scared he would get targeted if he spoke out against Jungkook but you had already anticipated that, having watched many trials the prince had been in before - so you softly called out the boy's name again to get him to focus on you, an encouraging smile adorning your face.

'' I was on my way back from the Village of the West. I always go there to pick berries, and I heard a lot of screaming as I had turned my back towards the village. When I went back to investigate, I saw men dressed in royal clothing, plunging their swords into the civilians or entering the houses ''

The crowd murmured, and some shouted out in anger, claiming the boy was lying. You tried to catch his eyes again, drowning out the people and he seemed to understand, he gave you a sad smile while grimacing as the crowd got louder.

'' Are you sure of this? '' the judge said, after slamming her gavel to get the courtroom to be quiet.

'' Yes, and I'm not the only one '' he said, shuffling so his father could get up to the podium.

'' I met my son halfway as the screams could be heard all the way to our village. Us two and more, went in a group to investigate and we saw the same thing my son just described ''

He gestured towards the stand were two gentlemen got on their feet and confirmed they were a part of the group.

When they were seated again, the courtroom was eerily silent. The royals seemed to cast worried glances at each other while the commoners looked at the accused with disgust.

Despite feeling his eyes on you, trying to maybe persuade you with his charm and puppy-like eyes - you refused to look at him until the very end of the trial, when you'd hope he would be taken away.

You knew of his ways and his famous charm. That's how he got away with most things; pretty privilege to its finest.

'' The court will take a brief, five minute break '' the judge said.

You didn't fail to notice how her eyes said something unspoken to Jungkook, and not long after you saw how he disappeared somewhere along with her and his parents.

Those five minutes felt more like a few hours. In the meantime you tried to ignore the stares from the rest of the royal family, assessing you from head to toe.

But thankfully it didn't last too long, some doors to the side swung open exactly as five minutes had passed. You made the mistake of looking, at the judge and then at you opponent who smirked confidently at you.

He took his place next to you again and the judge went up to the front. An unreadable expression was on her face, one that sent unexplainable shivers down your spine.

'' The judgement has been finalised '' she announced.

The murmur from the crowed started again and you couldn't help but murmur to yourself as well. You felt a bit puzzled. Only you had presented your side, yet there was a verdict? This couldn't be good news.

You felt his eyes on you again as you bit the inside on your cheek, basically holding your breath while listening to the judge's next words carefully.

'' The court has found Jeon Jungkook guilty of the murder of Miss. y/n's father ''

You released a breath of relief, a disbelieved laugh slipping out.

'' He has been judged to serve two years in prison ''

You closed your eyes as the tears started streaming down your face and you prayed a thousand times, thanking whatever deity might be up there for their help in this historical moment.

Your hands gripped the corners of the stand while you kept sobbing when you were embraced by the goodhearted witnesses.

Raising your head, you looked at them, smiling while your vision was blurred with tears. It had all been possible thanks to them, because they had refused to be bribed by the royal family's money and had decided to stand by your side instead.

You thanked them as well. There were probably not enough good deeds you could do in this lifetime to repay them though. But you knew you would try your very best to do so; until your very last breath, you'd be at their service.

If there were any insults thrown your way, you didn't hear them. All you could think about was how your father would be so immensely proud of you.

You were escorted out of the court with your newfound friends by your side, and you of course failed to notice the pair of eyes following you all the way out.

There was only euphoria coursing through you, and it would probably remain that way for the rest of the day.

Your friends walked you all the way to your home and you said your goodbyes; promising to visit them early in the morning, eager to pay them back for their help.

You laid down in your bed and another laugh slipped past your lips as you stared lazily at the ceiling.

The best part was that this trial didn't just affect you - hopefully it gave thousands of other citizens the courage to rightfully take justice into their hands, having been servants of that filthy immoral family for so long.

This meant everything. You could already picture in your mind as the royal family was taken down by the public. Their power and members growing weaker as the years passed by, until they completely seized to exist.

Knock, Knock, Knock

You groaned and squirmed out of bed to go to the front door. Opening it, you were met with two unfamiliar faces. Two tall men dressed in suits, your eyes widened - royal suits.

You tried to slam the door shut but they were quicker, putting a foot down in between and forcing themselves inside.

There wasn't anywhere for you to run to, they closed the distance between you in mere seconds and your scream was muffled by the bag being forcefully put over your head.

You screamed silently again as several blows were delivered to your head, a lone tear sliding down your cheek before you passed out completely, engulfed in darkness.

*******

'' Y/n? ''

You fluttered your eyes open, being met with the cold stone floor. The world was tipped and it took some time for your eyes to adjust to the new room.

With the help of the man in front of you, you were now sat upright which made you get a good view of who it was.

'' Did you miss me? '' a childish like grin was plastered onto the handsome face of the man you had seen just about an hour ago in court, the prince.

'' Jungkook? '' you said, voice hoarse.

He hummed, turning his back on you.

At that moment, you didn't feel scared quite yet. It felt more like a sarcastic and humourless smile was about to escape from you, like - of course, of course this was bound to happen.

You had tried to take down the most powerful family of your country, all on your own and you really thought it would work?

Jungkook seemed to read your thoughts as he scoffed when he faced you again.

'' Regretting your choices now, huh? ''

You shook your head, biting your lip so hard blood almost showed. He smiled. A hand ruffling your hair caught you by surprise, making your eyes widen.

'' I bet you felt so happy in that moment, all proud '' he was up on his feet again, pacing with what appeared to be a dagger in his hands.

'' But things aren't as easy as you scums seem to think '' you struggled against the ropes on your wrists upon his insult, face growing hot.

'' It doesn't work like that '' the prince came closer now, crouching down and he pointed casually at you with his dagger as if it was only an index finger and not a murder weapon.

'' Did you really think that I- Jeon Jungkook, would go to prison because of some pathetic low life, like you? ''

He shook his head, looking nauseuous, as if the mere thought of such a thing happening made him want to empty his whole stomach on the stone floor beneath him.

You held the eye-contact he now initiated, confidently.

'' Did you actually think you stood a chance against me? '' he half-whispered, in a low tone.

His eyes looked like he wanted to tear you apart right then and there, and it was getting hard to stay so confident under his stare now.

'' I- '' but you bit your tongue, falling silent as you weren't sure what to say.

The prince laughed sardonically.

'' That's what I thought ''

The dagger was waved towards you again and you flinched without meaning to, your tough facade slowly breaking down as the reality of you being here locked up with the country's biggest psychopath finally dawned on you.

'' What do you want from me? Revenge? '' you managed to choke out.

His hands were nowhere near your throat yet it felt like he was suffocating you slowly with his eyes alone.

Jungkook briefly looked towards your red lips, licking his own while seemingly being in deep thought.

'' Revenge, yeah ''

'' Then kill me, quickly. I have nothing to lose ''

The prince had to stop himself from laughing out loud at your bold statement, he only grinned while his body shook from silent laughter.

'' No ''

'' What? '' your voice was shaky now, it sounded like you were on the verge of tears, which perhaps you were. You felt like you couldn't stand one more minute together with this psycho, and would rather quickly invite death now.

'' I said, no- '' his stern tone and icy glare made you flinch back, head hitting the wall behind you as he got closer yet again.

His hand reached up to caress the back of your head and you squirmed in his grasp uncomfortably.

'' The judge promised me I'd have you, as my...revenge '' a boyish grin replaced the glare he had worn just seconds ago.

Somehow you preferred the stoic look much more. You tried pushing yourself away from him but there was nowhere to go.

'' You tried to take me down but you failed, and they promised me you'd be mine in return '' Jungkook's hand pet your head now, almost as if he didn't see you as a human.

You wanted to die, sink through the ground in embarrassment - anything to escape his tainted hands touching you in any way.

'' I would never kill you, that would be an easy escape. Wouldn't it, darling? '' he hummed, head tilting as his graceful fingers found your jawline to force you to look at him now.

Those doe eyes, that looked so innocent and so sweet. But ones that had in reality been the last thing many had seen before he plunged that beautiful dagger he was twisting in his hands, into their flesh.

#yandere jungkook #yandere kpop #kpopidol #kpop boys #kpop imagines #kpop scenarios #kpop ff #jeon jungkook #kpop yandere #jungkook x reader #bts ffs #bts fantasy au #yandere bts #bts x reader

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jvcaerys · 8 months

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Spicy headcanons! Jacaerys x reader

Pairing: Jacaerys Velaryon x fem!reader (afab)

Warnings: Nsfw, explicit lenguage, explicit content, mention of pregnancy ⚠️

• First of all; this boy was raised to being a correct man, so you would be his first time, and it would need a lot of confiance for him to advance (You can be his long time crush, his girlfriend or even wife).

• Everything starts with playful touches, hungry looks, or with my favorite one: scene of jealousy, he was so jelaous to see you laughing with another men that he had the impulse to remind you to whom you belong.

• Jace is not into degrading you, he prefers praise you for everything, he calls you his brave girl and whispers you how good you're doing it, when you take his big cock for the first time, he whisper loving things to you during all the act.

• He is sweet and kind, he kisses your cheeks and neck, but when the pleassure becames too much to handle he chokes your neck or pulls your hair a little bit too rough while his hips moves erratically. 🥴

• Jacaerys loves touching your body, he would caress your breasts even if you're not having seggs, he's just using those soft 'pillows' as stress ball, Jace always have his hands on your wide hips, and he would spend hours fingering you only to hear your moans and because he loves how wet and tight feels your walls around his fingers.

• He has breeding kink for sure, in his most hidden desires he loves the idea of you full with his children and you bearing a family for him, after cumming, he is still inside you to fill you correctly, and not wasting anything of his sperm.

• He is not satisfied with a single round, Jace likes when you two get really tired and overstimulated to the point that everything hurts, I mean, he's a knight, of course he would use all of his resistance to have a lot of rounds.

• The aftercare is the most important part for Jacaerys, he has a pitcher of water on his nightstand to both drink after the action, and he gives you pieces of fruit while you guys talk about anything, or if you feel too tired, he cuddles you and caress your hair gently.

#jacaerys velaryon x reader #house of the dragon #jacaerys velaryon x you #hotd headcanon #hotd #hotd x reader #jacaerys velaryon

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swee7dream · 1 month

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the types of littles cg!dreamies would take care of caregiver!nct dream x gn!reader

a/n this is agere content ! all inappropriate interactions will be blocked. please don't interact if you sexualize age regression. thank you ! ദ്ദി ˉ͈̀꒳ˉ͈́ )✧

mark lee (ᓀ‸ᓂ)

a regressor on the older side! probably someone that can communicate their needs and wants with ease.

i feel like mark would be the type of cg that loves teaching you about his passions. he would sit you on his lap and have his hands over yours as he helps you play hot cross buns on the keyboard.

out of all the dreamies, i feel that mark's tiny would be the most fascinated with music and all its elements. you and mark would most likely spend a lot of your tiny time together in a band where the drums are cups and your sticks are pencils.

he's definitely patient and does his best to fulfill his baby's requests no matter how deep in their imagination they come from.

you want a unicorn drink? he'll do his best to make a unicorn with whipped cream and chocolate chips on top of your hot cocoa! you want to go to mars? a trip to the space museum!

huang renjun ૮ ˙Ⱉ˙ ა

a middle (12-15) regressor is definitely someone renjun could go tit for tat with.

you do have lots of little arguments that leave you with your arms crossed but you're always grateful for renjun at the end of the day.

he definitely holds you accountable for habits you know are good for you but you just don't want to for one reason or another.

but it's not as if renjun is a dictator!

renjun is a big fan of dressing up. he's like a little kid on a field trip except instead of asking 'are we there yet?' he asks 'am i pretty? you're making me pretty, right?'

for some reason, i feel like renjun would like to take pictures of you (or pretend to if you don't like being pictured when little). he just thinks you're the cutest thing in the whole wide world! if his tiny felt embarrassed by his fawning he'd only kiss the embarrassment away before continuing to do it some more.

lee jeno ૮ .◜◡◝ა

regardless of age, lee jeno is less of a caregiver and more of a stuffed animal come to life. or maybe a gentle guard dog.

he's usually snoozing on the couch while his tiny plays in the same room. you may think he's asleep but when you try to leave just for a second you hear him go 'where are you going, gumdrop?'

he's a little overbearing at times, which could be a problem especially for regressors on the older side, but he means well!

despite what others might think when first looking at him, jeno is not an iron-fist type of cg. unlike renjun, jeno's tiny can get away with poking his buttons most of the time. keyword: most.

lee donghyuck ʕ˙Ⱉ˙‧:ʔ

cg!donghyuck screams teenage babysitter. he likes kids, but he's kind of too embarrassed to admit it so he tries keeping a distance.

the best pairing for donghyuck would be a bratty little, someone that makes him care. someone that's so unapologetically themselves that he also begins to not care about the anxieties plaguing his mind.

he's still a little annoying as a cg; knocking a piece of track a little to the left so your train rolls off its route, beginning to build his own ice cream store with the block you were about to use, holding up your animal crackers in exchange for some cute and embarrassing poses.

donghyuck and his tiny are fighting the war of getting on each others nerves and neither side is ever gonna win but they fight on anyways.

"i love you, Angel." "...love you too, Channie."

na jaemin ଘ(੭ˊᵕˋ)੭

not to put all age regressors in a box, but i feel that jaemin would do well with the image you get in your head when you think of agere. pastel colors, pacis, the whole shebang.

like renjun, he likes playing dress up but specifically enjoys dressing you up. always the prettiest dresses or suits, never letting you even close a button by yourself.

more than dress up though, he definitely likes playing royalty. he likes being either a brave knight that protects you from an evil dragon or your trusty and loyal butler.

jaem as a caregiver would be the most fun thing ever (in my opinion). still, that doesn't mean he's a total jeno i mean pushover. who wrote that? wow that's crazy...

anyway, cg!jaemin is a scary guy. it's at those times when you know you messed up, maybe you broke a vase or something, and you know he should be mad but he's not. he's disappointed. that's a thousand times worse somehow and so you promise him in tears that you'll never do it again.

zhong chenle (ᯟ︿ᯏ)

this guy. this guy is the scariest.

if you have any little buddies and chenle is your cg? you will probably hang out everywhere but his place.

it's a total illusion though, he's not scary at all. he's a big, loud, goofy guy. he's just a little blunt and the fact he wears sunglasses indoors that it scares all the more shy littles away. i feel like this is a bit of a struggle because i imagine that, like chenle, his tiny would be a very friendly social butterfly and their 'baby radar' is nearly 99% infallible.

chenle's tiny is like a well-behaved version of hae's. they're both little gremlins at times but chenle's would definitely keep it under wraps about it.

chenle's tiny has a phd in malicious compliance to chenle's manner rules. lots of "stern" stares full of longing and 'i need this' along with "juice box, please. juice box, please. juice box, please. juice box, p-"

however, they also double majored in kisses and crayon portraits so chenle doesn't even have a chance to get mad.

park jisung (∩˃o˂∩)

jisung's tiny is so teeny tiny and shy, even around him.

jisung is a one in a million man because he's the only one that can instinctively, telepathically, via sign language knows exactly what his baby needs without them having said a word.

it's usually quiet when you're little. maybe you're drawing, maybe you're sleeping, maybe you're just staring off into space. for jisung's little, their regression is just a time when everything can freeze for a second and all that matters is that their favorite plushie is clean and ready to cuddle with.

if jisung had one word to describe the role he has with his little, he would have to say a wall. something firm, something strong, something that ensures that nothing outside is let in and nothing inside seeps out.

a/n hello ! i'm working on some other projects but in the meantime, have this ! i have been posting some of my work also on ao3 so in case you're not on tumblr often, you can also find my one-shots there ! i think i'm gonna keep the bulletpoints here for now tho. i'm hoping you're all having a great start to your springgg (or autumnif ur in the southern hemisphere). oh, i also have question for you! putting aside ur actual dream bias, who do you think would be the best cg for you? me personally, i feel like either jisung or jaemin hehe

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author-morgan · 2 years

Text

Title: Dragonknight Pairing: Daemon Targaryen x fem!Reader Rating: T Summary: Even darkness seeks the light, or in which Daemon considers you his northern star —his guiding light. Warnings: Typically Westerosi shenanigans.

HE LOWERS THE blunted training sword and frowns as you bolt down the steps of the tower and around Ser Ryam the Dragon —not wishing to be the fair maiden in need of saving again. Instead, you take up another sword, too big and heavy, and stand stalwart in your choice. Prince Daemon Targaryen nigh pouts. He’s meant to be brave and valiant and save his lady from danger. “How am I to be your dragonknight if you won’t let me save you?” He laments.

“Two swords are better than one against this fearsome foe,” you tell him, but the game is already over then.

Ser Ryam Redwyne laughs and rises from his haunches, feeling the ache in his aging joints —Clement Crabb told him it was his turn to entertain the prince and his coconspirator. At least then it would keep the pair out of too much trouble. “She is not wrong, my prince,” he remarks. Even a knight of the Kingsguard has brothers-in-arms, seeking and accepting help does not make one less of a man or less of a prince.

“You make a fine dragon, ser,” you note, remembering your courtesies.

Ser Ryam Redwyne smiles at your compliment. “Thank you, my lady,” the Kingsguard knight says, giving a half-bow to you and Prince Daemon before taking his leave to rejoin the king.

Florence Fossoway enters the courtyard, passing Ser Ryam, with her hands clasped in front of her golden-rose belt. “Prince Daemon,” she greets, lowering her head in veneration before turning her attention to you —a rowdy girl who’d rather frolic about the Red Keep and the streets of King’s Landing with Daemon Targaryen instead of practicing her stitches and letters. Your mother’s lips purse into the slightest of frowns, recalling the conversation the prior eve with her lord husband and your father, Martyn Tyrell. Soon you’ll be too old to partake in such churlish activities. The prince may be able to do as he pleases, but you will not. “It’s time for your lessons,” she reminds you. Sewing, reading, writing, and learning the harp, among other things —all of which are considered comely talents in a good wife.

THE SUN’S WARMTH shines through the canopy of summer foliage to the forest floor of the Kingswood, painting a halo of light around where you and Daemon lay, looking skyward at the passing clouds. It’s a rare thing of late, being able to spend time with him. Too often, duties and lessons keep you and Daemon separated now that you’ve grown older —not quite children any longer, but not yet adults in the eyes of the lords and ladies of the court.

Still, you’ve heard the whispers about what the small council speaks of, and so has Daemon. He sees how you worry in silence, though —always twisting your hair or picking at the skin of your palms, always trying to be a good and dutiful daughter for House Tyrell. But now, more than ever, the whispers are no longer uncertain truths or mere rumors, and in the past weeks, a heavy weight has settled on your chest and shoulders.

You’ve grown quieter as time passes, and the midmorning fades into the afternoon. Daemon looks at you and frowns when he sees unshed tears budding in your eyes. He reaches for your hand, twining his fingers with yours, and squeezes. He’s always been your dearest friend, your dragonknight. "We’ll always be together.” You want to believe him —he sounds so certain of it. “I won’t let anyone take you.” That makes you smile, but Daemon still sees your doubt. “I’m a prince, remember?” And soon to be a dragonrider, he thinks. No one would be able to stop him then. He would be able to whisk you away to the far reaches of the land —places you’ve only ever imagined in stories.

“Promise?” It’s a trembling whisper.

“On the Old Gods of Valyria,” he swears, then looks back to the sky and the creeping storm clouds. “One day we can go there,” he says, voicing his thoughts aloud, “on dragon back.” He’s told you about Caraxes —the Blood Wyrm— and Aemon’s former mount. A wild, unpredictable beast with a will strong as any Targaryen’s, but Daemon’s always had an eye for Caraxes. The dragonkeepers oft let the prince into the great dome to see him and the others, though he’s yet to take the Blood Wyrm for his own mount. But soon he will and you’ll both be able to fly high and far and free.

THE HOUR IS late when he knocks on your chamber door, and it rouses you from an ill-fated attempt to sleep. “Daemon?” His silver-white hair is mused from flying, his tunic and pants ruffled too —as though he’s run from Rhaenys's Hill. You pull him from the hall and into your chambers by his sleeve. You’re both too old now for him to come to you in the night —people at court will talk if anyone sees, and the walls of the Red Keep have both eyes and ears.

“I leave in the morn to help Lord Dondarrion stamp out these rumors of an unruly brotherhood in the Dornish Marches,” Daemon tells you. You’ve heard your father speak of those rumors in the prior weeks, even if he doubted the claims —King Jaehaerys’s reign is marked by peace and prosperity. Lord Baelon says he’ll be granted knighthood and the Valyrian steel sword, Dark Sister, for quelling the disturbance. “Though, before I leave–” he opens his fist to reveal a glittering white stone strung on a finely crafted rope of silver. “It was meant for your nameday celebration,” Daemon explains, the feast is to be held in a week’s time, and he knows he will not return from the Stormlands so quickly.

He holds up his gift so you can see the finer details —how the dragon’s claw curls around the stone, stamped with a hundred tiny scales. It lifts his heart to see you smile and even more so when you turn away from him, gathering your hair to the side so he may drape the necklace over your head and fasten the clasp.

The firelight catches the gem, and it twinkles around your neck as a star pulled from the heavens. It’s what you are to him, what you’ve always been —a star. A guiding light to pull him from the darkness. Daemon steps toward you, nigh closing what little distance remains, and he reaches for you, the backs of his fingertips brushing along your neck and jaw. “Iksā ñuha qēlos,” he breathes, tender as any caress. The weight of the world lifts from your chest, and Daemon can still see the gleam of childhood memories in your eyes.

“Se iksā ñuha zaldrīzes azantys,” you tell him, slowly, enunciating each word, still uncertain you are speaking the old Valyrian tongue correctly. Daemon smiles for you, his exhale a breathy laugh before he rests his forehead against yours —you’d do almost anything to live in this moment for eternity. But time does not stop for a fool’s desire. His lips, thin and wind burnt, ghost over your forehead, then linger there before he steps back to take his leave.

You stop him before he can go, hand loosely curled around his forearm. Daemon turns back and finds your lips on his —hesitant, but soft and sweet. But it’s over too quickly. “For luck, my prince,” you explain, not wishing to meet his gaze as you feel warmth rush to your cheeks in the aftermath of such a reckless action. The prince’s fingers curl beneath your chin and he surges forward at the same time. His kiss tugs at the corners of your heart, leaving you to shatter when his hands, now splayed across your back, draw you closer. And when your arms twine around his shoulders, Daemon’s certain he won’t ever be able to let you go.

LEANOR FLIES TO the Driftmark astride Seasmoke and beckons you to accompany him back to the Stepstones —for Prince Daemon has won the war, but he has not done so unscathed and there is only one person he wishes to see. They call him a madman and they hail him as a hero as you move through the victorious war camp. There are tales of how he slew twenty men, how it was only the three arrows that slowed him, but even still he cleaved the Crabfeeder in two. A maester exits the tent, his pale robes stained with blood. “How is he?” You ask.

But the voice that answers in the maester’s place is familiar, albeit rougher than usual and still laced with pain —the last dose of milk of the poppy has yet to take its numbing hold. “Come ask him yourself,” Daemon groans, recognizing your voice and shadow.

One of Corlys’s men draws back the flaps of the patched tent for you to enter. He lies on the cot, torso bound in linen strips speckled with blood, and his hair still a knotted mess of dried filth from the battle. Daemon means to sit up, but you stop him with a firm hand pressed to his shoulder and kneel at his bedside instead. “Issa sȳz naejot ūndegon ao.” It’s been many long months since you’ve last seen him —and even then, it is only fleeting moments on Dragonstone or at Driftmark before he returns to war and uncertainty.

Daemon reaches for you, his rough fingertips trailing across your cheek and jaw, then down to your neck and the silver chain resting there. You’ve scarcely parted from his gift since receiving it —letting it serve as a reminder for all those at court that your heart already belonged to another. The stone pendant still shines like a star even after the years, just as you do, always guiding him home. You take his hand and kiss his bruised and cut knuckles. “Ñuha qēlos,” Daemon whispers, and it sets your heart aflutter all over again.

It’s instinctive to lean into him when he pushes himself from the cot. Then he kisses you until the cold sea breeze falls away and your body sings with warmth —kisses you until he feels something melt inside him that nigh hurts in some strange, exquisite way. It’s all his longing and dreams and sweet anguish, and it all transforms into something enchanting, and when Daemon parts, everything makes sense once more —feels right once more. He lays back, grimacing. The Crabfeeder’s arrows struck deep. Daemon takes a long, slow breath, his eyes burning into you. “Avy jorrāelan,” he says, and he’s a fool for not saying it sooner. You kiss the corner of his lips in response, for you’ve already spake your love for your dragonknight.

“I mean to take the Stepstones as mine own,” he tells you. They will call him King of the Stepstones and the Narrow Sea, and he will make his own mark on Westeros and the world beyond. But the stone seat and his bed will be cold without someone to share it with —he needs a queen to share the title and burden with. Daemon holds onto your hand and holds it close to his heart. “We can be together.” Together, you smile at the thought and rest your head on his chest. Together is all you’ve ever wanted.

High Valyrian translations: Iksā ñuha qēlos. - You are my star. Se iksā ñuha zaldrīzes azantys. - And you are my dragon knight. Issa sȳz naejot ūndegon ao. - It is good to see you. Ñuha qēlos. - My star. Avy jorrāelan. - I love you.

[ taglist: @mrsragnarlodbrok @erzsebetrosztoczy @certifiedlittleshit @safe-within-the-stars @holysmokesblog @sandronebabyy @qhbr2013 @dollvi3e @katie007123 @batmomphd @misskatiewrites @lillianastras @xinyourdreamsx @thewintersnoozer @beelanie @nenelysian @ksziggy @chemicalalice @oddaodd @prada-cat @madsmikkelsenss ] if your name is italicized, tumblr would not let me tag you. if you’d like to be added to my Game of Thrones/House of the Dragon taglist, just let me know with this Google Form!

#Daemon Targaryen #Daemon Targaryen x Reader #Daemon x Reader #Daemon Targaryen Fanfic #House of the Dragon #Matt Smith #my writing #fic setting: pre HotD and up to the start of the War for the Stepstones #if you notice something wrong with my high valyrian translations plz let me know

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i-cant-sing · 2 years

Note

Baby Fushiguro? Baby Fushiguro.

100000%✅️✅️✅️✅️

With Choso, she's scolding a small pebble that got in his shoe. "Stop- stop hurting my big brother!" And Choso is just near tears because he can't believe how unbelievably adorable you are. But when you see his tears, you mistake them for pain and obliterate the pebble with your cursed energy until it was nothing. It took a toll on your tiny body and Choso caught you when you started to sway. "I- I will protect you, Cho-cho...." you promise him before falling asleep in his arms.

With Sukuna, it probably happens when smol reader is able to invade into his domain expansion (once again). At this point, he's more amused than annoyed at your capabilities that you aren't aware of. As soon as youd arrived, you announced that you wanted to play knight and princess with him, him being the princess of course. He's just watching you chase a very tiny, harmless curse (that he totally did not get for you to play with) with a laidback expression. "Dont worry, princess 'Kuna! I will protect you!" You promised as soon as you caught the small curse. Sukuna raised an eyebrow. "Yeah? What are you gonna do? Cuddle it to death?" And an evil glint passed your eyes as soon as he'd said that.

Cut scene to reader cuddling the life out of the poor curse, who continued wriggling in her arms. "You're taking too long. I'm going to bed." Sukuna said and turned around to leave. But he halted when he heard a small "ow!"

He rushed to you in the blink of an eye and saw you holding your finger, some blood coming out of it. "It- bit me..." you whimpered with big fat tears in your eyes.

Sukuna killed the curse in the next second and then picked you up, walking back to his throne. "Does it hurt? Come on now, show me." You lifted your finger to him, letting him examine it. It was just a small scratch, already on its way to healing. But still, Sukuna consoled you.

"Battle scars for me? My, my. How very brave of you indeed."You smiled at his words before giving that look to him that Sukuna knew quite well because you were gonna ask him for something now.

"Kiss my boo boo, princess?"

He's the king of curses, for fucks sake. He's not gonna kiss-

Sukuna pecked your finger. "All better now."

#yandere sukuna #yandere sukuna ryomen #yandere sakuna #yandere jjk #yandere jujutsu kaisen #sukuna x reader #sukuna x you #yandere choso

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vintagegirl01 · 1 month

Text

Loving you is a losing game

Marc Spector x fem! reader (Steven and Jake are mentioned briefly)

Summary: Marc meeting you was one of the best things to have happen to him. However, the demons of his past make him feel otherwise. You help him see that the love you share is one that should be fought for.

A/N: This is what I thought while listening to the song Arcade by Duncan Laurence. Of course with a happier twist.

A/N 2: Purely for entertainment purposes, so please don’t come after me. As I said, I'm still getting used to writing pieces like this.

Marc Spector’s life has never been easy. From the trauma of his young brother’s death to everything he’s during his time as Khonshu’s avatar, he’s felt like a ticking time bomb. Though he’s tried to use his time as Moon Knight to right his wrongs, it never feels like it’s enough.

When he meets you, he begins to see that there is more to life than vengeance. Marc begins to let himself enjoy your presence when he and you hit it off at the gym.

You weren’t a gym rat by any means but you had started a membership in the hopes of getting in shape and learning self-defense by using their punching bag. Seeing you hit the bag by yourself catches his attention and he begins to give you some pointers on how to improve your stance. Over time, this leads to you becoming sparring partners and eventually exchanging phone numbers. Although,this leads to you all regularly hanging out outside your sparring hours.

The day he asked you out was a shock for him because not only did he actually let himself be brave enough to ask the question but you eagerly accepted his invitation. It’s even more surprising to find out that one date led to another. Then another until you both have officially unofficially started dating.

Despite everything going well, he knew that there were things he needed to tell you. About his DID. His past. Being the avatar to an Egyptian deity in exchange to right the wrongs from his ugly past.

This then leads him to begin feeling self conscious about himself. His inner dialogue begins to consist of questions such as: What if he didn’t deserve this chance at happiness? What if she thinks I’m crazy or thinks I’m making this up?

Marc then begins to hear his mother’s voice. Telling him that he is unworthy of receiving love and will only continue to destroy all the lives that he surrounds himself with. Steven and Jake try to snap him out of this but Marc is paralyzed. At this moment, Marc only thinks one thing.

“I have to break up with her before I hurt her”, Marc thought.

_____________________________________

“Marc, this isn’t funny. Stop joking, you say.

“I’m not joking. I think we should break up,” said Marc.

“But why, Marc? Did I do something wrong?”

“Of course, you didn’t. You’ve been the best thing to have ever happened to me.”

“Then why are you doing this?” You take your hand in his, looking at him sadly. “Please, tell me why you’re acting as if I’m a disease.”

“Imthedisease.” He says as if he’s trying to rip off a bandage.

“What, baby?”

“I said, I'm the disease. I seep into innocent lives and destroy them.” He looks at you tearfully.

“Marc, that’s silly. What are you talking about?”

Marc then begins to explain everything. From the death of his younger brother to the lives he took during his time as a mercenary. He also makes sure to mention that he is the vigilante, Moon Knight, and has two other individuals living within his head. He concludes all of this by saying, “Loving me is a losing game.”

Once he’s done explaining all of this, Marc is waiting to see your reaction to all this. Will you call him crazy? Run away from him? Scream?

Instead, you take his hands in your own.

“Loving you isn’t a losing game, Marc,” you tell him. I love you and long as we have each other, we can face whatever life throws at us.”

At this, Marc pulls you into a big hug. He lets himself break down because he knows that you’re here to stay and love him. For his strengths and weaknesses, through good and bad times. He knows you will be there for him.

As you two are still embracing, he starts to believe that he is worth loving after all.

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veinsfullofstars · 2 months

Text

“What? I never said knighthood was easy.”

(ID: Kirby series fanart of Dedede and Meta Knight as childhood friends, this time in partial comic form. There are seven borderless panels, each featuring a young Dedede and Meta sitting side by side on a circle of grass, having a silly conversation about leadership and the future. Transcript below the cut. END ID.)

More childhood friends AU. Guess I’m on a role right now. Too many ideas, not enough time!

UPDATE 03/11/24: Added a scar to Meta's head.

Started on 10/10/23, finished on 10/12/23. NOTE: This was originally posted on my deleted account on 10/12/23.

---

Transcript:

Panel 1

Dedede: *sitting grumpily* Hmph! Stupid Ms. Squishy and her stupid group projects. Who does she think she is callin’ me a bad leader?

Meta: *gazing lazily skyward* Well, you did kinda make the other kids do all the work for you, so…

Panel 2

Dedede: *holds arms out in exasperation* Hey, it got done, didn’t it? That’s already better than, like, half the class - they didn’t even finish their dioramas! We’d’ve flunked for sure if it weren’t for my excellent direction! And my awesome ideas!

Meta: Didn’t you get a C, anyway?

Panel 3

Dedede: *holds arm up confidently* You’ll see, Meta! Once I’m big and strong enough, I’m gonna be the best leader this town’s ever seen! No - better! I’ll be the King of Dream Land itself!

Meta: *looks uncertain* “King”? Hmm. I dunno, Dee. Sounds like a lot of work. (And you and work don’t exactly get along great…)

Panel 4

Dedede: *arms behind head, eyes shut, confident* Psh! Nah, bein’ King’s easy! All ya gotta do is sit on a throne and look regal all day! It’ll be a breeze, ‘specially since I’ll have you as my first knight.

Meta: *turns sharply to face Dedede, tiny wings perked up in surprise* Wh- Me?? A knight?

Panel 5

Dedede: *smiling and winking at Meta* Uh, duh! I mean, who else would I trust to keep me safe while I rule? Only someone as strong and cool and brave as me, that’s who!

Meta: *smiles and hides bashfully behind his hands, little wings curled around him* O-Oh… Uh, heh. Well, when you put it that way… (He think’s I’m brave?)

Panel 6

Meta: *looks skeptically at Dedede* Wait. If being King’s so easy, then what would I need to keep you safe from?

Dedede: *staring skyward with a straight face* Assassins, mostly.

Panel 7

Meta: *sweating, wings drooping, eyes shrunken in fear* …

#veins art #veins fanart #fanart #kirby series #kirby #king dedede #meta knight #AU #childhood friends au #friendship #comic #I love grumpy baby DDD the most #veinsfullofstars

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writefightandflightclub · 2 years

Text

Shadow of a doubt:

Fem!Reader x the Moon Knight System🌙 (Marc Spector 😍, Steven Grant 🥰, Jake Lockley 😘.)

Summary:

Marc was first.

Steven was second.

Khonshu’s never going to love you.

…And you’re wondering if Jake will ever get there at all.

Author’s note: not sure about posting this (bc excuses + caveats) but doing it anyway! 🤡 This is me playing around whilst not working on my main WIPs 🙄 So, please have my questionable headcanons! And my first attempt at Jake!

Author’s note 2: Marc Spector 🥰

Genre: An angsty, meandering relationship retrospective (how reader came to be involved with each of: Marc, Steven, Jake, and how their relationship with each alter differs / developed). Vague character study of sorts (and Jake characterisation is based on less than nothing). Some fluff. Some hurt / comfort. Some smut but it’s not a smut piece and it’s not hugely explicit.

Rating: 18+ ONLY. Adult themes. Minors DNI.

Warnings: angst I guess? Fear of abandonment / rejection themes (and you don’t even need to squint for that one). Canon typical allusions to trauma (not explicit, not a major theme). Sexual themes but largely not explicit and not the core focus. Questionable headcanons. Out of character everyone, maybe? Typos. Unrequited love(?). Alcohol mentions. Food mentions. Some shitty comments about Marc by reader’s friend which are immediately and directly refuted in the text and by reader (and me!); however warning as their ignorance can be taken as ableist (upfront and not a key theme).

GIF from this glorious set by @nowritingonthewall

Marc was first.

First to notice you. First to fall in love. First to be all in.

Your friends told you plainly that they didn’t like him at first. Warned you off him, in fact, with all manner of ignorant assumptions. They said he was closed off. Unreliable. “Shifty”; the guy with the dark past, never looking anyone in the eye for too long. “Rude”, because he didn’t make small talk at parties.

They even said, upon their first occassion meeting him, that he “sucked all the air out of the room”.

You didn’t have a damn clue what they were talking about, however.

When you had first seen Marc, you had felt like you could finally breathe.

Eventually, you got rid of those friends in favour of much better ones; but you kept him.

Marc was a keeper.

You had come to know him. To understand that whilst he may have a closed off face, he has the most open of hearts. That whilst he might not look everyone in the eye, when he looks at you his eyes are full of love. That although he might not always talk small, he says all the big things when he’s alone with you.

All the right things. All the things that matter.

There was that time Marc had turned to you on your mates’ doorstep, and had whispered in a thick Chicagoan accent that he wished Khonshu’s armour could protect him from parties. You had simply kissed him on the cheek and told him - without a second thought - that you would protect him.

“Always. From everything. Fuck that Sesame Street reject, Marc. I’m the only bird you need on your arm tonight.”

He had turned then, with a lopsided smile to twin with yours, and he had told you the biggest thing of all.

“I love you.”

You had waited patiently for his words. You had waited to hear aloud what you had already learned to be true through the language of his hands and his lips and his body. Through his gestures and actions.

It was worth the wait.

He was worth the wait.

You had learned so much about him already.

The big things.

That he was scared, and that he was brave.

His fears and doubts, and the things he still had faith in.

The things he couldn’t trust yet, but wanted to.

And, the small things which seemed huge too.

The way he liked to bury his head in the crook of your neck before he slept, his eyelashes kissing your skin.

The way he knew the Latin name for almost every flower in Kew Gardens.

The way he became over invested in finding the perfect jacket, doing an excited little bounce when he finally walked out of the changing room in one that felt good - then bought two.

How feeling smoothness beneath his touch - of leaves or a polished stone or your silk nightdress could make the tension melt from his body.

The way he’d looked like you’d just given him the world when you’d surprised him with a bunch of slightly sorry supermarket flowers you hadn’t been able to resist.

The way he had cried, curled around your lap and face buried in your thighs, because he didn’t know - until Steven - and didn’t truly believe - until you - that love could be gentle.

“What is it?” you had asked him. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he had replied as his tears fell. “For the first time that I remember. Nothing.”

You had learned all of this about Marc.

And now, you had learned that he was yours.

And so, when he had wordlessly gripped your hand in his - as you stood too agape to say it back - you decided then that you never wanted to let him go.

***

Steven came second.

Came to you more slowly.

Marc’s hands had arrived at you first, before his words had. Before he could trust you to speak his truths to you, and his words had followed later.

There was plenty to talk about.

Marc had told you about Steven.

Had spoken about him like a brother.

Had asked if you wanted to meet him.

You did - of course.

It had gone well.

Steven was as easy to love as Marc was.

“Wow, bloody hell. Marc is a blooming idiot. Why on Earth would he give me the body when he’s here with someone so beautiful? Oh God. Sorry, yeah? I didn’t mean to be creepy or anything. Let’s start again, shall we? Hiya! I’m Steven. Lovely to meet you, finally. Heard a lot about you. From Marc. Obviously.”

By the time you had spoken your first words to him, you had already been smiling, and only partly in relief.

Steven’s words were there from the beginning, yes. Treasures - not hidden in tombs like Marc’s, requiring excavation; but on display for you on plinths and in glass cabinets.

Steven had nothing to hide from you.

Was nothing if not honest.

Steven had little to hide from anyone.

His hands came later - and his lips - but first; his words were abundant.

Steven talked and you listened.

You loved to listen.

You loved to listen when he spoke to the topics he was most knowledgable about. When you asked an offhand question about one of his books or documentaries and he would pause for 15 minutes to give you every detail, his face lit with passion. You loved how intelligent and enthusiastic he was.

You had learned so much from him, and along the way you learned about him too.

You’d learned about his moral code, and how his courage was unwavering in standing up for himself and others.

You’d learned that he liked to keep his hands busy.

That he wore his emotions on his sleeve.

You’d learned how he was lonely, like you.

How he had been for a long time.

It had not been long at all before you had begun to think about it - about kissing Steven too.

“Look. Shortcake. I already know you want to kiss him,” Marc had told you one evening as you had prepared dinner together. His face had been taut, and tension had made your body rigid too as you realised he was wise to your desires.

“A-Are you angry?”

He had smoothed his hand lovingly along your arm. Sometimes it was hard to tell what he was thinking or feeling, when his expression didn’t give much away. “No. I’m not mad, I just… I don’t think he knows. You might have to be a little more obvious.”

After that, you had talked about the possibility with Marc - of having something with Steven. Whether it could work. Whether he might grow jealous. That it wouldn’t mean you loved him any less. How you could never love him less; only more and more.

“Does he… want to do that too? To kiss me?” You hadn’t been sure why your voice was faltering.

“Uh. I’ll take a wild stab that: yeah.” A smile had radiated from the corner’s of Marc’s eyes. “He won’t shut up about you.”

You couldn’t even try to hide the fact that made you feel giddy. A swallow had trailed down your throat. Your hands had grown clammy where they rested against Marc’s forearms. “Is… is Steven here? Now?”

Marc had cast a sidelong glance, looking at his own abstract reflection in the shined saucepan he’d just stacked back on the shelf.

“Oh, buddy, don’t worry,” Marc had reassured his reflection. “You’re getting the body. Just let me do one thing first, huh?”

Marc had crossed to you ever so slowly, deliberately, the softest, most delicate smile gracing his features. He had cupped your face in his warm, sure hands, and had planted the tenderest goodnight kiss on your mouth. Then, he had shuffled forward, his breath against the shell of your ear as he whispered a secret to you. “Suck him off and he’ll lose his shit. Fella’s asked a lotta questions about the mouth stuff.” He had dipped back to your mouth - just in time to kiss the curl of your smile as you had succumbed to a gentle, surprised laugh.

“Alright,” you had smirked. “That could work.”

“Do a good job with it, honey,” Marc had teased.

“Why? Because you’ll be watching?“

He had slipped his tongue hungrily into your mouth. “No. This is all for him. But I want to hear about it later.”

You had rested your palms against his chest, a bedding heat sinking through you, but a less pleasant weight settling on your chest at the thought of Marc no longer fronting. “Come back to me. Okay?”

His smile was as soft and warm as melting butter. “Copy that.”

He had delved to kiss you again, and this time you felt a change. You felt his lips stop moving against yours, his hands dropping limply to his sides. Instead of Marc’s eager tongue, you felt a humming noise tickling your lips - alongside the press of a far more chaste kiss.

“Mmm. Hi, Steven,” you had said, stealing the breath from his mouth.

You had felt his warm lips make the shape of the words against your own. “Hmm. Hiya,” he had said, almost drunkenly.

You had dipped back from him then to find him slightly slack-jawed, his eyes fluttered closed and those long lashes fanned dreamily towards his cheeks. A flushed colour creeping from his neck to his face like blooming roses climbing up and up a trellis.

“You okay, Steven?”

Flowers settled on his cheeks, he had wrapped his arms around your waist, his hands fisting securely into your soft cardigan, idly massaging the textures. “Bloody hell, I think I’m going to keel over or sumfink.” He had opened his eyes, a slow, dazed blink like waking from a good dream. “Sorry about him, yeah? Marc. The mouth stuff, I mean. Obviously… he doesn’t know what he’s talking about, yeah? Just ignore him.”

“He doesn’t?”

Steven’s droopy, happy gaze lingered on your mouth. “Not usually.”

You had grazed your fingers along Steven’s lapel. Actually pouted as your fingers trailed over his chest and stomach, and down to the belt at his waist. “Shall we stop then, Steven? No more mouth stuff?”

“Stop? Oh god, no!” There was a beat. Then, Steven had waved his hands in the air n surrender. “I mean, unless you want to stop, yeah? Coz then obviously we’d stop. I’m not trying to be creepy or-“

You had kissed him again.

Deeper.

He kissed you back, a small moan blooming in the cave of your mouth - flowers in the dark.

When you had pulled away he was all flushed; but still, his words were there, reliable as ever “You’re so perfect. Completely lovely. Proper stunning, you, aren’t you? Feels so nice to kiss you.”

“So are you. So handsome. So… delicious.”

You had sunk to your knees, doe eyes sparking with promise, and Steven’s hands gripping the edge of the counter you now had him backed-up against.

“Bloody nora! You’re gonna have to stop, love, or I’m going to get excited.”

“Steven. That’s the idea.”

You had already known how he would taste when you took him into your mouth, but it still felt like a first time.

He’d looked good like that - his trousers bunched around his ankles and his chin tipped towards the eaves. His tee-shirt half covering his bare bum cheeks - he had Marc to thank for the squats, you had supposed.

And, as Steven enjoyed you and encouraged you, you finally found a way to make him speechless.

Later, after more pepperings of kisses you had merged your bodies once more between the sheets. After, you had curled in bed, bodies curved like crescents against one another’s - slices of the moon.

That’s when his tears had come.

“What is it? What’s wrong?” Your brows had knitted together like one of his soft sweaters. You had spun and your palm had found his cheek, a lone tear sluicing over the ridges of your fingers.

“This is perfect and I… I don’t want to give you back.” When Steven’s voice had broken, it had broken you. “I don’t want to leave you, love.”

“Aww, baby. Ssshhh.” You had soothed him, searching Steven’s eyes, even as his gaze was disappeared into your hairline. “What the hell do you mean ‘give me back’?” His eyes had met yours briefly then, brimming with liquid moonlight. “I’m yours too, Steven,” you had said freely, and you had meant it with your whole being. “I’m yours too.”

You were his too.

There was a moment, then, as you watched this reveal bed down into Steven’s features, giving them a rare weight. He wore it heavy, like a mask.

Then, a peace had gradually settled over him as he worked through his thoughts. He had shaken his head softly. Expelled a puff of air as though in disbelief, even if his words came out entirely certain. “I love you.”

He said those words with his whole heart.

Unapologetic; just like he was with everything else.

Steven was a man who knew what he wanted - what felt right - and he stood up for it. Said it out loud.

There had been no doubt in your mind either when you had replied. “I love you too.”

Steven’s eyebrows had jumped back up towards his hairline in shock, like he hadn’t even contemplated you might say it back. “Sacré bleu!”

You had already been smiling, but your nose had crinkled in surprise then.

“It’s French,” he explained.

“I know,” you had purred. “I’ll show you something else French, if you like.” A nervous swallow had trailed down his neck as your hand began to smooth over his chest - bare aside from the glinting Magen David nestled in between his pecs.

His gaze had dropped to your mouth. “Oh you will, will you? Poetry or something, is it?”

You had dipped forward, writing a poem as your tongue dipped into his mouth to lick against his. “Oh! Yep. That’s French,” Steven had mumbled against your lips. His hands had reached for you. “Keep it coming. Mmmph.”

You had wound your arms around him in return and tongued his smile.

You had decided then, that you always wanted to hold on. Always wanted to be reaching for him.

***

Khonshu was never going to love you.

You didn’t really care for the bird, nor he for you. “Think you’re all menacing, do you? I’ve seen episodes of Pingu that are scarier than you, you big monstrosity.”

“I’d rather crawl back into my ushabti that be stuck here talking to you, little worm.”

“Don’t worry,” Steven had reassured, once Khonshu had finished with his tantrum, blinking out of the room. He had settled a few soft pats on to your shoulder. “You’ll like the hippo a lot better. Tawaret’s lovely.”

Your head had whipped towards him. “There’s a hippo?”

Clearly, there was a little more you had to catch-up on.

***

Jake came to you last of all.

You were never sure if he planned to stay.

You’d experienced him first only in the aftermath of him fronting.

Marc, left with one of Jake’s hangovers. The taste of cheap whiskey on his mouth.

Steven, clicking his tongue as he shaved off Jake’s three-day moustache, the alters locked in a constant battle around presentation of facial hair.

One day, you had finally met him in person, and there was no doubt he was a stranger to you as he walked the body into the house.

You had used your key. Had been expecting Marc.

Jake had not been expecting you, it seemed.

His eyes had skimmed over you, his face impassive. “Eres la chica.” You’re the girl.

He had looked at you with something you couldn’t place, and were quite sure you didn’t want to.

He didn’t enter. One foot inside and one foot out of the door.

He had stood there, pensive and still. Had lifted his thumb to skim it along his lower lip, and it was then you had noted the smear of red on the ridges of his knuckles.

You had looked him up and down in return, consciously resisting folding your arms around yourself. “And you’re… Jake.” You hadn’t liked the way he made you feel so nervous. “Nice to meet you.”

With a slight downward sneer of his mouth, Jake had turned on his booted heel and walked right out again.

After that, you didn’t see him for a while. Even Marc and Steven told you he was lying low.

To your surprise, they had also told you that Jake wanted to see you again.

“Hi,” you had greeted cautiously when he had next walked in. He was wearing his trademark flat cap, and carrying a scuffed brown cardboard box against his torso.

This time, you had been expecting him.

“Hola, bizcocho.”

Like last time, Jake had looked you up and down, lips pursing as he sucked on a red lollipop - which you would later learn he loved to do all day while he rode his cab around, the clear, crinkled wrappers and used sticks accumulating in his jacket pockets. His upper lip had drawn back into a curled, gummy smile as he crossed to the desk. “Mira. Kitten. Very cute,” he had explained as he waved you over.

You had heard a bright, tiny mew from inside the box then, as though on cue as Jake had carefully placed it down on the table.

“We foster kittens now.” You had simply stood there and blinked, getting accustomed to his pronounced accent, as you had with Steven. To the way his lips moved and shaped themselves differently to either Steven’s or Marc’s around his words.

Imagining the way he must taste of strawberries.

Getting used to all of it.

Adjusting to Jake and who he was.

Unlike Steven or Marc, Jake’s eye contact was intense and unwavering, and you felt a nervous sweat prickle at the back of your neck.

“Um.” You had gathered yourself. “We do?”

“Not ‘we’ like ‘you and me’.” He had laughed. “We like us.” Jake had gestured towards the nearest shiny surface then, followed by abruptly crunching the lollipop between his teeth.

You had crossed to the box and peered inside, smiling involuntarily as you heard a bright peep, and spotted the tiny little furball.

Mew.

You were too nervous -or possibly captivated by Jake, you would theorise later- for the cuteness of this kitten to dissolve your tension completely; and so, you had turned your attention right back to Jake. “Right. There is no ‘you and me’ us.”

Jake had slanted his body towards to you.

His clothes were different. Tight pinstripe trousers which strained against his ample thighs and hips. A fitted white shirt and waistcoat. His voice was different. His mannerisms. Expressions. Motivations.

Most glaringly of all, he looked at you -technically- with the same eyes as Marc and Steven did, but they were different. You did not see the familiar gloss of love coating them when Jake looked at you. You tried hard not to be alarmed by its sudden absence. To understand it.

Then, Jake had scooped the furball up in his broad hand and had nestled her against his chest. He had extended his other hand out to you with a broad grin. The hand that had - last time - been covered in blood. He held it out almost like it was a peace offering before he’d ever wronged you. “Nice to meet you.”

On autopilot, you had reciprocated, reaching out and feeling the warm slide of his broad hand against your own cool skin as he shook it.

This was a hand that had touched you, held you, and been buried in you; but in a way you’d never felt it before. A hand that you’d touched a thousand times but that, now, sent a heat skittering down your spine like it was the thrill of a stranger’s touch.

Maybe you were warming to each other, you’d thought. Or perhaps that was just you. You had certainly felt like he could have grilled you on his hands with the way his touch made your skin sizzle.

“I have heard a lot about you,” Jake mused. You knew the only two likely culprits. “Watched you sometimes as well.”

When he had said that, you had snatched your hand and your eyes away from him, a heat crawling up your neck.

“You… watch me?”

When you had snatched your hand away from him - as if frightened - Jake had become visibly flustered. He had replaced the kitten efficiently to the box, his grin falling away and his thick brows drawing down over his eyes like shutters. He had crossed to the fridge - to give himself some time to think, perhaps. He had opened the door and unceremoniously pulled out two slabs of meat, slapping them on the chopping board and beginning to season them.

As if compelled, you had followed, though you had refrained from pushing him anywhere he didn’t want to go.

Instead, you had pointed at the meat with your forefinger, a niggle in your brow. “I hope that’s kosher.”

Jake had laughed then, a vibrant, gummy thing. You had drank it in, trying to catalogue the details of him, so you could recognise him later. “Muy linda.”

“What’s cute?”

“You know that Steven is already the Steven in my head, don’t you?”

“Right. Touché.” You couldn’t help but laugh too, ekeing out some of your tension.

A smile had curled Jake’s mouth, and you watched as he poured a dram of whiskey into a glass, throwing it down the hatch before gathering up more ingredients.

“Can I help you with anything?”

“No. Just sit. Please,” Jake had insisted, and you had thanked him, planting yourself down as he threw things together in the pan with a flourish and an innate confidence.

And, eventually, in the space you created with your silence, his words had come. “Sometimes… I watch.” The sizzle of the pan was a background to his words, as he tossed ingredients together. “I have to do it, to look after my brothers. I have to keep them safe.”

His expression was somber and closed off, but his eyes had darted briefly over to you then. His eyes were hooded with a suspicion that felt default; familiar. He looked at you briefly as though you were the threat. As though he was thoroughly used to assessing for danger. A gulp had bobbed down your throat. “Keep them safe from… me?”

“No,” Jake shook his head slowly, jaw writhing as he concentrated on plating up the food. “I thought that, when you first came. But now, no.”

He had slid the plate across the small table to you, and had taken his seat opposite. You had thanked him and looked down to the food, realising that he’d prepared it to your requirements. Thank goodness, because you’d forgotten to ask - he had you all in a tiz.

Tentatively, your eyes fixed on Jake the whole time, you scooped up a haphazard forkful of food. “What changed your mind?”

Jake had looked pensive for a moment as his eyes connected with yours. “Because…,” -his mouth lifted into a smile - “…now I know you care about them as much as I do.”

Despite yourself, Jake’s words had inspired a swell of emotion in your chest, and you had reached out to place your hand on top of his then, where it was planted flat on the table. He had looked down at it, but he had not drawn away from you.

Maybe from here, you could take care of him too, you had considered.

With tears twinkling in your eyes and a soft smile, you had finally been able to say it and truly mean it. For the first time, you had felt relaxed around him. “It’s nice to meet you, Jake.”

***

After that point, you had come to learn Jake too.

You had learned how he liked to drive. How he was always working on fixing up some old banger down at a local rental unit. Sometimes, he had taken you to help him after work, asking you to pass him spanners and such as nothing but his bum and legs poked out from beneath the bonnet.

He liked to shoot pool and drink cheap whiskey.

To tenderly settle his flat cap on your head. He always licked his lips whenever he looked at you wearing it, you had begun to notice.

He cooked like a genius.

You had learned that Jake was the protector. The guy who insists it’s “nice to be nice”, but also that sometimes you have to be “cruel to be kind”. The guy who you’d hate to cross but love to be on the right side of.

You had even begun to feel that he looked out for you. That you looked out for each other.

You’d formed a friendship with him, and you had been more than content with that. Content that there was a fondness if not a love nor desire in his eyes for you.

Still, you had been attracted to him, of course - despite your best efforts. And, if Marc had made you feel like you could finally breathe, Jake routinely made you feel like you were running out of air.

Still, you didn’t think he wanted you like that.

That is, not until one night, when you were locked in a sweaty, coital embrace with Marc.

Marc had paused, briefly slowing his thrusts and tearing his mouth away from you with a snatched breath.

“What is it?”

Marc’s shoulders had heaved as he had pushed up on his muscled arms, his sweat-sheened body settled over you like a canopy. Curls cascading over his forehead, and his necklace swaying in the space between you. “Jake’s here,” he had panted, eyes meeting yours with a flash of concern. “He’s… watching.”

At first, it had thrown you.

“What do you want to do?” Marc had enquired urgently, lips dragging down your neck.

He would have stopped, if you wanted it.

Instead though, your eyes had grown hooded, and your voice had become a deep, dark purr. “Don’t stop, Marc. Let him.”

Marc had paused for only a moment, before he had resumed with increased vigour, his eyes somehow lit with an even deeper hunger. “Hnnng. He says… he says to make you cum so he can, hnnng, see how it looks.”

“Do it then. Do it, Marc,” you had encouraged, opening up for him like a night-blooming flower to its moon. And, this time, when you had come undone on Marc and you had looked deeply into his eyes, you could see hints of Jake peering back at you too.

Afterward, you and Marc had come down, breaths ragged, and had fallen back on to the welcoming pillows, limbs tangling together.

Once you were settled, Marc had lolled his head towards you asked a question you weren’t quite ready to face the answer to. “You into him too?”

You had been silent for a long time before you responded. Long enough that Marc may have even believed that you had fallen asleep. Then, your whisper had cut through the dark like a dart.

“Yes.”

It felt sudden and sharp. Somehow, like you had just jammed the knife into your own back.

You had wondered if Marc might pull away from you, but instead, he had scooped you into his arms.

When he did, you had been unable to explain to him why you were crying. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. It’s okay.” Marc had smoothed his hands over you. “He’s a good-looking guy.” Marc’s throaty chuckle had dragged a smile out of you too.

“Is he here now?” you had croaked.

“Not right now, baby. It’s just you and me.”

You had buried your face into Marc’s chest and held him tight.

***

The next time you had seen Jake after that, he was no longer watching.

He was staring.

Staring, with an intensity which had rivalled your own when you had first gotten to know Jake. When he had let your fingers trace with trepidation over the ridges and contours and planes of his face.

“Steven’s eyebrows are higher,” you had whispered, the pad of you sweeping over his brow. You had touched the corner of his mouth next. “Marc’s mouth is more drawn down, and Steven’s more pouty here.” You had traced the shape of his Cupid’s bow.

“What about me?” Jake had asked.

You had swept your finger down the length of his nose. “Your nose crinkles more when you smile. And your lip curls right up.”

You had learned him, but you hadn’t ever thought that he had needed to learn you. Weren’t you always the same? Always consistent?

Well… apparently not.

Jake had stepped up close to you, by the window, and, as you froze with shock, he had traced the pad of his thumb along the ridge of your cheekbone, following a curving path up and around your eye, like he was drawing a moon slice through settled dust. You felt shined where he touched you. New.

A weight had settled on his brow though. “You look different,” Jake had mused, fleeting his tongue along his lower lip.

You had tried to recall whether your clothes were out of the ordinary today. Whether you had done something different with your hair. “Do I?”

“The way you look at us,” Jake had gone on to say, something sorrowful buried deep in his eyes. “You look different. When you look at Marc. Or Steven. Or me.”

Your breath had hitched in your throat, as Jake had slowly traced his thumb along your jaw, his head titling to look at you more keenly. “H-how do I look at you?”

You had watched the lilting curve of his lips as they tipped up into a crescent smile. “Like you don’t love me.” His forefinger and thumb had come to grip your chin, and he had tilted your head in the opposite direction to his. “But like you want me.”

Your breath had stuttered from your mouth. “Jake,” you had suspired. You hadn’t known what he was asking you. Whether he had meant for you to start loving him or to stop wanting him. Maybe neither of those things. Maybe something else.

You didn’t know. All you knew was that he was making your head swim, and the only thing that made sense was when his body pressed up close against yours, and his kiss had sunk you.

He didn’t taste of strawberries at all.

He tasted of cherries.

“Do I scare you, cariño?” he had breathed against your cheek as he came up for air. As he felt your body trembling up against his.

“No, Jake. You don’t scare me.”

You had told him that, only so that he would kiss you again. So that he would not stop. You had told him you weren’t scared of him, but it had been a lie.

He did scare you. Not because of his blood-stained hands, or his reckless abandon. Not because of the way, when he kissed you, your middle opened up.

Not because of that.

But you couldn’t tell him why. Could never.

So, instead, you had let Jake fuck you with reckless abandon. Like a wolf at the mercy of its moon.

Afterwards, Jake had bundled you against his chest, his arm casually slung around you as he propped himself up against the headboard. He had reached into the bedside drawer for a lollipop, tearing off the wrapper with his teeth, and his lips settling around it with a pop.

“Jake?” you whispered uncertainly, against his smooth, bare chest.

“Sí?”

“I don’t want to sleep.”

“No?” he had asked, dipping his chin to get a better look at you, even if you couldn’t bring yourself to meet his gaze.

“I… I don’t want you to disappear.” Your fingers had idly skimmed back and forth, over the same spot on his pec.

With a deep sigh, Jake had shifted his position, so that his fingers could hook beneath your chin, gently guiding your gaze towards him. “Then I’ll stay awake all night.” Your eyes had remained downcast, however, your fingers idly tracing the outline of the Magen David chain which pooled in the dip of his chest. “I’ll stay with you.”

“No. You won’t,” you had protested, fighting back some persistent tears.

“Maybe not. But I’ll try, cariño.” Your tears had spilled over on to your cheeks. You couldn’t hold them back. “Hey, what is it? Tell Jake. He’ll protect you, okay?”

“Not always,” you had croaked nonsensically. “Not from everything.”

“Sí. Sí,” Jake has insisted, smoothing his hands over your hair in the name of comfort; but you had known that his promise was a lie. That it was not so; because there was still one glaring reason that you were scared of him.

You were scared, because you loved him; and because you weren’t sure that he could ever love you back.

You must have been a fool, then; since you weren’t sure what else could have possessed you say it. What else could have driven you to lift your eyes up to meet Jake’s in that moment and to reveal all.

Maybe a part of you had seriously thought you would be able to hide it.

Maybe a part of you even believed he might say it back.

That he might truly be able to protect you, like he had tried to promise; even from himself.

Maybe you could have hidden it; except… Jake had learned you. You didn’t even have to say it out loud in the end - I love you - because you made the simple mistake of looking at him with love in your eyes. Love he had learned and could recognise played out on your face. You had looked at him how you looked at Marc. How you looked at Steven.

Marc had come first, and Steven had followed.

Khonshu would never love you.

And Jake?

You hadn’t known if he would ever get there, but you knew all too suddenly now that he was never coming. You had learned him too. Could read the emotions in his eyes.

He looked at you with fondness.

With apology.

He looked at you like he was scared.

He looked at you like he was the threat, and that there was one thing he could not protect you from.

He looked at you with those all too familiar eyes, no longer backlit with the glow of love.

And, that’s when his eyes had rolled back into his head.

That’s when a fog had cast itself like a murky shroud over his face, making him unreadable. That is, until someone else stepped up to front in his place.

By the time you saw the familiar pattern of animated eyebrows jumping up, the tears were already flowing down your cheeks. By the time you heard a soothing, British-accented voice wash over you, you were sobbing.

“Steven.”

“What is it? What’s wrong, love?” He had held you by the shoulders as you sat upright on the bed, your knees curled up to your chest. He had examined your face and body for clues of harm or injury, but found nothing. And so, he had simply shushed you and stroked you, and told you he loved you. Told you that when your words were ready, he would listen. Steven was perfect, but - even with Steven by your side - for a few moments, you had been inconsolable.

You had been so afraid that Jake wouldn’t feel the same. That your confession would push him away. And now, you supposed that you had been right to worry.

He was gone.

He was quick to take his leave of you.

He’d already had one foot out of the door since he met you, hadn’t he?

“You alright, love? A little bit better, eh?” Steven had finally soothed, when your crying had subsided to the occasional sniffle. “Let’s get you some hot chocolate and some tissues, shall we, sweetheart? Get you all sorted.”

“Mmm.” You had nodded.

Steven had tried his best to be reassuring, but he couldn’t hide the concern in his eyes. He couldn’t hide the way he peered intently into the shined saucepans on the shelf above the sink, face contorting as he listened. His jaw writhing with a rare anger - as though he was hearing something which upset him.

You wondered whether he was getting an earful from Jake or Marc, or both, but something was happening that he didn’t look altogether happy about.

Still, for you, Steven had pulled it together, and for once he made an effort to smooth out his face. To hide from you, only in order to take the edge off of his concern.

He had quietly set down the hot chocolate for you - extra marshmallows sprinkled carefully on the top. You had wished you could paint on a smile for him, but his gesture was so sweet that, if anything, it made you ache even more.

He flattened his hands, and smoothed them up and down your thighs, slow and steady. “Do you… do you want Marc, love?” he had asked softly. “He’ll know what to do. Yeah?”

You couldn’t speak, but Steven had understood your answer all too well when a fresh batch of tears spilled over on to your cheeks.

The next hands to reach for you had been the first.

Marc’s.

Through blurred, teary vision, you held your arms out to him, a pathetic sob cracking in your throat. “Heyyy, honey, c’mere,” he soothed, his voice deep and steady as he dragged you into his lap. “Come on.”

Marc was first.

And Marc was with you until the end.

Marc was all in.

“What’s got you so upset, baby? Jake… he… didn’t say it back?”

He knew then?

“I’m so sorry, Marc.”

“Wh-? Why, honey?”

“Because… because what I’m thinking isn’t fair.”

His brows had knitted together in that familiar way. And, Marc had pulled you back from him, his palm hugging your face like the curl of a crescent moon. You felt the warm glow of him bleed into your skin, and nothing but love shining in his eyes for you. “You can tell me.”

You sucked in a deep breath, your bottom lip and chin wobbling uncontrollably as you wrestled with it.

“I just… I feel like if Jake doesn’t…” your shoulders had heaved -partly in frustration with yourself- as you fought a sob, and Marc shushed and soothed you until your words came. “I… feel like it means there’s a part of you that doesn’t love me. That will always be trying to leave, and…” Your sobs were coming thick and fast, between every few words now, but even so Marc stuck with you. There was pain burning in his eyes because you were hurting, and because all of this hurt him too. “And - if - if Jake leaves?” You sucked in an ugly, wet breath, before blurting your last words out into Marc’s shoulder. “If he leaves, he takes everyone I love with him. He takes you.”

You had clung on to Marc as you sobbed, and you had held him like you never wanted to let him go. Like you wanted him for always. Marc was frozen against you for what seemed like an eternity, until he finally mobilised. And, when he did, he seemed oddly calm. Perfectly certain.

“Baby, come here,” Marc had croaked, and you had felt his own tears wetting your shirt as he buried his head in the crook of your neck. You had felt him warm and sturdy around you, gathering you up in his arms and dragging you to him with his hands. Breathing you in. Caressing you. Bundling you towards his chest. Squeezing you tight. “That’s what this is about? Baby. I got you. Come on.”

Marc took a hold of your hands and he stood, gently but determinedly guiding you over to the window. He had led you to it, and wrapped himself around you from behind, his strong arms enclosing you, and both your faces kissed by gentle moonlight as you gazed out over the expanse of chimney stacks and rooftops, the night sky a gentle backdrop to the hubbub of the nocturnal city.

“Look,” Marc had said, settling his hands on top of yours as his arms wound around your middle. He didn’t direct you, but you had known exactly where to look. To the sliver of moon carved out of the bleak sky like a tear through to another world. Tears continued to sluice down your cheeks, but you managed to subdue them. “The moon splits itself into pieces, right?” you had nodded. “Sometimes, it’s a little sliver you have to seek out. Sometimes, a huge bright face. Sometimes, you can’t see it at all. But when it’s each of those things, it’s never any less than whole. Not once. It just comes down to what you can see.”

It was them, he’d meant. Different faces of the one same moon. Never gone from your sky even when things went dark.

Marc had spun you around in the loop of his arms then, so that you could come to face him, his brows drawn down over his eyes, but a well of pale light shining within them as tears shimmied there. With the pad of his thumb, he had swiped your own from your cheek, a watery smile spreading over his face as he took your face in his hands. “I promise you this, baby. I promise you that I love you with everything I have. I promise I’ll protect you. Always. From everything. Okay?”

Overwhelmed with emotion and love, you had drawn Marc close and had kissed him. Kissed the salt tracks from his cheeks. Had kissed his mouth. His eyebrows. His jaw.

You had held him in your arms and you had swayed there together in the moonlight, dancing to silent music.

For a moment too, you had even believed him. Been convinced that you need not be scared - because Marc’s all in. Because Steven is too.

Indeed, as Marc had bundled you up on the couch, and you had sipped the hot chocolate Steven had lovingly made for you, in many ways, you’d felt like the luckiest person in the world.

But, whilst Marc was all in, you knew deep down that Jake was only ever moments away from walking out of that door.

And, if he ever left, you knew that he would take everything you couldn’t bear to let go of with him.

Everything you had wanted to hold on to.

You had told him you loved him, and he didn’t love you back.

Even with Marc in your arms, there were still so many reasons why that scared you.

Still though. You knew you had to hope.

After all; you were all in.

You loved them with everything you had, and you always will.

#marc spector x reader #jake lockley x reader #steven grant x reader #moon boys #moon knight x reader

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