#but plain and made from cement

[sheliach]

Esmeralda ~ Arenales

[elikajinnie]

Steal Your Way To My Heart - N.R (Part 1)

P: Bankrobber! Ni-ki X Fem!Reader

Requested by: @badtzsan (hope you like it <3)

Warnings: Teasing, Pursuing, Murder, Kidnapping, Violence, Obsession, Stalking, Flirting, Ni-ki just wanna cover you in jewels tbh.

Synopsis: Your life was boring—until a visit to the bank changes everything. Now you find yourself under the attention of one of the criminals. Now what do you do when the criminal's attention isn't just on the job but on you?

a/n: inspired by false alarm mv by the weeknd pr request :)

See request here

--

Your days were always underwhelming.

You’d wake up to the sound of your alarm, drag yourself out of bed, and go through the same motions: school, then work, then home. Over and over, like clockwork. And somewhere along the line, it became suffocating.

Each morning felt heavier than the last, your feet dragging like you were wading through wet cement. You found yourself staring out windows more often than not, watching the world pass you by. Same streets, same faces, same everything.

You craved something more. Something to set your blood pumping, your heart racing. You didn’t just want change—you needed it. The kind of adrenaline that would make you feel alive again, remind you that there was more out there than just this monotonous cycle you’d been stuck in.

But nothing ever happened.

You’d given up on expecting it. Change, excitement, anything—it wasn’t in the cards for you. At least, that’s what you thought.

Until one morning.

You were running late for work, your bag slung haphazardly over your shoulder as you weaved through the crowded streets. The morning rush wasn’t anything new, but you were moving too fast, too distracted, and you didn’t even notice the figure walking toward you until it was too late.

You crashed into him with enough force to make you stumble back a step. Your bag slipped from your shoulder, scattering its contents onto the sidewalk.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry!” you gasped, immediately crouching to gather your things.

“No, it’s my fault,” came the response, a smooth, low voice that made you pause mid-grab.

You glanced up, an automatic, polite apology ready on your lips—but it never made it out.

Your breath caught.

He was tall, towering over you even as he crouched to help pick up your things. Dark hair framed a sharp jawline, his skin smooth and flawless in the morning light. But it was his eyes that held you captive—piercing, intense, like they could see right through you. For a moment, you forgot how to breathe.

“You okay?” he asked, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

You blinked, snapping out of your daze. “Y-Yeah, I’m fine. Sorry again, I wasn’t paying attention.”

He handed you your phone, his fingers brushing against yours for the briefest moment. “Don’t worry about it. Happens to the best of us.”

You stood together, and now that you were face-to-face, the sheer presence of him was almost overwhelming. There was something about him that felt… off. Not in a bad way, but in a way that made the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. Like he wasn’t supposed to be here, in this moment, colliding with you.

“Well, uh…” you began awkwardly, suddenly hyperaware of how plain your uniform looked compared to how effortlessly cool he was. “Thanks.”

Before he could respond, the distant chime of your phone’s clock reminded you that you were late—really late.

“I have to go,” you blurted, clutching your bag tightly.

He smiled again, softer this time, and nodded. “Of course. See you around…?”

You didn’t answer, too flustered as you turned and hurried off. But as you glanced back over your shoulder, he was still standing there, watching you with an expression you couldn’t quite place.

You didn’t know it then, but that moment would change everything.

You didn’t know it at first.

How could you? To you, it had just been a fleeting moment, an odd yet strangely thrilling encounter with a handsome stranger. Sure, his face had lingered in your mind longer than you’d like to admit, but life didn’t stop just because you ran into someone attractive.

Day after day, you returned to your routine: school, work, home. And yet… something felt different. Subtle, at first—like a faint whisper at the back of your mind. You’d catch yourself glancing over your shoulder as you walked down the street, or feeling your pulse quicken when a shadow flickered in your peripheral vision.

But you brushed it off. You were overthinking things, you told yourself. It was probably just your imagination playing tricks on you.

You didn’t know that it wasn’t.

Because he was watching you.

The same guy you’d crashed into that morning. Day after day, he followed you. He was careful, almost eerily so. He stayed just far enough away that you’d never notice. Blended into the crowd so seamlessly that you’d never think to look twice.

But he was there. Always.

He saw the way you rushed into work, cheeks flushed from the cold or the stress of running late. He saw the way you smiled politely at customers, even when they were rude to you. He saw the way your shoulders slumped when you thought no one was looking, the weariness of your routine weighing you down.

He saw you.

And every day, he learned more.

Your patterns, your habits. The exact time you’d leave your apartment in the morning. The small café you stopped by occasionally, ordering the same drink every time. The way you lingered outside the bookstore window after work, staring at the same display of novels you never seemed to have time to read.

You were fascinating to him.

But it wasn’t just fascination—it was something darker. Something possessive.

And it wasn’t long before the distance he kept began to shrink.

One night, as you left work later than usual, the streetlights barely illuminating the empty sidewalk ahead of you, you felt it again—that nagging feeling, like someone was watching you.

You glanced behind you, but there was nothing. Just the empty street stretching out behind you, silent except for the faint hum of distant traffic.

You shook your head, scolding yourself for being paranoid.

But as you turned back around, you didn’t see the figure slipping into the shadows, just a few steps behind where you’d been standing.

He was getting closer. And you still didn’t know.

He kept his distance, always careful, always calculated.

Day after day, he followed you, studying every detail of your life like it was a puzzle he needed to solve. But he never showed himself. Not yet.

He learned the way you brushed a strand of hair behind your ear when you were deep in thought, the way your lips pressed into a thin line when you were frustrated, and the soft laugh you let out when you read something funny on your phone. He memorized your patterns as if they were sacred—your favorite routes, the way you adjusted your pace when the streets were crowded, and the shortcuts you took when you were running late.

And still, you didn’t know.

But you began to feel it.

The unease settled in your chest like a stone, heavier each passing day. You couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was there—watching, waiting. When you walked home at night, the silence felt too loud, the shadows too alive. You found yourself glancing over your shoulder more often, your heart racing for reasons you couldn’t explain.

But no one was ever there.

You started locking your doors twice before bed, pulling the curtains closed even though you’d always liked the city lights spilling into your room. You told yourself you were just being paranoid. That nothing was wrong.

But he was getting bolder.

One night, as you walked home, your bag slung over your shoulder and your headphones in, you felt it again—that prickling sensation on the back of your neck. Your steps faltered, your hand tightening around the strap of your bag.

You paused and looked around, the dim streetlights casting long, eerie shadows on the empty road.

There was no one there.

You shook your head, muttering to yourself about how ridiculous you were being, and picked up your pace.

Behind you, in the shadows, he stood perfectly still, his head tilting ever so slightly as he watched you disappear down the street.

He could have reached out. Could have closed the distance between you. Could have made himself known.

But he didn’t. Not yet.

--

The bank was quiet, save for the faint hum of the air conditioning and the occasional shuffle of feet. You sat on a plastic chair near the wall, scrolling aimlessly through your phone, half-distracted by notifications you didn’t care enough to open.

It was late on a Friday, and the place was nearly empty—a few tellers behind the counter, a couple arguing softly over paperwork, a man in a suit sitting near the door, tapping his foot impatiently.

You weren’t expecting much. Just another mundane errand to tick off your never-ending list of obligations.

Then they walked in.

The doors burst open, slamming against the walls with a loud bang that echoed through the room. You looked up instinctively, your fingers freezing over your phone screen.

There were four of them, maybe five—it was hard to tell in the chaos that followed. They were dressed head to toe in black, their faces hidden behind masks: a snarling wolf, a grinning clown, a featureless white face, and a grotesque demon.

And they were armed.

“Everyone on the floor!” one of them barked, his voice distorted through the mask, the barrel of his gun sweeping across the room.

Your heart dropped, your body reacting before your brain could catch up. You slid off the chair and onto the floor, your phone slipping from your hands as you pressed yourself flat against the cold tiles. Around you, the other people in the bank were doing the same—some crying softly, others frozen in stunned silence.

“Hands where we can see them!” another one shouted, their voice sharper, more aggressive.

You obeyed, trembling as you stretched your arms out in front of you. Your breaths came in short, panicked gasps, the floor suddenly feeling too hard, too cold, too close.

One of the masked figures strode past you, their boots heavy against the floor. You flinched as they moved, your body instinctively shrinking in on itself.

You tried not to look up, to stay small and invisible, but your gaze flicked upward for just a second—and you saw the wolf-masked figure staring right at you.

The mask tilted slightly, as if they were studying you. You froze, your blood running cold as your eyes locked with the dark voids of the mask’s eye holes.

“Keep your head down,” the figure growled, their voice low and menacing.

You dropped your gaze immediately, your entire body trembling as you pressed your forehead against the floor.

Behind you, one of the robbers barked orders to the tellers, demanding cash. The sounds of drawers opening, paper rustling, and the muffled sobs of a teller filled the room.

“Move faster!” another one snapped, slamming their hand against the counter.

The tension in the air was suffocating, every second stretching into what felt like an eternity. Your mind raced, a whirlwind of panic and fear. What did they want? Would they hurt someone? Would they hurt you?

You didn’t dare move, didn’t dare breathe too loudly.

But amidst the chaos, a thought nagged at the back of your mind—this wasn’t random. The timing, the masks, the precision. Something about it felt deliberate.

And then, you felt it again—that same sensation that had been haunting you for days.

The feeling of being watched.

Slowly, carefully, you shifted your eyes to the side, just enough to see the wolf-masked figure standing a few feet away. Their head was turned toward you again, their stance unnervingly still compared to the chaos around them.

It was like they weren’t even focused on the heist anymore.

They were focused on you.

The chaos continued to unfold around you, the masked figures shouting commands and waving their guns as the tellers scrambled to fill duffel bags with cash. The sound of drawers slamming and the occasional muffled sob of a hostage filled the air, but all you could focus on was the crushing weight of fear in your chest.

Then the clown came closer.

You didn’t see him at first, too focused on staying still and small, but you felt the shadow looming over you. A pair of scuffed boots came into your view, stopping just inches from your head.

"Well, well, look at this," the clown mask sneered, his voice dripping with malice.

You barely had time to flinch before he noticed your phone lying on the floor, just by your head. He chuckled darkly, lifting his boot and slamming it down onto the device with enough force to shatter it into pieces. The crack of the screen echoed through the room, making you jump.

“No phones!” he shouted, crouching down just enough to get in your face. His mask’s grinning expression felt mocking, his gun now pointed directly at your temple.

Your blood turned ice-cold as you froze, your breath catching in your throat.

“What do we have here?” he taunted, leaning in closer. “You trying to be a hero? Huh? Recording us, maybe?”

“No!” you choked out, your voice barely above a whisper. “I wasn’t, I swear!”

The barrel of the gun pressed harder against your temple, and you clenched your eyes shut, shaking uncontrollably. “You better not be lying to me,” he hissed.

But before he could say anything else, a hand shoved him hard, knocking him off balance.

“Back off!” the wolf snapped, his voice sharp and commanding.

The clown stumbled but caught himself, turning to glare at the wolf. “What’s your problem?” he spat.

“The money’s the priority,” the wolf said, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Not wasting time threatening some random girl.”

For a moment, the clown hesitated, his finger twitching near the trigger as he glanced between you and the wolf. You held your breath, terrified of what he might do.

Finally, with a frustrated growl, he stepped back, lowering his gun. “Fine. Whatever.” He shot you one last glare before storming off toward the counters, muttering under his breath.

The wolf lingered for a moment, his masked face still angled toward you. Even though you couldn’t see his expression, you felt his eyes boring into you, assessing you, as if silently telling you to stay put and stay quiet.

Then he turned and walked away, joining the others as they stuffed more cash into their bags.

Your heart was pounding so loudly you were sure everyone in the room could hear it. You stayed frozen on the floor, trembling, as the chaos continued around you.

Before you could even begin to process what had just happened, a gloved hand yanked you up by your arm.

“Get up!” a rough voice barked behind the grotesque demon mask.

Your legs wobbled as you were hauled to your feet, your body stiff with terror. “Wait—what are you doing? Let me go!” you stammered, trying to pull away, but the grip on your arm was like iron.

The wolf approached swiftly, his movements precise and deliberate. He didn’t say a word as he reached into his bag, pulling out a pair of handcuffs. You froze, your breath hitching as he grabbed your wrists, forcing them together in front of you.

The cold steel bit into your skin as the cuffs clicked shut.

“W-Why are you doing this?” you pleaded, panic rising in your voice.

The wolf didn’t answer. He only exchanged a glance with the demon, and before you knew it, they were dragging you toward the counter, your shoes scuffing against the tiled floor as you struggled.

“Stop! Please!” you cried, thrashing against their hold, but it was no use. They were too strong.

They pulled you around the counter, past the terrified tellers huddled on the floor, and toward a back door you hadn’t even noticed before. The demon shoved the door open, and that’s when it happened.

Gunfire erupted, the sound splitting the air like thunder. You screamed, instinctively ducking as chaos exploded around you.

The cops were here.

Bullets tore through the doorframe, shards of wood and plaster flying everywhere as the robbers scrambled for cover. The wolf yanked you to the side, his grip on your arm unrelenting as he pulled you out of the line of fire. The demon cursed loudly, returning fire with his assault rifle as the clown and the others shouted orders.

You were caught in the middle of it all, your heart pounding so hard it felt like it would break through your ribs.

“Move! Move!” the wolf barked, dragging you further back into the bank as the others laid down suppressive fire.

You stumbled over your own feet, the cuffs cutting into your wrists as you were manhandled left and right. The gunfire was deafening, each shot sending a jolt of terror through your body.

“Let me go!” you screamed, tears streaming down your face as you tried to resist.

But they didn’t listen. The demon shoved you forward, almost knocking you over, while the wolf kept a firm hold on your arm, steering you toward what looked like a service entrance.

“Take her through the alley!” one of the robbers shouted—maybe the clown, you couldn’t tell anymore.

“No time!” the demon snapped. “They’ve got the back covered too!”

More gunfire erupted, and you ducked again, your ears ringing from the sheer volume of the shots. The smell of gunpowder and fear was thick in the air, suffocating you as you were dragged further into the chaos.

The fire exit door slammed open, and chaos followed you into the cold night air.

Gunshots cracked like thunder around you as the masked robbers fired wildly at the police closing in from all sides. You stumbled as they dragged you forward, your wrists aching against the cuffs, your legs barely able to keep up.

“Cover me!” the demon barked, his assault rifle spraying bullets toward the flashing red-and-blue lights in the distance.

The wolf, still gripping your arm, yanked you harder, pulling you toward a white van that screeched to a halt just ahead. Its tires skidded on the asphalt, smoke billowing around it. The sliding door flung open, and you barely had time to register the driver—a figure in a grotesque zombie mask—before the robbers began throwing the bags of money into the back.

“Get in!” the clown yelled, his voice sharp and frantic.

You resisted, digging your heels into the ground as they tried to force you forward. “No! Let me go!” you screamed, thrashing wildly.

The demon growled in frustration and shoved you forward. “Quit fighting, or I’ll give you a reason to stop!”

Your body collided with the hard interior of the van as the wolf hoisted you up and shoved you inside. The smell of leather and gasoline filled your nose as you landed on your side, your hands still bound in front of you.

“Move!” the zombie driver shouted, his voice muffled but commanding.

The demon and the clown scrambled into the van, slamming the door shut as the wolf climbed in last, still holding his weapon.

The van roared to life, its engine growling as it sped off, tires screeching against the pavement.

You were thrown to the side as the van lurched forward, and you struggled to push yourself upright, your heart racing as panic set in. Outside the windows, flashes of blue and red danced in the dark, and the distant wail of sirens grew louder.

“They’re right on us!” the clown shouted, peering out the back window.

“Then lose them!” the demon snapped, slamming a fresh magazine into his gun.

The zombie swerved the van violently, narrowly avoiding a blockade of police cars as bullets ricocheted off the metal exterior. The robbers fired back through the open windows, their weapons deafening in the cramped space.

You pressed yourself against the corner of the van, your knees tucked to your chest as the chaos unfolded around you. Your ears rang from the gunfire, your body shaking uncontrollably as you watched the masked figures shout and fire, their movements chaotic yet disturbingly practiced.

One of the cops’ vehicles pulled up alongside the van, its siren blaring as an officer leaned out the window, aiming a weapon.

“Take them out!” the demon ordered.

The clown let out a sharp laugh, rolling down the window and leaning out with his rifle. “With pleasure.”

The van swerved again as he fired, the sound of bullets tearing through the air making you scream. The police car veered off course, skidding to a halt as its tires blew out, sending sparks flying.

“Hell yeah!” the clown shouted, slapping the side of the van as he ducked back inside.

The wolf, sitting closest to you, glanced your way. His mask tilted slightly, as if he were studying you again, his body unnervingly calm compared to the others.

You pressed yourself further into the corner, your breath coming in shallow gasps. “Please,” you whimpered, your voice trembling. “Why are you doing this? Just let me go!”

He didn’t answer.

Instead, the zombie yelled from the driver’s seat, “We’re clear for now, but they’ll be on us again soon! Where’s the next checkpoint?”

The demon pulled out a map, spreading it across the floor of the van. “Couple miles out. We ditch the van there and split up.”

“And her?” the clown asked, jerking his head in your direction. “What do we do with her?”

The air in the van grew heavier, the question hanging like a loaded gun.

“She stays,” the wolf said firmly, his voice low.

The others exchanged glances, but no one argued.

You stared at him, your mind racing. Why? Why did he insist on keeping you?

You pressed your back harder against the cold metal wall of the van, your knees drawn up to your chest. Every fiber of your being screamed to fight, to yell, to do something—anything—but you didn’t. You stayed quiet, hoping that silence would keep you alive.

The robbers kept moving, the van swerving sharply as the zombie masked driver navigated the dark streets. Every turn jostled you, the cuffs on your wrists digging into your skin.

“Are we clear?” the clown asked, his voice tense as he peered out the back window.

“Not yet,” the demon growled, his rifle resting on his lap as he reloaded. “They’ll catch up. We need to move faster.”

“They can’t keep up,” the zombie argued from the front. “I know these streets. We’ll lose them soon.”

The van fell into a tense silence, the occasional crackle of the police radio chatter outside filtering through the open window. You kept your head down, your breaths shallow, trying to make yourself as small and invisible as possible.

But the weight of the wolf’s gaze was still on you.

You could feel it without even looking up, the way he sat so still compared to the others. It was like he was watching you, studying your every move, even though you weren’t making any.

Finally, the clown broke the silence with a loud sigh. “This is getting boring,” he muttered, leaning back against the van wall. “We should’ve left her behind. Dead weight.”

You flinched at his words, your hands trembling as you clenched them tightly together.

“She’s insurance,” the wolf said coldly, his tone cutting through the air like a blade. “In case things go south.”

“Insurance, huh?” the clown sneered, tilting his head toward you. “She doesn’t look like much. What are you gonna do? Use her as a human shield?”

The wolf didn’t respond.

“Enough,” the demon snapped, silencing the clown with a glare. “She’s here. That’s the end of it.”

The clown grumbled under his breath but said nothing more, turning his attention back to the window.

You glanced up briefly, your eyes darting to the wolf. He was sitting across from you, his posture relaxed yet somehow alert. His mask tilted slightly, as if he knew you were looking at him.

You quickly looked away, your pulse quickening.

The van suddenly jerked to the side, making everyone lurch forward.

“Checkpoint’s up ahead,” the zombie announced, his voice calm but firm. “Get ready to move.”

The tension in the van grew heavier as the others prepared themselves, checking their weapons and adjusting their masks.

You stayed frozen, your mind racing. What would happen at the checkpoint? Would they let you go? Or was this just the beginning of something worse?

The wolf shifted in his seat, leaning closer to you. You tensed as his gloved hand reached out, grabbing the chain of the cuffs around your wrists.

“Don’t do anything stupid,” he said quietly, his voice low enough that only you could hear.

Your breath caught in your throat, and you nodded shakily, unable to muster the strength to speak.

The van slowed to a stop, the sound of gravel crunching beneath the tires.

The demon opened the sliding door, his rifle at the ready. “Move,” he ordered, gesturing for everyone to get out.

The clown and the wolf exited first, guns drawn as they scanned the area. The zombie stayed in the driver’s seat, his hands gripping the wheel tightly, ready to bolt if things went sideways.

Then the demon turned to you.

“Let’s go,” he growled, grabbing your arm and yanking you out of the van.

The night air hit you like a slap, cold and sharp, as you stumbled onto the gravel.

The wolf was by your side in an instant, his hand on your arm again, steadying you. It wasn’t comforting. It was a reminder that you weren’t going anywhere.You were then half-dragged, half-pushed toward a row of hidden vehicles parked in the shadows of the industrial area. Engines roared to life as the robbers split up, each group climbing into separate cars.

The wolf steered you toward a sleek black car, opening the passenger door and shoving you inside with startling precision. Before you could even think of resisting, he leaned over, pulling the seat belt across your body and fastening it with a decisive click.

The movement was quick but strangely careful, as if ensuring you wouldn’t get hurt. You stared at him, breathless and wide-eyed, as he settled into the driver’s seat without a word.

The clown slid into the back seat, slamming the door shut behind him. “Let’s move!” he barked, his tone impatient.

The wolf didn’t reply. He simply started the engine, his gloved hands gripping the wheel as the car roared to life. Without hesitation, he pressed the gas, the tires screeching against the pavement as the car sped off into the night.

Through the rearview mirror, you could see the other vehicles peeling off in different directions, each taking a separate route to evade the cops.

The silence in the car was deafening, broken only by the hum of the engine and the faint sound of sirens fading into the distance.

You sat stiffly in the passenger seat, your hands clenched in your lap as you tried to steady your breathing. The wolf’s presence beside you was overwhelming, his calm demeanor in stark contrast to the chaos you had just witnessed.

From the back seat, the clown let out a sharp laugh. “Man, did you see the look on those cops’ faces? Like they didn’t even know what hit ‘em!”

The wolf didn’t respond, his focus entirely on the road ahead.

The clown leaned forward, resting his elbows on the back of your seat. “So, what’s the plan with her, huh?” he asked, jerking his thumb toward you.

You flinched, your shoulders tensing as his attention shifted to you.

The wolf’s grip on the steering wheel tightened slightly, but his voice remained steady. “She’s coming with us. That’s all you need to know.”

The clown scoffed, sitting back again. “You’re getting soft, Wolf. Letting her ride shotgun like she’s part of the team or something.”

The wolf glanced at you briefly, his mask hiding whatever expression might have crossed his face. Then he turned his attention back to the road.

“She’s leverage,” he said simply.

The clown muttered something under his breath, but he didn’t push the subject any further.

You turned your head toward the window, watching the dark streets blur past as the car sped through empty intersections and winding back roads. The reality of the situation was beginning to sink in, the adrenaline fading just enough to leave you with a sick, hollow feeling in your chest.

You were completely at their mercy, trapped with no way out.

And yet, there was something strange about the wolf.

He hadn’t hurt you—not like the others. He hadn’t yelled at you, threatened you, or treated you like a disposable hostage. His actions were calculated, almost protective, even if you didn’t understand why.

But that didn’t make him any less dangerous.

The clown’s voice snapped you out of your thoughts. “So where are we headed, anyway? Safehouse number two?”

“No,” the wolf said. “Too obvious. We’re heading to the fallback location.”

The clown groaned. “Great. Another night in the middle of nowhere.”

You didn’t dare ask what the fallback location was.

Instead, you kept quiet, your heart pounding as the car sped further and further away from anything familiar.

The engine roared as the wolf pressed the pedal harder, the car speeding down the dark, desolate roads. You gripped the edge of the seat with your cuffed hands, your body stiff as you stared out the windshield, too terrified to look anywhere else.

Behind you, the clown rummaged through the two duffel bags, his gloved hands pulling out wads of cash. The bills rustled as he counted, his voice loud and obnoxious in the tense silence.

“Ten grand, twenty, thirty,” he muttered, stacking the money in neat piles on his lap. “Damn, this haul’s better than the last one. Maybe we should hit banks more often.”

The wolf didn’t respond, his eyes fixed on the road ahead, his hands gripping the wheel with calm precision.

The clown snorted, shaking his head. “You’re no fun, you know that? All business, no celebration. You could at least crack a smile under that mask.”

“I’m driving,” the wolf said flatly. His voice was low, steady, and completely unbothered by the clown’s antics.

The clown scoffed, shoving another bundle of cash back into the bag. “Yeah, yeah, Mr. Professional. Always the same with you.”

You glanced at the rearview mirror, catching a glimpse of the clown’s mask—a twisted, grinning face that sent a chill down your spine. He noticed you looking and leaned forward, his head tilting as if he were smirking beneath the mask.

“What about you, huh?” he said, his tone dripping with mockery. “You enjoying the ride, sweetheart? This must be the most excitement you’ve had in your boring little life.”

You stiffened, refusing to answer.

The clown laughed, a sharp, grating sound. “Aw, come on, don’t be shy. You’re practically part of the crew now. Maybe we’ll even cut you a share.”

“That’s enough,” the wolf said sharply, his voice cutting through the air like a knife.

The clown raised his hands in mock surrender, leaning back in his seat. “Fine, fine. I’m just trying to lighten the mood. You’re such a buzzkill, Wolf.”

The wolf didn’t reply, his focus returning to the road.

You swallowed hard, your throat dry as your mind raced. The clown’s teasing was unnerving, but the wolf’s silence was worse. He was an enigma—calm, controlled, and impossible to read.

The car swerved slightly as the wolf took a sharp turn, the tires screeching against the pavement.

The car sped down the empty streets, the hum of the engine filling the tense silence. After a while, the clown’s fidgeting grew louder, and you could sense his boredom brewing. He leaned forward again, resting his arms on the back of your seat.

“So,” he drawled, his tone laced with mock curiosity. “What’s your name, sweetheart?”

You hesitated, glancing toward the wolf, who showed no sign of responding. His grip on the steering wheel remained steady, his eyes locked on the road ahead.

“I asked you a question,” the clown pressed, tilting his head. The subtle way his fingers drummed against the gun in his hand sent a shiver down your spine.

You swallowed hard, deciding that staying silent wasn’t worth the risk. You answered him, your voice barely above a whisper.

He repeated your name, as if testing the way it sounded. “Nice. Bet you never thought you’d end up on an adventure like this, huh?”

You didn’t answer, staring straight ahead as your fingers fidgeted with the edge of your seatbelt.

The clown chuckled, the sound low and unnerving. “Not much of a talker, are you? That’s alright. Quiet’s good.” His tone shifted, becoming smoother, almost flirtatious. “But you don’t have to be shy with me. I’m not as scary as I look.”

Your stomach turned, and you instinctively leaned slightly closer to the door, putting as much distance as you could between you and his presence looming behind you.

Still, you managed to force out a stiff response, if only to keep him from getting more agitated. “I don’t really… feel like talking.”

The clown’s laugh was sharper this time. “Come on, don’t be like that. You’ve got a pretty face. Might as well use that pretty voice to keep me entertained.”

Your body tensed, the flirty edge in his tone setting your nerves on fire. Before you could react—or even glance at the wolf for help—the car lurched to an abrupt stop, the tires screeching loudly against the pavement.

The sudden motion threw you forward in your seat, your seatbelt catching you just in time, but the clown wasn’t as lucky. He pitched forward, hitting his head hard with a muffled thud.

“Goddammit!” he cursed, rubbing his forehead through his mask as he sat back. “What the hell, Wolf?!”

“The light’s red,” he said coldly, nodding toward the traffic light ahead.

The clown let out a disbelieving laugh, waving his hand dismissively. “You’ve never stopped at a red light before. What’s the deal?”

The wolf’s grip on the wheel didn’t loosen, but his tone dropped lower, sharper. “I stopped.”

The clown muttered something under his breath, leaning back in his seat with a groan. “Fine, whatever. You’re the boss.”

You stole a glance at the wolf, your heart racing. His mask obscured his face, but his posture told you everything. His shoulders were rigid, his breathing controlled but heavy, and the way his hands clenched the steering wheel made it clear—he was furious.

But why? Was it because of the clown’s behavior toward you?

The light turned green, and the wolf started driving again, the car moving smoothly as if nothing had happened.

The clown stayed quiet for a moment before letting out a huff. “Man, you’re wound up tight tonight. Need to relax.”

The wolf didn’t reply, his focus entirely on the road.

You could feel the weight of exhaustion dragging at you, your body craving rest, but your mind refused to let go. The tension in the car was thick, and every muscle in your body screamed for a break. But you knew better than to trust sleep around these men. The fear of what might happen if you closed your eyes was far too strong.

The road beneath the tires seemed to stretch on forever, and you blinked hard, doing your best to keep your focus. Every time you thought you might drift off, a sharp turn or the sound of the clown laughing from behind you pulled you back into reality.

Finally, the car slowed to a stop, the engine purring to a halt in the quiet night. You blinked rapidly, trying to clear the haze of exhaustion from your vision, but you were still too disoriented.

The clown’s voice broke through your foggy thoughts. “Alright, we’re here. Let’s go.”

The wolf opened his door without a word and stepped out, his heavy boots crunching against the pavement as the clown followed suit. Your door swung open, and before you could gather your bearings, the wolf’s cold hand gripped your arm, pulling you roughly out of the car.

You stumbled slightly, your legs unsteady from the long ride, but the wolf didn’t give you any room to regain your balance. “Move,” the wolf growled, and you had no choice but to follow, your body moving instinctively even as your mind screamed in protest.

The wolf continued leading you, his eyes sharp and watchful as he guided you toward a steel elevator.

You tried to keep your breathing steady, but the fear gnawed at you as the elevator doors closed with a dull thud, the sound of the mechanical gears grinding making you feel even more trapped.

The elevator descended with a slow, jarring motion, your stomach lurching as you were pulled deeper underground.

When the doors finally opened, you were greeted by a dimly lit basement. Concrete floors stretched out before you, and the air felt musty and stale, like it hadn’t been disturbed in ages.

The clown’s voice echoed in the silence as he dropped the bags of money on a long wooden table. “First group here, huh?” He grinned, turning toward the wolf. “We need a bigger place if we’re going to keep up with the haul.”

The wolf didn’t answer him. His gaze never left you, and he moved toward a small door at the far end of the room.

“You’re staying here,” he said, his voice firm and low.

You didn’t have time to protest before he unlocked the door and shoved you inside. The room was sparse—bare concrete walls, a single bed in the corner, and a small desk against the wall. There was a single light bulb hanging overhead, casting an eerie glow over the room.

Before you could fully register what was happening, the wolf had locked the door behind you, his footsteps echoing as he walked away.

You stood frozen for a moment, your heart pounding in your chest.

You were alone.

Alone in a cold, unfamiliar room, trapped with no clear way out.

Time seemed to stretch endlessly in that cold, empty room. Hours passed—or maybe it was just minutes, you couldn’t be sure. You paced the small space, trying to think of some way out, but all your thoughts kept circling back to the same grim reality.

But just as the weight of your fear felt unbearable, the door to your cell creaked open. You didn’t move at first, too exhausted and emotionally drained to react. But then you saw him—the wolf.

He stood in the doorway, his presence towering and suffocating, his eyes dark and unreadable beneath his mask.

“Come on,” he said, his voice low and commanding.

You didn’t hesitate, feeling an instinctive pull to move despite the part of you that screamed to resist. There was nothing to gain from defiance—not here, not with him.

His gloved hand grabbed your arm firmly, pulling you out of the room with a force that left you no room to protest. As you were led down the dimly lit hallway, you passed the other robbers. They didn’t speak, their gaze on you. The clown sat lazily at the table, fiddling with a lighter, his gaze flicking up for a brief moment, but he didn’t say anything.

The wolf didn’t stop, dragging you forward with an unyielding grip. He grabbed a bag from the table without a word, his focus fixed ahead.

You were taken back to the elevator, its cold metal doors sliding open with a hiss. The same grinding sound as before filled the air as the elevator took you upward, the quiet hum of its mechanics deafening in the otherwise still atmosphere.

When the doors opened again, you were faced with the world outside, the harsh light of the morning sun streaming in. The wolf shoved you toward a sleek red car waiting at the curb, its engine idling, ready to take you away.

The sun had begun to rise, casting long shadows on the pavement, signaling the end of the night. The city was waking up, but you felt like you were in another world entirely. The red car’s door swung open, and the wolf pushed you into the passenger seat with a firm hand. He climbed into the driver’s side without a word, his movements swift and deliberate.

The car roared to life, pulling away from the curb as the wheels crunched over the gravel.

The wolf’s gaze flickered briefly toward you, but he didn’t say anything. He just drove, his hands steady on the wheel as the car hummed down the road.

The tension in your shoulders, the constant dread you’d been carrying, began to ease—ever so slightly. Your eyelids fluttered, heavy from the exhaustion you’d been pushing through, the lack of sleep catching up to you. You tried to stay alert, but it was harder and harder to keep your eyes open.

And before you realized it, your head dipped forward, your body relaxing into the seat. Your breathing slowed, soft and steady, as you drifted into sleep.

The wolf’s eyes flickered over to you, his gaze briefly softening as he saw your head resting against the window. The corner of his lips twitched into something resembling a smile, though it was hidden behind his mask. There was a deep sense of satisfaction that washed over him.

--

You slowly opened your eyes, the soft light from the window spilling across the plush linens. The warmth of the bed made you feel disoriented, almost too comfortable, and the moment you became fully aware of your surroundings, a cold wave of shock hit you.

You were in a luxurious hotel suite, the kind you’d only seen in movies or heard about from those who had money to spend. The room was large, with expensive-looking furniture scattered about, dark wood and gold accents giving it a rich, elegant feel. The bed you had woken up in was massive, the sheets pristine white and slightly crumpled.

You sighed, the weight of the confusion and fear coming back. Your body was sore, and you could still feel the faint remnants of exhaustion in your limbs. But somehow, it felt wrong to stay here. You didn’t know where here was, but it certainly didn’t feel like a place you should be.

With a deep breath, you slowly sat up, your feet touching the cold floor. After a moment’s pause, you decided you couldn’t just sit here, unsure of what was going on.

The hallway outside the room was silent, save for the muffled sound of distant chatter. You stepped out and walked toward the elevator, your mind racing with questions. You reached the lobby, the plush carpet soft underfoot, and approached the receptionist desk, where a young woman sat typing on her computer.

“Excuse me,” you said quietly, your voice still raw from the sleep. The receptionist looked up, offering a warm smile. “Can I help you?”

You hesitated for a moment, still trying to gather your thoughts. “I… I woke up here, and I’m not sure how I got here. Can you tell me what happened?”

The receptionist took a moment to study you, her gaze flicking to the key card in your hand. “Oh, I see. You were brought in this morning. A man dropped you off though he didn’t stay long. Just… dropped you off and left.”

You frowned, the confusion deepening. "Did you see his face?"

She shook her head, her expression apologetic. "No, he was wearing a hood. I couldn’t see anything and he didn’t say much.”

You sighed out a breath, feeling a strange mix of relief and frustration. Relief, because at least you weren’t in immediate danger, and frustration because you still had no answers.

“Thank you,” you said, forcing a smile as you handed back the key card.

The receptionist nodded sympathetically as you turned and walked out.

--

The days that followed felt like a blur of events, each one blending into the next. The shock of the robbery and the kidnapping seemed to hang over you like a cloud, the adrenaline of the event never fully disappearing.

The police had been persistent, asking you question after question, trying to get every detail you could remember. You recounted everything—what you saw, what you heard, how the robbers acted, how you ended up in the hotel.

But what unsettled you the most was the fact that the place they had taken you to—the hidden basement, the garage, everything—was now completely empty. The police had searched the location, but there was nothing. No traces and no leftover evidence. It was as if the robbers had vanished into thin air.

And when they tried to trace the hotel, it was the same story. The receptionist’s memory was all they had, and that wasn’t much to go on. A hooded man had dropped you off. No name. No face. Nothing.

The police had no leads, and you were left with nothing but your own confusion and growing fear.

You tried to keep going. You tried to move on, to get back to some semblance of normalcy, but the feeling that had surged through you—danger, uncertainty, that rush of adrenaline—was a hard thing to shake.

You’d always thought you wanted something more, something thrilling. But now that you had experienced it, now that you had tasted that kind of danger, it felt like an itch you couldn’t scratch. It wasn’t something you could walk away from. It was always there.

You went back to your work, your life, doing your best to keep your routine in place. But nothing felt quite the same. It was like you were constantly looking over your shoulder, waiting for something to happen, waiting for those men to reappear.

Some nights, the fear crept back in, and you’d find yourself unable to sleep, lying awake in bed, the images of the action flashing through your mind. And then there were those moments, when the rush, the thrill, would start to creep in too. You’d catch yourself staring out a window, lost in thought, wondering what it would be like to see one of them again.

It was dangerous, you knew. But it felt impossible to escape that feeling. Something about it was… addictive.

--

The morning sunlight filtered through your window, casting a warm glow over your apartment, but as you opened the door, the peaceful atmosphere quickly shifted. There, lying on the floor just outside your door, was a bag—an expensive-looking, high-end designer bag, its sleek material catching the light.

You tilted your head in confusion, wondering who could have left it there. Your heart skipped a beat as you crouched down and zipped it open. Your breath caught in your throat when you saw what was inside.

A piece of paper was folded neatly, the words scrawled in neat, precise handwriting: "Wear it for me."

The signature beneath the words read: Wolf.

A chill ran through you, but the bag was filled with more than just a note. Inside, you found an assortment of beautifully crafted jewelry—shiny necklaces, delicate bracelets, and a pair of earrings that sparkled like diamonds. There were also clothes—luxurious fabric, intricate stitching, and garments that screamed wealth.

You felt your stomach tighten, torn between the unease that bubbled up within you and the undeniable curiosity that had you looking over your shoulder. But there was no one in sight. No one watching.

You picked up the bag, feeling the weight of it in your hands. You glanced around the hallway, half-expecting someone to jump out at you. But nothing. No movement, nothing.

Stepping back into your apartment, you closed the door behind you, your mind racing. The room felt stuffy all of a sudden, and your hands trembled slightly as you quickly checked the news, hoping to find something—anything—that could explain this. But there was nothing. No new robberies. No incidents. The police reports hadn’t changed.

You looked at the open bag sitting on the floor in front of you. The glint of the jewelry, sparkling almost like it was teasing you. Each piece seemed to tempt you, daring you to pick it up, to try it on.

Your fingers hovered over the contents of the bag before you quickly pulled them back, shaking your head. This is ridiculous, you told yourself. It wasn’t safe, wasn’t normal. You didn’t know the Wolf’s intentions—what this gesture even meant.

You clenched your fists, forcing yourself to pull back. "No," you muttered under your breath. Whatever game the Wolf was playing, you weren’t going to be part of it.

Leaving the bag on the floor where it was, you grabbed your coat, slipped on your shoes, and headed for the door. You needed to get out, clear your head, put some distance between you and whatever this was.

--

The sun had long since dipped below the horizon, as you decided to take a stroll, hoping the fresh air would clear your mind.

Walking, your steps slowed in front of a jewelry store. The display window sparkled under the bright lights, showcasing an array of necklaces, rings, and bracelets. The pieces were beautiful, elegant, and impossibly expensive.

Lost in your thoughts, you didn’t hear the faint sound of footsteps behind you until a low, familiar voice broke through the quiet.

“Do you like what you’re seeing?”

You froze for a moment before turning your head slightly, glancing over your shoulder. Your breath caught when you saw him—the handsome man you had crashed into days ago.

For a moment, your mind raced, trying to make sense of his sudden appearance. He was dressed casually, hands tucked into his pockets, an air of confidence around him.

“Yeah,” you said softly, turning back to the window. “They’re beautiful.”

“They’d suit you,” he replied, his tone smooth, yet sincere.

You felt heat rush to your cheeks at his words, your heart giving a traitorous flutter. “Thanks,” you mumbled, looking away from the display and at the ground, trying to compose yourself.

There was a pause before he spoke again, his voice calm but laced with something deeper, something unreadable. “Jewelry like that... it’s meant to make a statement. To say something about the person wearing it.”

You glanced up at him, his gaze fixed on the display for a moment before shifting to meet yours. His eyes held yours, and for a second, you could feel the intensity behind them.

“Maybe,” you said cautiously, your voice barely above a whisper.

A small, knowing smile tugged at the corners of his lips, as though he understood something you didn’t. “You don’t think it’s for you?”

You hesitated, unsure how to answer. “I’m not sure it fits my life right now,” you admitted, thinking about the bag sitting untouched back in your apartment.

His smile grew, but it wasn’t mocking—it was... intrigued. “Maybe you just haven’t stepped into the right life yet.”

Before you could respond, he straightened, taking a step back.

“Think about it,” he said simply, giving you a slight nod before turning and disappearing into the flow of pedestrians on the sidewalk.

You stood there, rooted in place, staring after him as your heart thudded in your chest.

Who was he?

After returning home, you let out a heavy sigh as your eyes landed on the bag still sitting where you’d left it. You crouched down and peeked inside once again, taking in the glimmering jewelry and the luxurious clothes.

Scrunching your nose, you muttered to yourself, What the hell am I supposed to do with this?

You closed the bag with a resigned huff and headed to the bathroom, stripping off your clothes and stepping into the hot shower. You let your mind wander for a moment, trying to make sense of everything.

After drying off and wrapping yourself in a towel, you walked back into your room. Your phone buzzed on the nightstand, drawing your attention. Frowning, you picked it up and unlocked the screen to see a text from an unknown number.

The message made your stomach flip:

"You didn’t like the gift I left this morning?"

Your breath caught. For a moment, you just stared at the screen, your heart racing. You typed a quick reply:

"What do you mean?"

It didn’t take long for the reply to come.

"I didn’t see you wearing the jewels."

You froze, gripping the phone tighter in your hand. It didn’t take a genius to figure out who it was. Your suspicion solidified in your mind as you began typing furiously:

"Wolf?"

There was no denial.

"Out of all the names you could’ve chosen, that’s the one you stick with? I’m flattered."

You huffed in frustration, pacing your room as you typed back.

"Why are you watching me? And why would you even give me this stuff?"

A moment passed before his next reply.

"I bought it out of the goodness of my heart, just for you. Thought you’d appreciate the gesture."

You rolled your eyes, fingers flying over the keyboard.

"With stolen money."

This time, his response took a little longer, but when it came, it sent a chill down your spine.

"You didn’t seem to complain when I kept you safe, sweetheart. Or when I made sure you slept comfortably that night."

You swallowed hard, glaring at the screen as your mind flashed back to that night in the hotel. Despite your frustration, you couldn’t deny the truth in his words. You were alive, and he had been the one to ensure it.

Still, you typed back stubbornly:

"That doesn’t mean I owe you anything."

His reply came quickly, as if he had been waiting for you to say it.

"Oh, sweetheart, this isn’t about owing me. I just wanna spoil you."

You stared at the message, torn between anger, confusion, and an emotion you couldn’t quite place. Your hands trembled slightly as you locked your phone and tossed it onto the bed.

And before you could stop yourself, you grabbed the bag, placing it on the bed. Slowly, you unzipped it and pulled out the clothes first—a sleek designer outfit that felt as expensive as it looked. Next, you took out the jewelry, laying it out piece by piece. Rings, bracelets, earrings, and necklaces all glittered under the dim light of your room.

You swallowed hard as you picked up the outfit and the jewelry, staring at them for a moment. What harm could it do to just try them on?

The thought tugged at your resolve, and before long, you found yourself slipping into the outfit and clasping the jewelry around your neck and wrists. You turned toward the mirror, almost not recognizing yourself.

The person staring back at you looked expensive, untouchable, like someone who had walked out of a magazine.

You tilted your head, running your fingers through your hair. Without thinking, you grabbed your phone, adjusted your pose, and snapped a picture.

Your thumb hovered over the photo for a moment. Should I? The thought sent a thrill of uncertainty through you, but before you could overanalyze, you sent it.

The instant you hit send, regret settled in your stomach like a rock. You thought about deleting it or throwing your phone across the room, but the damage was done.

Not even a minute passed before he replied.

"Knew you’d look good in it."

Your cheeks burned as you stared at the screen. Before you could respond, another message came through.

"You wear it better than I imagined. Stunning."

The compliment sent your heart racing. You quickly typed a response:

"You’re a psycho, you know that?"

This time, the reply was almost instant.

"Maybe. But I know a good investment when I see one."

You frowned, typing quickly.

"I’m not an investment."

His response came slower this time, but it hit harder than you expected.

"You are to me. Whether you see it or not."

Your stomach churned, and before you could come up with a reply, another message came through.

"Enjoy the gifts, sweetheart. There’s more to come."

You tossed your phone onto the bed, staring at yourself in the mirror again. You felt beautiful, sure, but at what cost?

The days that followed after felt surreal, like stepping into a life that wasn’t your own. Every morning, you would find another bag or box outside your door. Each time, the gifts inside grew more extravagant—more jewelry, designer clothes, expensive shoes, even a high-end purse that you’d only ever dreamed of owning.

The Wolf never let you ignore his generosity. His messages always followed soon after, asking if you liked what he’d left and reminding you to send proof that you were wearing them.

At first, you resisted, replying with excuses about being too busy or not wanting to wear such obvious luxury items. But he was persistent, and there was always an underlying threat hidden behind his charming words. Not explicit, but enough to remind you that he was watching.

"Don’t keep me waiting, sweetheart." "I just want to see you shine." "Humor me, or should I drop by and see for myself?"

So, reluctantly, you complied. You’d slip into the outfits, put on the jewelry, and snap a picture. At first, you tried to make it obvious that you weren’t enjoying it—standing stiffly, giving half-hearted smiles. But over time, as you caught glimpses of yourself in the mirror, you couldn’t deny that the attention made you feel… special.

And when you were out, you started wearing some of the items—not all at once, but enough to feel their weight on you. The Wolf noticed immediately, always commenting when he saw you through his texts.

"Everyone’s staring at you, aren’t they? They should. You’re breathtaking." "You belong in things like this, not the life you’re trying to hold onto."

But the feeling didn’t come without guilt. Each time you put on something he sent, you couldn’t shake the thought of how he got the money to pay for it. You knew it was stolen, yet here you were, parading around in the spoils of his crimes.

As you sat on a bench in the park that evening, sipping a coffee and scrolling through your phone, a message from him lit up your screen:

"You’re starting to enjoy it, aren’t you?"

Your fingers flew across the screen as you typed out a response.

"Enjoy it? What, being spoiled by stolen money and manipulated into wearing it? No thanks."

The reply came almost instantly, like he’d been waiting for you to bite.

"Sweetheart, if you really hated it, you wouldn’t be wearing my gifts right now. Don’t lie to me."

You clenched your jaw, glaring at the screen. You could practically hear the smug tone in his voice.

"I wear them because you keep pushing, not because I like them."

It was a weak excuse, and you knew it. So did he.

"Sure you don’t," he replied, adding a winking emoji. "That’s why you’ve been strutting around town looking like you own the place. Don’t think I haven’t noticed the extra confidence."

You rolled your eyes, fingers moving quickly.

"Confidence? More like stress from worrying you’re watching me all the time. Maybe I should toss this stuff out and be done with it."

There was a pause this time, long enough that you thought you might’ve finally gotten under his skin. Then your phone buzzed again.

"You wouldn’t dare. And even if you tried, I’d just buy you more. You deserve to look like the Queen you are."

Your cheeks burned, and you hated the way your heart skipped at his words. "Stop calling me things like that."

"Why? You don’t like being called my Queen? Or would you prefer ‘baby’? ‘sweetheart? ‘angel’?"

You huffed aloud, typing furiously.

"I’d prefer if you left me alone, actually."

"Hmm, yeah, that’s not happening."

You groaned in frustration, leaning back against the bench as his next message appeared.

"C’mon, don’t be mad, sweetheart. You’re cute when you’re flustered."

"You’re insufferable."

"And yet, you keep replying. Admit it—you like our little chats."

You hesitated, glaring at the screen. Part of you wanted to ignore him, to block his number and try to move on with your life. But another part—the one that felt a flicker of excitement each time his name popped up—kept you typing.

"I reply because you won’t leave me alone," you shot back.

"Mmhmm, keep telling yourself that. You’ve got my number saved by now, don’t you?"

Your stomach flipped, and your face burned. You hadn’t saved his number, but the thought that he’d guessed something so ridiculous still made you squirm.

"In your dreams," you typed.

"Oh, sweetheart, you don’t want to know what I dream about."

Your jaw dropped, heat rushing to your cheeks as you stared at the text before locking your phone, you shoved it into your bag with an annoyed groan. He was impossible, and he knew exactly how to get under your skin.

--

The bell above the jewelry store door jingled softly as you stepped inside, greeted by the glimmer of diamonds and gold under bright display lights. The store wasn’t too crowded—just a few customers browsing quietly, the sound of soft music humming in the background.

You wandered toward the ring section, humming to yourself as you peered through the glass. Your fingers brushed over the edge of the counter as you admired the delicate pieces—sleek bands, intricate designs, and stones that sparkled.

One caught your eye: a simple silver ring with a small diamond. The kind of thing you’d never buy for yourself, but it didn’t stop you from slipping it onto your finger to admire it.

The moment felt normal.

But that didn`t seem to last.

The sound of a door slamming open behind you shattered the calm. A sharp, angry voice boomed through the store, cutting through the soft music.

"Everyone on the ground! Now!"

Your stomach twisted as you froze in place, the ring still halfway on your finger. Panic set in as the store erupted into chaos—gasps, screams, and the clatter of someone dropping their bag as people scrambled to the floor.

Your head turned slowly, heart hammering in your chest.

And there they were.

The same robbers from the bank. The masks. The guns. It was like a nightmare replaying itself, except this time you weren’t just a bystander.

Your gaze locked onto him.

The Wolf.

You couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.

Behind the mask, his head tilted slightly, as if he were sizing you up, and even without seeing his face, you knew he recognized you.

You swallowed hard, your hands trembling as you raised them slowly, your mind screaming at you to do something, anything. But he wasn’t moving, and the longer he stared, the more you began to feel like his prey.

Then, finally, he spoke. His voice was low, distorted slightly by the mask but unmistakably calm.

"You really do have a knack for being in the wrong place at the wrong time, don’t you?"

The familiarity in his tone sent a shiver down your spine. You took a shaky step back, but his gun followed the movement.

“Stay right there,” he ordered, and his voice wasn’t as calm this time. It was sharp and commanding.

You dropped back to the floor, your knees hitting the cold tiles as the others watched silently.

"Good girl," he muttered, almost to himself, and though the words weren’t loud, they hit you like a brick.

This wasn’t a coincidence. It couldn’t be.

The Clown let out a loud, exaggerated laugh as his gaze landed on you, his gun resting on his shoulder. "Well, well, look who it is! Isn’t this just too good to be true?" he teased, gesturing wildly toward you with his free hand.

You stiffened, keeping your eyes down as the other robbers turned their attention to you, their movements briefly faltering.

"Seriously?" the Clown continued, leaning against one of the display cases. "Out of all the jewelry stores in the city, you walk into this one? What are the odds?"

"Focus," the Wolf snapped, his voice sharp as he shoved a handful of necklaces into a bag. But his tone wasn’t as steady as it usually was—there was something strained about it.

A skeleton, standing by the door, glanced between you and the Clown. "What, you two know her?"

The Clown chuckled, his laughter high-pitched and mocking. "Oh, we know her, all right. She’s like our little good-luck charm. Wherever she goes, we hit the jackpot!"

You felt your stomach twist, the heat of their stares making your skin crawl. You tried to stay still, tried not to draw any more attention to yourself, but the Clown’s taunting made that impossible.

"You’ve got to admit," the Clown continued, his tone dripping with amusement as he gestured to the Wolf, "this is kind of funny."

The Wolf didn’t answer, his focus locked on the bags of jewelry as if ignoring the conversation altogether.

Then, before anyone could say another word, a loud pop shattered the air.

The glass window near the front of the store exploded inward, and a thick cloud of gas began pouring in. The cops had arrived.

Chaos erupted instantly.

"Gas!" the Demon shouted, covering his face with one arm.

The Clown cursed, dropping the rings he was counting and grabbing his gun. "We’ve got company!"

The gas spread quickly, making your eyes water and your throat burn. You coughed, trying to crawl toward the counter for some kind of cover, but you didn’t make it far.

Rough hands grabbed you by the arm, yanking you upright. You barely had time to scream before the Demon’s arm was around your neck, dragging you backward toward the exit.

"Shield!" he barked, his voice muffled.

"No!" you gasped, struggling against his grip, but he only tightened his hold, keeping your body in front of his as the store filled with smoke.

The Wolf turned sharply, his eyes—or rather, his mask—locking onto you. "Demon, leave her!"

"No time for this!" the Demon snapped back, holding you tighter as you kicked against him. "You want us to get out or not?"

The Clown was already firing shots through the gas, laughing like a maniac as the police closed in.

Your heart raced as you were dragged toward the back, your screams barely audible over the chaos. The Wolf hesitated for a moment, his gun raised, before letting out a growl of frustration and motioning for the others to move.

"Go! Go!" he barked, his voice laced with anger.

You were shoved through the back door and into an alley, the cold air hitting your face as the sounds of gunfire echoed behind you. The Demon didn’t loosen his grip, dragging you toward a waiting van parked at the end of the alley.

"Let me go!" you screamed, your voice hoarse, but your words fell on deaf ears.

The Clown opened the back doors of the van, waving the others inside. "C’mon, c’mon! Time to disappear again!"

The Demon shoved you forward, and you stumbled into the van, your wrists hitting the cold metal floor. The Clown climbed in behind you, pulling the doors shut as the Wolf took the driver’s seat.

The van roared to life, screeching away from the alley as the cops’ shouts faded into the distance.

You curled yourself further into the corner, trying to make yourself small, your heart pounding so hard it hurt. And then, out of the corner of your eye, you noticed something—or rather, someone.

Another woman.

She was sitting on the opposite side of the van, her face pale, her hair disheveled, and her body trembling. You recognized her from the store. She’d been near the necklace displays, standing by herself. You’d barely noticed her in the chaos, but now it was clear—she’d been taken, too.

Her eyes met yours, wide and terrified, and for a moment, neither of you said anything.

The Clown, seated on one of the metal benches along the wall, noticed the direction of your gaze and snickered. "Ah, don’t worry," he said, waving his hand lazily. "She’s just along for the ride, like you."

"Why?" you croaked, your voice barely above a whisper.

The Clown tilted his head as if you’d just asked the stupidest question in the world. "Because she was there, obviously."

The woman flinched at his casual tone, her hands clutching the fabric of her skirt as she looked between you and the Clown.

"Let us go," you said, the words stumbling out of your mouth before you could stop them. Your voice shook, but you forced yourself to continue. "You don’t need us. We—we’re just witnesses. You got what you wanted—"

"Shut it," the Demon snapped, cutting you off. He was leaning against the side of the van, his arms crossed, the mask over his face making him look even more menacing. "We’re not letting anyone go until we’re in the clear."

You clenched your fists, anger flickering beneath the fear. "This is insane—"

"Insane?" The Clown laughed, leaning forward slightly. "Sweetheart, you don’t even know the half of it."

The Wolf’s voice cut through the tension from the driver’s seat, calm but firm. "Enough."

The Clown rolled his eyes but leaned back, stretching his arms out like he didn’t have a care in the world.

The van hit a bump, and you winced, grabbing the wall to steady yourself. The woman across from you whimpered softly, her eyes darting toward the doors as if she were contemplating throwing herself out.

"Don’t even think about it," the Demon muttered, noticing her gaze.

The van fell into an uneasy silence, the only sounds the hum of the engine and the occasional squeal of the tires as the Wolf took another sharp turn.

You looked at the woman again, and this time you spoke softly, trying to keep your voice steady. "Are you okay?"

She blinked at you, her lips trembling. "I—I don’t know," she whispered.

You nodded, your throat tightening. You didn’t know what to say. What could you say? Both of you were trapped, at the mercy of masked criminals who seemed to thrive on chaos.

The Clown glanced between you and the woman, a grin audible in his voice even if you couldn’t see his face. "Don’t worry, ladies. We’re taking real good care of you."

You glared at him, your fear momentarily eclipsed by anger. "Care? You call this care?"

The Clown laughed again, but the Wolf interrupted sharply.

"Clown, I said enough."

The Clown huffed, leaning back in his seat. "Fine, fine. Killjoy."

As the van turned into what felt like another narrow alley, you clenched your fists tighter, your nails digging into your palms. The woman across from you mirrored your fear, her wide eyes glistening with unshed tears.

Shouts and sirens blared behind you, the chaos reaching a deafening crescendo.

“They’re right on us!” the Clown shouted, gripping the edge of his seat as he leaned toward the back doors, peering through the small window. “There’s three cars chasing—no, four!”

The Demon growled, raising his gun to return fire out the back. Bullets shattered the van’s rear window, glass flying everywhere. You ducked instinctively, covering your head, your ears ringing from the deafening blasts.

The woman next to you screamed, clutching the bench for dear life, her face pale as a ghost.

"Keep them off us!" the Wolf barked from the driver’s seat, his voice sharp and unyielding as he yanked the van into a hard drift around a corner. The tires screeched again, the force slamming you into the wall of the van.

The Skeleton, who’d been silent the entire ride, crouched near the back doors with a rifle in hand. "I’ve got it!" he shouted, leaning out of the broken window to aim at the pursuing cop cars. He fired several rounds, the recoil kicking against his shoulder.

A loud bang followed as one of the police cars spun out, crashing into a parked vehicle.

“That’s one down!” the Skeleton yelled, a hint of triumph in his voice.

But his victory was short-lived.

Another pop of gunfire came from behind, and before you could process what had happened, the Skeleton froze, his body jerking forward violently. Blood sprayed against the inside of the van as he dropped his rifle, clutching his chest.

“No!” the Clown shouted, scrambling toward him.

The Skeleton gasped for air, his body trembling as he collapsed onto the floor of the van.

"Dammit!" the Demon hissed, grabbing the fallen rifle and firing blindly out the back. "They got him!"

You couldn’t take your eyes off the Skeleton’s body. This wasn’t just some action movie or heist drama. Someone had just died right in front of you.

The Clown muttered a string of curses, shaking Skeleton’s shoulder as if trying to wake him up. "Come on, man. Not now. Not like this."

But it was no use. He was gone.

The woman beside you sobbed quietly, her face buried in her hands. You wanted to comfort her, to say something, but no words came.

The Wolf’s voice cut through the chaos like a blade. "Demon, take the rifle and keep them back. Clown, sit down. He’s gone. We can’t stop now."

The Clown hesitated, his body trembling with barely contained anger, but he finally obeyed, slamming his fist against the metal wall before sitting back.

The Demon took Skeleton’s place at the broken window, firing round after round at the remaining cop cars.

The van swerved again, throwing you against the side. Your head slammed into the metal with a dull thud, and your vision blurred for a moment.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the gunfire stopped altogether. The van jolted to a halt in what seemed like another underground garage, and for a moment, everything was silent except for the sound of your own ragged breathing.

The Wolf killed the engine, his hands still gripping the wheel tightly.

The Clown was the first to speak, his voice hollow. “We lost him.”

No one responded.

What the hell had you gotten yourself into?

The Demon barked orders as they moved quickly, unloading bags of cash and weapons from the van and transferring them to a sleek black SUV parked nearby. Every move they made was quick and calculated, their boots echoing loudly in the underground garage.

You and the woman stood there, side by side, both of you trembling for different reasons. Her fear was evident in the way she kept shaking, her eyes darting everywhere like she was looking for a way out. You, on the other hand, were frozen in silent fury, your body stiff as you glared daggers at the Clown, who stood a few feet away, his gun trained lazily in your direction.

“Man, this was a mess,” the Clown said casually, his tone far too relaxed given the situation. He tilted his head toward you, his painted mask cocked like he was grinning beneath it. "But hey, look on the bright side—at least you got to hang out with us again. Bet you missed us, huh?"

You didn’t respond, your glare sharp enough to cut glass.

He laughed, as if your silence only amused him. "Still giving me the silent treatment? You know, you’re gonna hurt my feelings if you keep this up."

Beside you, the woman whimpered softly, clearly unable to handle the Clown’s twisted sense of humor. He turned his attention to her next, his voice mockingly sweet.

“Aw, don’t cry, lady. We’re not all bad. Well...” He chuckled. “Most of us aren’t great, but at least I’m entertaining, right?”

The woman shook her head, her lips quivering as tears spilled down her cheeks.

“Leave her alone,” you snapped, unable to stay quiet any longer.

The Clown turned back to you, tilting his head again. “There she is! Knew you couldn’t keep quiet forever.”

“Shut up,” you bit out, your voice low and venomous.

He let out a mock gasp, pressing a hand to his chest. "So cold! You really do know how to break a guy’s heart."

The Demon’s voice cut through the tension like a blade. “Clown, enough.”

The Clown shrugged, stepping back slightly but still keeping the gun pointed at you and the woman. "Fine, fine. No fun allowed."

After a few more tense minutes, the Demon slammed the trunk of the SUV shut, signaling that they were done loading.

The Wolf glanced over at you as he walked toward the driver’s side door. His gaze lingered for a moment, and though his mask obscured his expression, there was something unreadable in his posture.

“Let’s go,” he said, his voice calm but firm.

The Clown smirked, giving you a two-fingered salute before backing toward the SUV. “Well, ladies, it’s been real. Don’t miss us too much, okay?”

The woman let out a quiet sob, and you clenched your fists, your nails digging into your palms as you fought the urge to say something—anything—that might provoke them further.

The Clown climbed into the backseat, leaning out the window one last time as the SUV started up.

“Oh, and one more thing...” He leaned out of the window dramatically, throwing a mocking kiss in your direction. "Mwah!"

You glared at him, your jaw tightening, but you didn’t respond.

For a few moments, everything was silent except for the distant hum of the SUV’s engine fading into the distance.

The woman collapsed to her knees beside you, her body wracked with sobs. You stood there, your fists still clenched, your chest heaving as you tried to process what had just happened.

--

The flashing red and blue lights of the police cars reflected off the damp pavement as the cops swarmed the abandoned van where you and the woman had been left. You watched in silence as the officers questioned her, her voice trembling as she spilled everything she could recall about the robbery.

After hours of questioning and paperwork, they finally let you go. Exhausted, you dragged yourself home. The weight of the day pressed heavily on your shoulders, but even as you sank into your couch, staring blankly at the TV screen, the adrenaline from the encounter still buzzed faintly beneath your skin.

You tried distracting yourself with a movie, flipping through channels until you landed on something familiar.

Then, your phone buzzed.

The sound made you jump, when you reached for your phone and saw the notification, your breath caught in your throat.

It was him.

"Miss me yet?"

Your heart skipped a beat. You stared at the message, unsure how to respond—or if you even should. Your fingers hovered over the screen, torn between ignoring him and diving into a conversation you knew you shouldn’t be having.

Before you could think too hard, another message came through.

"You didn’t tell them about me, did you? Good."

You sat up straighter, your pulse quickening.

"How do you know I didn’t?"

The three little dots indicating he was typing appeared immediately.

"Let’s just say I have my ways."

You frowned, your fingers tightening around your phone.

"Why are you messaging me? What do you want?"

There was a pause before his next message.

"Thought I’d check in."

Your lips parted in disbelief. Was he serious?

"You can’t just ‘check in’ like this. You’re a criminal."

He answered right after.

"And yet, here you are, replying to me."

Curiosity finally got the better of you.

"I have a question."

The reply came faster than you expected.

"Ask away, doll."

"All the stuff you’ve given me… the jewelry, the clothes, everything. Did you really buy it? Or was it all stolen?"

You waited, biting your lip, half-expecting him to dodge the question. But then your phone buzzed again.

"Bought. Every single piece. You deserve the best, not leftovers from a heist."

His words made your stomach twist in a way you didn’t want to admit. But still, you weren’t convinced.

"I don’t trust you."

"I know. That’s fair. What would it take for you to trust me?"

You hesitated, your fingers hovering over the keyboard. Part of you didn’t even want to respond, but the absurdity of it all made you type before you could think twice.

"A mirror picture."

You sent it jokingly.

"Like the ones I’ve been sending to you."

There was a long pause, and you were about to type again when your phone buzzed. A photo popped up in your chat, and you froze.

Wow...

He was sitting on the edge of a bed, facing a mirror. Black pants hugged his legs, and a simple white shirt clung to his broad shoulders. Silver jewelry adorned his wrists and fingers, glinting under the soft light of the room. A chunky chain rested around his neck.

But his face was hidden—his phone held up in front of it, the sleek black screen obscuring his features.

Your breath hitched as you stared at the image. It was strangely intimate, like you were seeing a side of him he didn’t show anyone else.

"Satisfied?"

You blinked, trying to collect yourself.

"That doesn’t prove anything. Your face is still hidden."

"I didn’t think you’d want to see me yet. You might get hooked."

You rolled your eyes, but your cheeks burned as you typed back.

"You’re so full of yourself."

"And yet, you’re still talking to me."

He had a point, but you refused to give him the satisfaction of admitting it.

"Don’t you have something better to do than bother me?"

"Not really. You’re the most interesting thing in my life right now."

Your chest tightened at his words, and you quickly changed the subject.

"You didn’t answer my question, though. How do I know the jewels wasn’t stolen?"

"You don’t."

You frowned, unsure if that was meant to be reassuring or not.

"This doesn’t make me trust you."

"That’s fine. I have time to change your mind."

You sighed, leaning back against the couch as you stared at his picture again. There was something about him.. something.

The days after that conversation felt… different. You didn’t know why you kept responding, but something about his persistence kept pulling you in.

His messages started coming more frequently, each one bolder than the last.

"What are you wearing today?"

You rolled your eyes at that one but still replied.

"I’m wearing jeans and a hoodie."

"Disappointing. I was imagining something more exciting."

"Get your imagination in check."

And then there were the voice memos. The first one caught you completely off guard.

His voice was deep, smooth, with an almost teasing edge to it.

"You’re always so defensive, doll. Relax a little. I’m not trying to hurt you."

The moment you heard it, your cheeks burned. You told yourself it was just the surprise of hearing him—not because his voice sent a shiver down your spine. Absolutely not.

You didn’t reply to that one immediately, hoping he’d leave it at that. But then another one came the next day.

"You didn’t respond to me yesterday. Are you mad, or did I just leave you speechless? Either way, I don’t mind."

Your fingers hovered over your phone, debating whether to reply. You told yourself to ignore it. But curiosity got the better of you again.

"Speechless? Not likely. I just have better things to do."

His reply came quickly, this time another voice memo.

"Better things? Like what? Sitting at home in the hoodie and jeans you wouldn’t let me imagine?"

You groaned but couldn’t stop yourself from laughing under your breath. He was relentless.

And it only got worse—or better, depending on how you looked at it.

One night, as you were scrolling on your phone, a longer voice memo came through. You hesitated before pressing play.

"You know," he began, his tone softer but still carrying that teasing lilt, "you don’t have to keep playing hard to get. I like this game, sure, but I’m patient. I’ve got all the time in the world to win you over."

Your stomach flipped, and you hated how much his words affected you.

"Win me over? You’re delusional."

He sent a message almost immediately.

"Maybe. But I think you’re starting to like it. Admit it, doll."

You didn’t admit anything, of course. But the truth was, you hadn’t stopped thinking about him—not his words, not his voice, not the way he made you feel.

And that terrified you. Because even though you tried to ignore it, you were starting to enjoy the attention. Starting to crave it, even.

But how could you let yourself fall for someone like him? Someone dangerous, mysterious, and so clearly off-limits?

You didn’t know. But what scared you most was that part of you didn’t care anymore.

--

You were crouched in the back of the store, stocking shelves. It had been a quiet day, and you were lost in your routine, mindlessly organizing items when you heard it—a voice that froze you in place.

"You’re really good at this, you know. Stocking shelves. Very meticulous."

Your breath caught in your throat. That voice. That smooth, teasing voice you’d come to recognize through late-night messages and voice memos.

You turned slowly, heart hammering, and there he was. The guy you had crashed into on the street. The same guy who had flustered you outside the jewelry store. But now, seeing him up close, hearing his voice—his voice—everything came crashing down on you like a tidal wave.

It was the Wolf.

Your lips parted, your instinct to scream taking over, but before you could make a sound, his hand clamped over your mouth. His other arm snaked around your waist, pulling you in close.

"Shh, doll," he whispered, his voice low and calm, but there was a hint of steel beneath it. "Let’s not make a scene."

Your heart was pounding so loudly you were sure he could feel it against his chest. You struggled against his hold, your mind racing with panic, anger, and disbelief.

"I knew I’d run into you eventually," he continued, his voice soft but dripping with that familiar smugness. "Though I didn’t expect it to be while you were busy stacking shelves."

You glared at him, your muffled protests pushing against his palm.

"If I let go, are you going to scream?" he asked, tilting his head as if he were genuinely curious.

You nodded furiously, and he chuckled.

"Honest. I like that about you."

You squirmed harder, and finally, he sighed, leaning in closer. His lips were almost brushing your ear now, and his voice dropped to a whisper that sent shivers down your spine.

"Scream if you want, doll. But just know, if you do, I’ll have to leave. And we wouldn’t want that, would we?"

The way he said it wasn’t a threat—it was a promise, one that left you frozen in place. Slowly, he removed his hand from your mouth, watching you intently as if daring you to make a move.

You didn’t scream. You couldn’t.

"That’s my girl," he said with a smirk, his arm still loosely wrapped around your waist.

"What the hell are you doing here?" you hissed, your voice low but trembling.

"Shopping," he replied, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "And maybe visiting you. Call it multitasking."

You pushed against his chest, breaking free of his hold, and he let you go, though his smirk didn’t falter.

"You’re insane," you spat, taking a step back, your voice rising slightly.

"And yet, here we are," he said, leaning casually against the shelf as if this was all perfectly normal.

You wanted to yell, to shove him out of the store, but all you could do was stare, your mind still reeling. The man who had been sending you messages, giving you gifts, teasing you relentlessly—he wasn’t some untouchable figure. He was here. Right in front of you.

And he was everything you feared he would be. Charming. Dangerous. And completely unapologetic.

You turned away from him, your hands trembling as you grabbed the next item to stock. You focused on the task, willing your racing heart to calm down. Maybe if you ignored him, he’d get bored and leave.

"You’re just going to pretend I’m not here?" His voice was laced with amusement. You didn’t need to turn around to know he was still watching you, his gaze burning into the back of your head. "I didn’t take you for the silent treatment type, doll."

You clenched your jaw, refusing to rise to his bait.

He chuckled softly. "Come on. I get points for effort, don’t I? I’ve been nothing but generous. All those gifts, all those messages... and this is how you treat me?"

You slammed a box of items onto the shelf a little too hard, the sound echoing through the aisle.

"Careful," he said, his tone mocking concern. "You’re going to break something. And then what? Do I have to buy the whole shelf to make it up to you?"

You finally spun around, glaring at him. "What do you want?"

He grinned, clearly enjoying how easily you snapped. "What do I want? That’s a loaded question." He stepped closer, his movements unhurried and deliberate. "But right now? I just want you."

You stared at him, trying to figure out if he was serious—or just messing with you. The way he leaned casually against the shelf, arms crossed, he looked completely at ease, like this was just another day for him.

"You’re insane," you muttered, turning back to your work.

"You’ve said that already," he teased. "It’s starting to sound like a compliment."

You didn’t respond, focusing on stacking the last of the items in the box. He stayed quiet for a moment, and you thought—hoped—he might finally leave.

But of course, he didn’t.

"You know," he started again, "I’ve been picturing this for a while. You, working. Me watching you." His voice dropped slightly, and you felt a shiver run down your spine. "Roles reversed for once."

You threw him a sharp glare over your shoulder. "Do you ever stop talking?"

He smirked. "Only when there’s a good reason to."

You rolled your eyes and turned back to the shelf, but you could feel the heat of his gaze following your every movement.

"You’re cute when you’re mad, by the way," he added. "But you probably already knew that."

You ignored him, determined not to let him get under your skin any more than he already had.

But as much as you hated to admit it, you couldn’t help the way your heart skipped a beat every time he spoke.

You froze as his arm suddenly came up, caging you between the shelf and his body. His other hand rested casually on the edge of the shelf near your head, but there was nothing casual about the way he leaned in, his eyes locked onto yours.

"I’m talking to you, doll," he said, his voice low and teasing. "I don’t like being ignored."

You swallowed hard, glancing around the store, your mind racing. There was no one else in this section—just the two of you.

"What are you doing?" you hissed, trying to keep your voice steady, but your nerves betrayed you.

"Getting your attention," he said simply, tilting his head as his eyes roamed over your face. "Because you’re clearly trying to avoid me, and that’s no fun."

You tried to step back, but the shelf pressed against your spine. He was so close you could feel the heat radiating off him, and the faint scent of his cologne invaded your senses, disorienting you.

"You can’t just—just do this," you stammered, your hands hovering awkwardly at your sides, unsure whether to push him away or keep them where they were.

"Why not?" he asked, his tone infuriatingly calm. His eyes flicked down to your lips for the briefest moment before meeting your gaze again. "It’s not like you’ve told me to stop."

Your mouth opened, but no words came out. He smiled, clearly enjoying the effect he had on you.

"So, here’s the deal," he said, leaning in just a little closer. His voice dropped to a near whisper, sending a shiver down your spine. "I’m asking you out. Right here, right now."

Your eyes widened. "You’re what?"

"You heard me," he said, his smile widening. "Let me take you out. Dinner, drinks, whatever you want."

You blinked at him, your mind scrambling to process his words. Of all the things he could have said, this was the last thing you expected.

"You’re insane," you finally muttered, trying to look anywhere but at him.

"You’ve mentioned that," he replied with a chuckle. "But you didn’t say no."

"No," you said quickly, finally finding your voice.

He raised an eyebrow, clearly unfazed. "Is that your final answer?"

"Yes," you snapped, though it came out weaker than you’d intended.

His smirk didn’t falter. If anything, it grew. "We’ll see about that," he murmured, leaning back slightly, though he didn’t move away entirely. "I’ve got time."

You glared at him, your heart pounding in your chest. "I don’t."

"Then I’ll just have to be quick, won’t I?" he said, his voice dripping with amusement.

Before stepping back entirely, his hand darted out, catching yours in his grip. You tensed, your instinct telling you to pull away, but his hold was firm yet strangely gentle. His thumb brushed over your knuckles, lingering on the ring you’d forgotten you were wearing—the one he had sent in a gift bag just a few days ago.

"Ah," he murmured, his voice low and teasing as he admired it. "You kept it. You do like my gifts, after all."

You opened your mouth to retort, but before you could say anything, he bent down, his lips brushing the back of your hand in a kiss that sent a jolt through your body.

"Perfect fit," he murmured as he straightened, his smirk firmly in place. "Looks even better on you than I imagined."

Your face flushed, a mix of embarrassment and anger. "What is wrong with you?" you hissed, yanking your hand away and cradling it to your chest like it had been burned.

He just chuckled, his gaze never leaving yours as he took a slow step back. "You’ll come around, doll," he said, his confidence maddening.

"Not in a million years," you snapped.

"We’ll see," he said, winking before turning and walking away, his casual stride making it seem like he didn’t have a care in the world.

You stood there for a moment, staring after him, your hand still pressed against your chest.

After that it was relentless. Every time your phone buzzed, you knew it was him. The texts came like clockwork: teasing remarks, flirtatious comments, and, without fail, him asking you out. You rejected him every time, telling him no, reminding him this was never going to happen, but he never seemed fazed.

He started showing up. At first, it was just at your job. He’d stroll in like he owned the place, leaning casually against the counter, that smirk of his permanently etched on his face. He’d make small talk, tease you, and then, inevitably, ask, "Dinner tonight?"

"No," you’d reply sharply, barely sparing him a glance as you went about your work.

"One day, you’ll say yes," he’d say confidently before leaving, and it drove you insane.

Then he escalated.

The first time he showed up outside your school, you almost screamed. You had just stepped out of the building when you saw him leaning against a sleek black car, arms crossed, sunglasses perched on his nose.

"What are you doing here!?" you asked, narrowing your eyes as you stopped a few feet away from him.

"Figured I’d give you a ride home," he said nonchalantly, tilting his head toward the car.

"I don’t need a ride," you said, crossing your arms.

"Didn’t ask if you needed one," he replied smoothly, opening the passenger door with a casual flourish. "Get in."

"No."

He sighed dramatically, removing his sunglasses and looking at you with those piercing eyes of his. "Look, we can stand here all day, or you can get in the car. Your choice, doll."

You glared at him, your stubbornness clashing with his. But as the minutes ticked by and other students started to glance your way, you finally relented with a huff. "Fine."

"Knew you’d see reason," he said with a grin as you climbed into the car.

The bickering didn’t stop there. You told him repeatedly to leave you alone, to stop showing up, but he never listened.

"You’re persistent," you muttered one day as he drove, your arms crossed as you stared out the window.

"I prefer ‘determined,’" he replied with a smirk, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t deny the small, traitorous part of you that almost looked forward to his appearances. It was maddening, frustrating, and yet… you didn’t hate it.

--

The late evening air was crisp as you got ready, the faint sound of distant cars humming in the background. You glanced down at yourself, smoothing out the fabric of your outfit—a dress that hugged you just right.

You slipped on your heels, the soft click of them on the ground echoing as you locked the door behind you. Your purse hung over your shoulder, packed with just the essentials.

Your friends’ car was parked at the curb, the music already blaring as the passenger window rolled down. Yuna was in the front seat, leaning out slightly to wave at you with a grin. "Finally! We thought you’d take forever!"

"I’m here, aren’t I?" you teased, walking toward the car and opening the door.

Wonyoung and Chaewon were in the backseat, laughing over something on Wonyoung’s phone. Yuna turned down the music slightly as you climbed in and buckled your seatbelt.

"You look amazing," Chaewon said, eyeing your outfit with approval.

"Agreed!" Wonyoung added, nudging you playfully. "Who’s the lucky guy tonight?"

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped. "It’s not like that. Let’s just have fun, okay?"

The car roared to life as Yuna stepped on the gas, the upbeat music filling the small space once again. The club was about twenty minutes away, and as you looked out the window, the city lights blurred past.

When the car pulled into the parking lot of the club, you stepped out, adjusting your dress and looking up at the bright neon sign that lit up the entrance.

What you didn’t notice was the black car that parked a few rows away. Inside, a familiar figure sat, watching you intently as you laughed with your friends and disappeared into the crowd at the entrance.

The dance floor was crowded, bodies moving to the beat, lights flashing in bursts of color that left you feeling free, untethered.

You swayed to the music, letting yourself get lost in it, your arms lifting as you spun slightly. Everything felt good—better than it had in a long time. Your friends were nearby, dancing and laughing, but at that moment, you were in your own little world.

Until you weren’t.

A hand brushed your waist, and a figure stepped up behind you. At first, you thought nothing of it—people were constantly bumping into each other on the crowded floor. But then you caught it: the sour, musky scent of sweat and stale cologne. It wasn’t pleasant, and it made your nose wrinkle instinctively.

The guy leaned in closer, his presence too heavy, his breath hot against your neck as he tried to match your movements. You froze for a second, then subtly shifted away, putting some distance between you and him without making a scene.

But he followed.

He pressed in again, his hand grazing your arm this time, and you turned to glance at him over your shoulder. He was taller, with an unsettling grin and eyes that were too confident. His intentions were clear, and the sight of him only made your unease grow.

You moved again, this time more deliberately, angling yourself toward your friends. But before you could take another step, the guy grabbed your wrist lightly, leaning down so you could hear him over the music. "Where you going, sweetheart?" he asked, his voice slurred, his grip tightening just enough to make your stomach churn.

Your heart sped up, and you tugged your wrist away, your voice firm but not loud. "I’m not interested."

He didn’t seem to care. "Don’t be like that. I just wanna talk."

You scanned the dance floor, hoping to spot one of your friends, but the crowd felt suffocating now, the lights too bright. Panic bubbled just beneath the surface as the guy moved closer again.

But then, out of nowhere, another presence loomed behind you—larger, steadier. A hand reached out and clasped the guy’s shoulder, pulling him back sharply.

"She said she’s not interested," a familiar voice said.

Your head whipped around, and your stomach dropped. It was him. Standing there in the middle of the club, his jaw tight, his eyes dark and burning with intensity.

The guy holding your wrist scowled, trying to shake his grip off. "What’s it to you, man?"

His smile didn’t reach his eyes. "Everything."

The guy hesitated, clearly weighing his options, but after a tense moment, the guy muttered something under his breath and released your wrist, disappearing into the crowd.

He turned to you, his hand brushing yours as if checking to make sure you were okay. "You alright?" he asked, his voice softer now.

You nodded, though your heart was still racing. "What are you doing here?"

His lips curved into a faint smirk. "What can I say? I like keeping an eye on what’s mine."

Your eyes narrowed, a mix of annoyance and confusion. "I’m not yours."

But he just chuckled, his hand falling away as he took a step back. "Not yet."

He turned to walk into the crowd, leaving you to stand there.

For a split second, everything felt like it was moving too fast, and then, without thinking, you grabbed his arm. The wolf—no, he—stopped in his tracks, his body going stiff for a moment, surprised.

You didn’t care. You were done letting things happen around you without doing something.

You tugged on his sleeve, pulling him back toward you, and he let you. His dark eyes flickered with surprise as he leaned down, close enough for you to feel his breath against your skin. His presence was intense, like a fire you couldn’t step away from, his hands instinctively falling to your waist, holding you steady as if you might fall.

"Where do you think you're going?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper, though it was more demanding than you expected.

His grip on you tightened, his body language shifting from the casuality he’d always shown to something a bit more... intimate. "I could ask you the same thing," he replied, his voice low.

You swallowed, your pulse quickening. Something about this, about him being so close, felt like it was pulling you in deeper. You’d been fighting the connection for so long, but now, with his arms around you, the fight felt distant.

“I’m not some... object to control,” you said, but even you could hear the uncertainty in your voice.

His lips curled into a faint, teasing smile, and he leaned even closer, so close you could feel the heat radiating off him. "No, you're not," he murmured, his voice a gentle hum against your ear. "But you like when I take control, don’t you?"

Your breath hitched. It was a question, but he was already certain of the answer. Your hands instinctively moved to his chest, your fingers grazing the fabric of his shirt.

He looked at you for a long beat, his gaze softer now, as if he was studying you. "You really don`t want me to leave?"

You didn't answer right away, but when you did, your words were quiet, raw. "I don't know what I want anymore."

He didn’t let you go, his fingers brushing your hair back gently, his lips ghosting over your temple as he leaned down. "Maybe I can help you figure it out."

You blinked, caught off guard by his sudden tenderness. His touch was so gentle...

“I don’t even know your name,” you murmured, the words slipping out before you could stop them.

He pulled back slightly, his dark eyes meeting yours with a gaze that made everything in the room seem a little less important. There was a flicker of amusement in his expression, “It’s Ni-ki,” he said simply, as if it was the most natural thing in the world to give you that piece of him.

Ni-ki.

You repeated it silently in your mind, the name feeling foreign but familiar, a puzzle piece that somehow fit.

Before you could even process it fully, his hand brushed against your cheek, his thumb gently tracing your skin. "Have fun," he added, his voice softer now.

Then, without another word, he leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. Before Ni-ki turned and walked away, disappearing into the crowd.

You touched your forehead where his lips had been, feeling the trace of his kiss burn even though he was already gone.

What had just happened?

Part 2 here

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[iloveboysinred]

cw; gn reader, oral (m receiving), degradation, true form! Sukuna, minimal editing, (its almost 5am), long ass drabble, MDNI

Masterlist

“Allow them to enter.”

Anxiety weighed on your chest as the heavy metal doors slowly parted, allowing the dim red lighting to wash over you. You willed every atom in your body to not take a single step back when you met his gaze. It felt like you were going against the biological hardwire in your brain telling you to flee, instead rooting your feet to the ground as you tried to ease your nerves. The malicious energy radiating off of him was making your heart pound and suddenly you felt nausea, your stomach twisting in apprehension as you stepped into the throne room, the floor under your bare feet making your blood feel as cold as ice.

“Holding your head high in the presence of your king, hm? Bow your head or die where you stand, pet.” He needn’t raise his tone for you to hear the authority in his voice, and he didn’t need to ask you twice either, your knees folding under you as you kneeled without a second thought. “Quite obedient.. Uraume, you are excused from your tending. I will call for you once you are needed.” You could only hear the soft “yes, master Sukuna” and the soft pattering of feet walk past you before you were alone with him. You waited with baited breath for what he would do next, the rapid pound of your heartbeat the only thing you could hear in the chilling silence.

“On your feet.” His gruff voice commanded, cutting through the silence so suddenly it made you flinch. Hastily, you got to your feet, your fists clenching at your sides as you faced him. He sat on his throne with his cheek comfortably leaned against his fist. His other three arms laid lazily over the arm rests. His silky kimono parted at the top revealing the strong plains of his chest, inky black markings etched into his skin in shapes you didn’t understand. You stood rigid in his presence, your eyes tracking down every curve and line in his muscular body, guiltily trying to push down the warmth you felt in your stomach. “Step forward. Don’t just stand there” there it was, that feeling of panic again. You could tell he sensed your fear, his eyes glinting as he watched you. All your senses were telling you to run. But you knew better than that. He would catch you, Sukuna always caught you.

Reluctantly, you walked towards his throne, your eyes downcast in an effort to appease him. You kneeled once more before him, your face now at eye level with his knees. his upper body loomed above you, Sukuna watching you closely. You felt your mouth moisten as your eyes strayed a little too far, your gaze cementing itself on the impressive bulge straining against the fabric of his kimono. You looked up at him from where you were, catching the sultry smile spreading across his face. “Well? I’m curious as to what you will do now” he shifted in his seat, his lower set of arms reaching down towards you, bringing you closer to his massive body.

You closed your eyes tight when you felt the weight of his palm pressed hard against your back, reaching forward to find purchase on his upper thigh. Taking a deep breath, you began to move the fabric of his kimono up, up until his straining length was revealed, hanging heavily between his legs. He smirked down at you, watching you grab the weighty appendage in your hand, stroking it from base to tip over and over, trying to build the confidence to take him into your mouth fully. “Come now…don’t keep me waiting..” his fingers teasingly threaded through your hair, the uncharacteristically affectionate touch making you feel the complete opposite of comfort. A lion toying with its prey.

It thrilled you, to be at his mercy. You felt your core tighten with arousal as you teased his tip with your tongue, swirling around the sensitive frenulum, and laying a flat, wide stripe with your tongue over the tip and down the shaft. Your hands came up to knead his balls, holding them with care, squeezing and rolling them around the palm of your hand. “Clever slut you are, hm? Show me what else you can do.” His words didn’t betray his arousal, but the dusting of red creeping up his skin and the sweat lining his forehead let you know that he was pleased, his eyes were glossy as they tracked your every move, his breath deepening with every drag of your tongue across his veins.

You took in a breath, swallowing the better part of his length the best you could, feeling the burn from the stretch as your throat tried to accommodate his length. Tears sprung to your eyes, hot and heavy against your lash line as you struggled to breathe, bobbing your head over his dick. You gagged, feeling his swollen cockhead bruise your throat with every intake. His lap was a mess beneath you, drool and snot dribbling down your face as you tried to take him whole, your eyes squeezing tight as your nose nestled against the wet bed of his pubic bone, the frothy mess of agitated spit against your nose almost made you want to recoil, but you kept on— pulling back up to swallow him down again, fighting against the ache in your jaw and throat.

Sukuna watched the whole ordeal with an amused expression on his face. His heavy hand gripped the back of your head, pulling you off of him to look you over. Your hair was disheveled and your eyes were unfocused. He couldn’t help the laugh that escaped him as he watched you struggle to regain your breath. “You’ve entertained me more than enough, whore.” He sneered, his lower set of arms picking you up to promptly set you on his lap, smirking as you shook in his grasp. His upper hand roughly grasped your chin, forcing your gaze to directly meet his. “Disgusting.” He hissed, pulling your mouth onto his to kiss you rough. Stealing your breath away once again as his tongue slotted against yours. He pulled away from you, a string of saliva connecting your lips, his chin now wet with your drool. Just as fast you were back on the hard ground again, looking up at him with bleary eyes.

“You have yet to please your king, dove. Kneel before me again, and i’ll show you the proper way to pleasure me.”

[megalony]

Attacked

This is an Eddie Diaz imagine, based on an anon request. I hope you will all like it, feedback is always appreciated.

I am hoping to do a follow up to this soon.

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Eddie Diaz Masterlist

Part 2

Summary: (Y/n) has moved on from her abusive ex. She's happily married with a family. Until her ex sees her and attacks her in the street.

Enjoy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Eddie ran his fingers through his hair and gave his head a light shake as he wandered out the bathroom and made his way towards the bedroom.

He could feel a headache forming.

He had tried to take a nap this afternoon before Chris got home from school so he would be prepared for his double shift that started tonight. Eddie didn't sleep at the station unless he was doing a stint of shifts in a row. And he was going on shift tonight and wouldn't be home until late tomorrow night. He couldn't very well turn up for a night shift and try to catch a few hours of sleep not long after he arrived, and he wanted to be rearing and ready to go when he got there.

"Okay baby, I gotta go." His eyes focused on the hem of his shirt which he tucked into his trousers but when Eddie lifted his head, all the blood drained down to his feet. His lips suddenly went very dry and his jaw hung open but he couldn't find anything else to say when he walked in the bedroom.

Oh, that wasn't fair.

How was Eddie supposed to leave for a double shift when (Y/n) looked like that?

Her image burned into his eyes and left it cemented into his brain. How could he go out on a call and try to focus when his wife was at home looking that good? How was he supposed to head to work and not stay here when she looked that appealing to him?

The sight of her stood there like that was enough to make Eddie growl and rethink going into work tonight.

It was clear that (Y/n) hadn't long got out the shower. She was wearing one of Eddie's plain cotton shirts and a pair of his boxers that were glued rather shapely around her bum. And his shirt hung off her left shoulder as if giving him a sneak preview of what he was missing out on. But it was the way his shirt was bunched up over her hip and partly tucked into the boxers that made it hard to stay in control. He wanted to go over there and rip it over her head and drag the boxers down to her ankles.

He swallowed harshly as he watched (Y/n) drag her fingers through her damp hair and it made her shirt rise up and expose her hip and stomach to his prying eyes.

"Really?" His voice came out a lot deeper than he intended and he saw the confusion pool in (Y/n)'s eyes as she turned to face him.

"What?"

A shiver rolled down (Y/n)'s spine when his arms coiled around her waist and he dragged her closer until her chest bumped into his. His chin brushed against her shoulder and his lips attached to her neck as he absentmindedly leaned up and lifted her high enough that she had to push up on her tiptoes to balance against him.

The feeling of him breathing harshly and sucking at her neck had her knees going weak but when she looked at the watch strapped on his wrist, she knew he was going to be late if he stayed. And Christopher was still awake, they couldn't exactly do anything without him hearing or noticing. He was an observant kid.

"Sweetheart you'll be late," She turned her head to look at him but he caught her lips in a kiss instead and she could feel his hands slip beneath her shirt. His palms pressed flat against the dip in her lower back before she felt his fingertips trace lower and dip past the waistband of his boxers she was wearing.

His shift was going to feel like a week instead of a day with (Y/n)'s image burned into his mind like this.

"Then you shouldn't entice me to stay." He growled and he felt (Y/n) suck in a deep breath when he took her bottom lip between his teeth. He was all prepared to leave until he saw her looking like this.

"Sorry," Sincerity flooded her voice while she cupped Eddie's face in her hands and pecked his lips again before she tried to wriggle out of his arms.

It didn't work. His hands slipped lower into the boxers she wore until both hands had a grip on her bum and he stepped closer, pressing every ridge of his body against hers. When he dug his fingers into her flesh, (Y/n) rolled her lips together and pressed her nose against his cheek.

Maybe she should walk him to the door to make sure he actually left. It wouldn't do him any favours to be late to work when he had a clean track record so far.

Her lips parted into a gasp when she felt Eddie try his luck to walk her backwards towards the bed.

"Don't you wake her." (Y/n) scolded, talking in hushed tones against his cheek before she dipped her head towards the bed.

Evie was finally asleep. The eight-month-old had been rather fussy all day but (Y/n) had given her a bottle and managed to settle her down to sleep. She was curled up asleep in the crib attached to the side of the bed. And (Y/n) wasn't going to let Eddie wake her accidentally and cause (Y/n) another hour of pacing the house and rocking to try and settle her again.

She cupped Eddie's face in her hands when he pulled away from her neck so he could look across at the bed. A fond smile pulled at his lips and his eyes softened when he looked at his baby girl.

"I won't." He murmured against her lips before he leaned forward and stole another kiss. His tongue pushed past her lips and he leaned into the kiss until (Y/n) was tilting back at an angle.

"Don't think I can leave you when you look like that. It's teasing."

He had to get his head in gear and rush into uncertain situations with this image of (Y/n) at the forefront of his mind. He had to save people and clean the trucks and tend to wounds and injuries and run into burning buildings, all while (Y/n) danced across his mind, looking like this.

"I wasn't trying to tease you baby… you're back tomorrow night, I'll be all your tomorrow."

"Hm, but I want you now."

"And I want you to stay, but you can't. I don't like being alone at night." (Y/n) curved her arms tighter around Eddie's neck and pushed forward so she could tuck her face against his skin.

She felt his hands give her a squeeze and he pulled her closer and attached his lips to the side of her head. He began to hum softly against her head and started to sway from side to side which made (Y/n) grin into his neck.

"I know mi amor. It's just tonight… you gonna be alright going to your appointment tomorrow?" Eddie didn't like working nights. Not only did it screw with his body clock and mess with his sleep, it made (Y/n) nervous.

He knew she hated to be home alone. (Y/n) was naturally anxious and being home alone spiked that worry, she didn't feel safe unless someone was with her. And Eddie hated working nights because he knew (Y/n) suffered with nightmares, although they had diminished significantly during the last year. Having Evie really helped because (Y/n) had to wake up during the night to feed her and that warded off the nightmares. And being pregnant had made her overly tired and stopped a lot of the bad dreams.

"Yeah, mum's taking Evie out for a while." (Y/n)'s plan was to drop Chris at school, take Evie to her mums house for the morning and then go to her doctor's appointment. It meant she could actually have her appointment and not have a crying baby in her arms stealing her attention.

Going out on her own wasn't something (Y/n) liked to do either. Eddie usually took her to her appointments, even if he just sat patiently in the waiting room for her, it made (Y/n) feel safe and Eddie would do anything to make her safe and comfortable.

Especially after the trauma (Y/n) had gone through with her ex.

And (Y/n) had become close friends with Eddie's team, she was close with Hen and Karen and especially Maddie. So if ever (Y/n) didn't feel able to go out to the shops or to an appointment or even just out of the house, the girls helped her and went with her.

"Good, if you need me just call, I should be able to answer." He couldn't always answer the phone, but he tried his best. He would rather (Y/n) call him if something was wrong or she didn't feel great, then if Eddie didn't answer he knew to ring her as soon as he could.

"Hm. You'd better go, sweetheart."

(Y/n) tried to pull back and untangle herself from him because she knew he needed to leave so he wouldn't be late to the station. She thought for a second that Eddie was agreeing with her when his hands finally slid up from her underwear.

But a gasp tumbled past (Y/n)'s lips when Eddie's hand reached up for the collar of her shirt that was halfway down her shoulder. With it being Eddie's shirt and two sizes too big for her, the collar was looser and easier to move. It let Eddie hook a finger into the collar and drag it further down her arm, exposing her bare chest to his prying eyes.

(Y/n) tilted her chest back just as Eddie's lips attached to her cleavage. Both her hands moved to his shoulders and she gave him a strong push until he had to reel back up and disconnect from her chest. She dragged the shirt back up her shoulder, hiding the view he had given himself which made him groan.

"Go to work before you wake the baby."

She gave him a gentle nudge until he was walking backwards out the room, his arms back around her waist with his elbows digging into her hips. Her hands reached up to rub across his chest and she continued to nudge him backwards while he stole kiss after kiss from her lips like it was the last time he was going to see her and he was getting his money's worth.

Eddie moved one arm behind him to unlock the front door and grab his keys from the lock. When the door opened, he begrudgingly let (Y/n) push him back until he was over the threshold like a lovesick puppy waiting outside for her. But the moment she was out of his arms, Eddie planted one hand on the doorframe and the other on the door. Preventing her from closing the door on him.

He waited until (Y/n) cupped his face in her hands and tugged him down to press a feverish kiss to his lips. She let him swipe his tongue across her lower lip, begging for entrance before she pulled back, mumbling a quiet 'I love you' and 'goodbye' against his lips before giving him a final nudge out the door.

He had only just left and (Y/n) was begging for him to come back.

***

(Y/n) dragged her fingers through her hair and hitched her bag higher on her shoulder.

It didn't feel right walking down the street without either of the kids alongside her. She was so used to walking and holding Chris's hand or more recently, walking and having the pram in front of her.

She didn't like being out alone. Even when she was pushing Evie, just knowing she had her baby with her made (Y/n) feel better, more secure. But it was times like this when she wished Eddie was with her. (Y/n) hated going anywhere alone, even if it was just a short walk to the doctors and back home like this.

Eddie knew exactly why (Y/n) didn't like being alone whenever she went out. He knew she was too used to being shouted at and threatened in public by her ex. When she was with him, she was permanently afraid of doing anything to upset him and having him hurt her.

When she left him, (Y/n) didn't go out alone in case she ran into him. It had happened far too many times for (Y/n) to feel safe going out alone anymore. Eddie was more than happy to take her wherever she needed to go and it was a big milestone when (Y/n) started taking Chris to school and to the park or just out for walks on their own.

(Y/n) stopped dead in her tracks when her eyes cast ahead down the street. She could feel a cold sweat glistening on her skin and her heartbeat started to pulse through her entire body like she was vibrating.

Oh God.

No. No. Not again. Not when she was alone; not when she was out without Eddie.

It was her ex.

(Y/n) couldn't run ahead. She couldn't carry on towards her home, her safe haven, when her ex was right in the middle of her path.

She couldn't make it to her home without him catching her and (Y/n) didn't want to lead him straight to her house and have him know where she lived. She had a restraining order against him but that didn't stop him. If he knew where she lived he would terrorise her and her children. He would antagonise Eddie until Eddie attacked him again.

And if (Y/n) crossed the street he would only follow her. She couldn't think where to go or which route to take that would allow her to lose him or get rid of him.

She turned around. If she headed back in the other direction, she could find someone. There would be someone nearby, someone near the doctor's surgery or the corner shop or at the park around the next corner.

She ran. She ran as fast as her legs would take her without caring what people would think or the fact that her ex would definitely know it was her now, if he wasn't sure before.

Panic burned in her chest and caused tears to blur her eyes and trickle down her face. The wind stung her eyes and blistered her tears down her cheeks as she pelted down the street as fast as her legs would carry her. It felt like her knees were going to give way, they felt like they had turned to jelly and were buckling, ready to cave.

She thought she was getting away. (Y/n) knew if she rounded the next corner to the left, she would be back on the main street and she would be near the doctor's surgery. She wasn't sure she could make it all the way back in one fell swoop, but she needed to get close enough to find help.

She didn't make it.

An arm as rough and hurtful as barbed wire pinned around her waist before she could get near the corner and be somewhere safer. Her body was propelled to the left and her feet were swept from beneath her.

A scream gurgled past (Y/n)'s lips and she swung her arms out to try and steady herself, but it didn't do anything. She was lifted off her feet and dragged into the alley she hadn't noticed earlier.

"No! Jamie get off! Let me go!" (Y/n) screamed and made as much noise as she could until a hand clamped down over her mouth and her breaths snuffled through her nose. But she wouldn't stop. Muffled noises vibrated against his palm before she bared her teeth and chomped down as violently as she could until Jamie yelped.

Her body stumbled when Jamie roughly tossed her towards the brick wall and she planted her hands on the crumbling bricks that scraped her palms. She kept herself upright and rapidly turned her head from side to side, looking for a means of escape.

Words tumbled past (Y/n)'s lips as she tried to scramble back towards the end of the alley.

'Help. Help. Fire. Jamie. Help!'

(Y/n) remembered what Eddie had told her. Some people might stop when they heard someone shouting. Others would be more likely to call for help if they heard screams. But everyone would come over if they heard there was a fire. A fire caused harm to more people and put people in danger, people would call for help if they thought there was a fire whereas shouting for help didn't always gain enough attention in enough time.

Another scream belted past her lips when Jamie's fingers tangled in her hair and he wrenched her back with so much force she was sure he had pulled a few clumps of hair loose. (Y/n) had lost enough hair over the years from Jamie pulling it like this, she wasn't willing to let him do it again.

Everything started to spin and her breath got caught in her throat when Jamie roughly slammed her head into the wall. She felt her head splitting apart like a coconut. Blood steadily poured down the left side of her temple and she snapped her eyes closed so none got into her eyes and made her cry tears of blood.

Her knees caved in and she slumped down. She tried to recalibrate her body, get her lungs working, make her ears work, stop the trembles rattling through her. But she could barely breathe. Tears and blood poured down her face and horrid gasps clawed past her lips as she pinned her arms over her face for protection. Her fingers dug into the back of her head. She couldn't take another blunt force to the head. He would knock her out if he did that and God only knew what Jamie would do then.

"Where's that fella of yours, hm? Has he finally left you?"

The words dripped into her ear like poison and had (Y/n) shivering with her knees trembling and scraping against the concrete floor. She was just finally starting to forget what his voice sounded like. His face had faded to a fuzzy, blurred image in her brain.

She was just starting to forget the monster that plagued her and move on from the nightmares he gave her.

Why did he have to bump into her now?

The last time (Y/n) had seen Jamie out in public, Eddie had been with her. As soon as Eddie realised who Jamie was, he broke his nose and pinned him to the nearest wall. Eddie warned him not to go anywhere near (Y/n) and stay clear unless he wanted Eddie to drag him round by his hair and break every bone in his body.

"Get a-away from me!" (Y/n) spat in Jamie's direction, but she could barely keep her eyes in focus.

Why did she come out alone today? Why didn't she ask one of the girls if they could accompany her? Why didn't she cancel her appointment and rearrange for a day that Eddie was off?

The only silver lining (Y/n) had was the fact that her mother had Evie this morning. She couldn't imagine what she would have done if she bumped into Jamie and had Evie with her. (Y/n) didn't know what he would be like around her daughter. She didn't know if he would resort to hurting and frightening Evie or if he would try and use her to his advantage. (Y/n) couldn't run far with Evie and her daughter could have been hurt.

"No." He sneered back with a smile that resembled something out of Hell.

His hand tried to fist in (Y/n)'s hair again but she slapped him across the face. She didn't want his touch or his presence or his horrid words. She wanted him gone. She wanted Eddie. She needed Eddie.

(Y/n) kept her arms over her head and tried to move forward. She tried to push up onto her feet but she cried out when Jamie's hand curled around her left wrist.

"You fucking married him?!"

Oh dear. He'd seen her engagement and wedding rings on her finger. After all those times he told (Y/n) she would never find someone to put up with her. After telling her no one would love her, no one would deal with her antics or her anxiety and paranoia. After telling her 'that guy' would soon leave her.

She had proved him wrong. She had proved Eddie loved her to the ends of the Earth and he married her. (Y/n) had found someone who understood her, loved the bones of her, wanted to always be with her and someone who she now had a baby with. All she wanted was to forget Jamie was ever a part of her past and move forward with Eddie, Chris and Evie.

Why was that too much to ask for?

(Y/n) screamed and wrenched her arms away from Jamie when he tried to prize the rings off her fingers. It was a good job she never took the rings off and they were a perfect fit. They wouldn't come off without a fight and (Y/n) pulled her hands down to her chest before Jamie could take them from her.

"You married that bastard! You left me for him?!"

When she tried to get up, he tackled her back down. He roared like an animal enraged and when (Y/n) fell onto her back, she screamed like a banshee.

Fat tears rolled down her face and she gurgled through choked screams when Jamie slammed his foot down on her wrist.

He'd broken it. She just knew from that horrid popping sound that he had broken or in the very least, fractured the bone. He reared back like he was about to do it again and (Y/n) flailed her arm out behind her. She had to move before he shattered every bone in her body.

Her fingers nudged against something.

She wasn't sure what it was, but she grabbed it and before Jamie could move, (Y/n) slammed whatever it was against the side of his head when he leaned closer. It had been a bottle. The glass collided with the side of his head and shattered into a million tiny pieces that rained down over her and had her closing her eyes tight.

With a loud, crackling scream, (Y/n) smashed what was left of the bottle against Jamie's head again until he flopped onto the concrete beside her.

She didn't have time to waste. She couldn't lay there in agony or try to catch her breath and compose herself. She rolled onto her right side and used her good hand to push up from the floor.

When Jamie twitched, (Y/n) cracked the broken bottle against his temple again. And again. And a third time until he stopped moving.

She knew he was still breathing. He gurgled through each breath and his head lolled to one side. Part of (Y/n) wished he'd stop breathing. She wouldn't resusitate him if he did. She would let him slip away, no one would blame her and she was injured, she couldn't and wouldn't do anything for him.

Blundering cries past through her wet lips as she stumbled onto shaking legs and looked around. Her bag was at the end of the alley. (Y/n) just about made it to her bag and collapsed on her bruised, scraped knees with her shoulders slumped against the wall.

"911, what's your emergency?"

"Help. I- I ne- I need… he hurt me."

"Okay, can I take your name, honey?" The woman's voice was soothing and calm and made (Y/n) take a deep breath to try and gather her senses.

Her eyes flickered behind her towards the limp body laid skewed on the floor. She couldn't say her name unless she knew Jamie was thoroughly unconscious. Her name changed when she married Eddie and that gave her more security and protection away from Jamie. "(Y/n) Diaz."

"(Y/n), where are you calling from? The GPS has you located between two houses on twenty-fifth street."

"The alley."

"Can you tell me who hurt you and what injuries you have? Do you need an ambulance?"

"My head… wrist, I… I hit him w-with a bottle… I want Eddie. He's f-firefighter Diaz, w-with the one-eighteen. Please, please-"

"Okay, don't worry, I've dispatched police to your location and I'll send the one-eighteen to you now."

That was all (Y/n) needed to hear. She dropped the phone onto her lap and leaned her head against the wall, closing her eyes as she began to heave and cry. She didn't want to talk anymore. She didn't want to go through the whole ordeal with dispatch. If it was Maddie on the line, she might have continued to talk.

But the only person (Y/n) wanted was her husband.

***

"Oh Dios. Oh Dios, no." Spanish profanities flew past Eddie's lips and he almost fell down the steps in the truck to get to the pavement.

Why didn't dispatch tell him? Why didn't they tell him the victim in their callout was his wife?

He didn't bother to grab his helmet or a medic bag from the compartment. As soon as his feet hit the floor, Eddie set off in a sprint across the pavement towards the end of the alley. That was his wife sitting on the floor. That was his girl sat sobbing against the wall, hitting her hand out at the poor lady standing nearby who wanted to help but clearly couldn't get near.

"(Y/n)! Baby, baby it's me. Oh Dios, come here."

He slammed down on his knees at the end of the alley and reached his hands out for her. He cupped her face in his hands and tilted her head up off the wall so he could see the damage.

His tongue clicked against the roof of his mouth and his whole body began to shake.

What had happened to her?

Blood was caked onto a very extensive cut on the right side of her temple. It was dried down her face making a trail all the way down her chin and along her neck. She was going to need stitches in her temple from this and her forehead was already beginning to swell up.

A bubbling cry errupted past (Y/n)'s lips when she realised who it was knelt down in front of her. She leaned forward and slumped her head against Eddie's shoulder, breathing in his scent as her nose brushed against his jacket that was hanging off his shoulders.

"Eddie…" She whimpered into his shirt, sniffing and gasping as she leaned forward onto him. She felt his arm around her waist and his other hand gently cupped the back of his neck with his fingers tangling in her hair.

"I'm here, shh." He kissed the top of her head and took a moment to look behind her into the alley.

Someone else was down there.

"Baby, baby girl what happened?" Eddie leaned back on his heels that dug into the back of his thighs and he moved back to cupping (Y/n)'s face in his hands so he could look at her.

"J-Jamie… he attacked me."

(Y/n) began to whimper and hyperventilate when she watched the way Eddie changed in front of her. His chest tensed and puffed out, his shoulders squared up and a violent fire started to blaze within his eyes. If she weren't in front of him right now she was sure he would of combusted.

"Cap, we've got two victims, we'll need another ambulance." Hen leaned around Eddie as she stood behind him with the gurney between her and Chimney. She could see a man collapsed in the alley and he was beginning to stir and twitch.

They couldn't take two casualties in the ambulance, they needed back up to get them both transferred.

But when Hen tried to walk past Eddie, she stopped abruptly when Eddie reached his left hand out to prevent her. The look in his eyes was daring as he tilted his head back to look up at her.

"Leave him."

"Eddie… we have to assess him-"

"Look what he's done to my wife!" Eddie all but roared as he motioned down to his wife, trembling in his arms. Jamie didn't need help, he needed to be arrested. "He leaves here in cuffs or a body bag."

Hen looked over her shoulder and bit down on her lip as she locked eyes with Bobby. If they tried to help him Eddie was going to start a fight. In his eyes, Jamie got what he deserved and he didn't need help. They didn't need to waste their time on him, they needed to look after (Y/n).

But they were first responders, they had a duty to everyone. No matter what the case was or how close they were to the calls, they had to be fair. Unless someone refused treatment, they had to care for anyone they were here to help and Jamie was no exception. They had to give him the bare minimum. They had to assess him and see whether he needed a trip to the hospital or a ride in the police car.

He was going to get arrested either way, whether that was now or later at the hospital. He wasn't getting away with this.

"Eddie, you and Buck get (Y/n) in the ambulance and Chim can drive you. We need to get her out of the street, okay? Me and Hen will wait for the second ambulance and the police." Bobby rested his hand on Eddie's shoulder.

They could take (Y/n), she was their priority, and Bobby would talk to the police and explain the situation.

The team knew about (Y/n)'s past and they could clearly see she had been attacked and fought for her life. They wouldn't let Jamie get away with this, he would get arrested once he was fit and able.

"Yeah, let's get you up, eh?" Evan moved over to Eddie's other side and held his hands out near (Y/n). They needed to get her in the ambulance and sort out her injuries. She had been sat waiting for long enough; help was here now and they had to look after her.

A pang shot through Evan's heart when (Y/n) held her left wrist up towards Eddie. Both men felt their stomachs churning when they noticed how swollen and discoloured it was and how badly she was shaking. It might be broken. He had cut open her temple and broken her wrist.

"Ohh, baby…" Eddie kissed her temple and moved his hands to hold her hips. "Come on, up we go. We're gonna take care of you, it's okay."

(Y/n) leaned her temple against Eddie's shoulder and let him and Evan carefully lift her up to her feet. She couldn't feel her legs below the knees anymore. They were trembling and shaking and her stomach was churning like she was going to be sick.

Her head was pounding and splitting at the seams, her wrist felt like a balloon and everything combined together was utter agony personified. She wanted to rewind time and go back to last night before Eddie went to work. She wanted him to stay home with her and be with the kids and prevent herself from leaving the house this morning.

Tears drenched (Y/n)'s face and she shivered when a low groan in the back of the alley caught all their attention.

Her eyes snapped closed and her hands reached out for Eddie's jacket that she scrunched up in her fists, despite the pain that burned down her arm and wrist. Her knees gave way and she pushed forward with a quiet cry.

Jamie was waking up.

"No- I don- Eddie please-"

(Y/n) leaned her weight into Evan's chest when Eddie moved her towards him. She let Evan take her weight and she felt him wrap his arms around her, hugging her close to his chest as Eddie bolted down the alley.

"Cap!"

Evan sidestepped and eased (Y/n) a few feet away from the alley where a fight was going to break out. He moved her towards the gurney that Chimney wheeled closer and they both carefully got (Y/n) sat down. She was their priority and their patient to care.

Jamie barely had chance to lift his bloodied, dizzy head from the floor before Eddie was hovering over him like an omen of death.

He latched his hands around Jamie's collar, ignoring the remnants of a glass bottle that were scattered all around his neck and chest and the little fragments dug into his head. (Y/n) had to smash him over the head with a bottle to stop him. That was how badly she had to subdue him to get away from him. Eddie was never going to let that go.

He wrenched Jamie up from the floor and threw him against the nearest wall, pinning him there with an arm across his neck and a hand gripping his chin. His tight grip on Jamie's jaw had the shorter man groaning and Eddie slammed his head back into the wall to get his attention.

"I warned you! I fucking warned you to stay away from her!"

He could see Bobby and Hen approaching from the corner of his eye and before they could grab him, Eddie smashed the heel of his right hand up into Jamie's nose. A successful snap echoed off the bricks and a tortured howl sounded like music to Eddie's ears while he watched the blood pour down Jamie's face.

"Eddie that's enough."

"Eddie stop! You can't afford to do this, not now. Not here. Go be with (Y/n) or you'll be taken into custody as well. We will sort this, I promise." Bobby yanked Eddie backwards while Hen stood in front of him and blocked his view.

They couldn't have him doing this. A squad car was on its way down here and if the police saw one of the first responders attacking one of the victims, they would arrest him. They couldn't let Eddie get arrested. It would go on his record, he would have to have a record of conversation at work and it would be on his work file.

It wasn't worth the hassle. He had to think of (Y/n) and go and look after her. He had kids to think about.

With deep, heaving breaths, Eddie nodded and shrugged Bobby's hands off his shoulders. He rolled his shoulders and his neck into place but his hands curled into fists at his sides as he watched Jamie slide down the wall and slump onto the floor.

He leaned around Hen to be level with the scum of a man on the floor.

"Go anywhere near my wife again and I will break you. You'll wish you were dead when I'm finished with you."

Eddie shrugged off their touch when they tried to move him. He could walk just fine on his own and he wasn't going to try anything. He would bide his time and wait until a better opportunity to make Jamie understand that he wouldn't get away with what he'd done.

The anger radiating through him started to dwindle the moment he stormed over to the ambulance. Just one look at (Y/n) had a different kind of flame burning within Eddie and he could feel everything in him start to melt.

If he didn't take that night shift last night. If he swapped his shift or managed to work a different day, this wouldn't of happened. He would of been with her at her appointment, he would of seen Jamie coming and stopped him before he managed to attack (Y/n). They wouldn't be on their way to the hospital right now if Eddie had been with her.

Why didn't he stay home?

He switched places with Chimney and climbed in the back of the ambulance while Chimney headed round to drive.

Eddie shared a silent look with Evan before Eddie looked away and tried to click his mind into focusing on his wife instead. He didn't need to think about what he was desperate to do to Jamie. He didn't need to think about Hen and Bobby getting back in the truck and leaving Jamie there for someone else to find. Someone else to deal with.

"Okay mi amor, let's take a look." With a deep breath, Eddie shed his jacket somewhere behind him and stood up so he could hover beside the gurney.

He carefully held (Y/n)'s chin and tilted her head back so she was looking up at him. He swiped the flashlight from his top pocket and darted it in front of her eyes. They were a bit slow to constrict. With the way her head was swelling and the deep cut, she was going to need an MRI to make sure she didn't have any swelling or any bleeds around the brain.

Turning around, Eddie went through a few drawers and found some cotton swabs, a metal dish and some antiseptic. He snapped on a pair of gloves and stood near (Y/n)'s shoulder while Evan hovered at his side, fiddling with her right hand to give her an IV.

"Do you want some pain relief?"

"Make it codine, she can't have morphine." Eddie didn't bother looking over his shoulder. He kept his gaze on (Y/n) as she sniffed and stared up at him through hiccupping breaths. She was allergic to morphine and cocodamol made her have horrid side effects. "Baby, this is gonna hurt, just try and stay as still as you can, okay?"

(Y/n) tried to nod but she could barely move her head so she settled on lifting her right hand to give Eddie's elbow a squeeze. She moved her hand down and scrunched her fingers around his hip. She needed to hold onto him, any part of him, and both his hands were busy trying to tend to her forehead.

She watched the way Eddie pressed his tongue against his lips in concentration, but the moment a damp cotton swab touched her temple, she cried out. Her body stiffened and pushed back into the gurney and her eyes snapped closed.

"Sorry… baby I'm sorry." He hushed when he felt her pinch his hip to try and stay still.

Eddie began cleaning the side of (Y/n)'s head rather than touching the actual wound yet. He was gentle as he could be but his stomach was doing summersaults at how much blood was caked down her face. He had to press a little firmer to get the dried specks off her cheek and he dared to swipe his thumb across her lips to try and keep her calm.

His knees bent out into the frame of the gurney and he tilted her head to the right so he could clean her neck. Once most of the blood was gone, Eddie straightened up and began dabbing a lot of antiseptic on the wound while (Y/n) hissed and started to shake.

"I can't stitch it up in here baby, we'll have to let the doctors do that." The ambulance was too rickety for Eddie to try do any stitches and he knew (Y/n) would need a lot more pain relief if he were to try.

He carefully stuck a gauze plaster over her left brow, covering the gaping wound until someone at the hospital could tend to it.

"Let me see your wrist."

He noticed Evan had started to cut her leggings at the knees and was carefully cleaning the scrapes across her skin.

When (Y/n) gingerly lifted her left wrist, Eddie winced. Seeing her cry and shake and jerk from the pain made his teeth sink down into his lower lip enough to make it bleed.

"You'll need an X-ray and a cast… do you want me to take your rings off for you?" Eddie knew she would need an X-ray and the doctors wouldn't let her have one if she still had her rings on. Rather than see them hurt her to get the rings off, Eddie would rather try now with some soapy water and then he could keep them safe. He knew (Y/n) wouldn't want the doctors to cut the rings off.

Eddie's face fell when (Y/n) started to cry. She tilted her head back and coiled her arms around her waist as she sobbed.

"Hey, hey, it's okay-"

"H-he tried… he tried to take them." (Y/n)'s eyes cast down to her hand before she looked up at Eddie.

"Your rings?" His lips formed a frown and his eyes narrowed as he tried to think. Why would Jamie try and take her rings? He wasn't exactly a mugger. He wanted to hurt (Y/n), he always wanted to hurt her for leaving him and not doing as he said or going against him.

But then it dawned on him when Evan leaned over and murmured "Did he know she's married?" In his ear. They hadn't been married the last time they saw Jamie, they had only been engaged.

"I don't w-wanna t…take them off. Eddie please," (Y/n) tried to run her fingers over the back of her left hand but she cringed and pulled back. Even touching her hand made jolts of electricity shoot underneath her skin. She didn't want to take her rings off. They were hers. She hadn't removed them for anything since the moment Eddie proposed. (Y/n) slept in her rings, she never took them off.

"I'll keep them safe, mi amor. You need an X-ray, and as soon as it's done I'll put them back on your finger myself."

He leaned down and kissed her cheek and gently brushed away a tear when she nodded. She had to have her hand checked and possibly set back in place and Eddie wouldn't let the doctors cut her ring off or hurt her trying to remove them when he could do it himself.

"Good girl," He murmured against her lips, stealing a quick kiss before he got a fresh cotton swab and squeezed some water around (Y/n)'s fingers.

It was rather easy to twist the rings around and slide them off (Y/n)'s finger. He was glad he'd done it now because the swelling was working its way up her hand and he could tell her fingers were going to swell up soon. This way, her hand could swell and then settle down and they wouldn't risk her circulation being cut off to her finger.

Eddie was tempted to put the rings in his back pocket, but somehow that didn't feel safe and he dared not lose them. He hooked both rings on his little finger and reached beneath his collar to find his chain with the Saint Christopher pendant.

It didn't take long for Eddie to unhook the chain, slide the rings on and clip it back up. "There, safe and sound."

Something resembling a smile tugged at Eddie's lips when (Y/n) dragged her free hand over his collar. He let her pull his collar down and undo a few buttons so she could glide her fingertips over the chin and cause the rings to sway back and forth against his chest.

But his smile began to fade when (Y/n)'s eyes rolled to the back of her head and she groaned. "I f-feel sick."

"Okay, hang tight." He snatched a paper bowl from the counter and held it in front of her.

When she leaned forward, Eddie swooped his right arm behind her shoulders and pressed his lips to the back of her head as she threw up. That was a definite sign of concussion and Eddie prayed she didn't have any sort of swelling on or around her brain. Or a bleed. The last thing she needed was an operation to drain any bleeding on the brain.

They all felt the ambulance roll to a stop so Eddie laid the paper bowl on (Y/n)'s lap just in case she needed to throw up again. And he found a paper towel, soaked it in water and pressed it over her eyes when she flopped her head back. The emergency room was bright and that wasn't going to do her any favours.

Eddie was grateful when Chimney and Evan began to move the gurney. It left Eddie free to hold (Y/n)'s right hand and card his fingers through her hair as they wheeled her through into the emergency room.

Chimney leaned across and on three, he and Eddie carefully transferred (Y/n) over onto the bed in the middle of the end cubicle they were guided into.

"Who have we got?"

Evan placed his hands on his hips as he stood near the end of the bed and turned towards the nurse. "Uh, (Y/n) Diaz. Suspected broken wrist, bad concussion, massive cut to the temple." He reeled off the injuries but he couldn't drag his eyes away from the couple in front of him.

(Y/n) had been through enough. Why did Jamie have to go and do this to her? Why now? Why approach her at all when he knew he wouldn't get away with it?

Eddie slumped down on the side of the bed and dragged his fingers through his hair while his other hand was tightly clenched in (Y/n)'s fist.

He almost jumped off the bed when (Y/n) jerked forward as soon as a nurse tried to lean over her. "I just need to check your vitals-"

"No."

The wet paper towel flopped onto (Y/n)'s legs and she blinked furiously to try and get her eyes back into focus. She flung her hand out at the nurse, batting her away when she leaned over with two monitoring stickers. She didn't want those on her chest or a clip on her finger to check her pulse. She didn't want anyone touching her but Eddie. (Y/n) didn't want to be assessed or poked and prodded. She wanted Eddie to take her home.

"Baby, it's okay, you're safe."

"No!" (Y/n) swung her left hand out at the nurse causing her to drop whatever was in her hand.

Shockwaves rattled through her wrist and up to her arm when it clashed with the bedframe and she cried out, pushing herself forward into Eddie's chest. Her nails scratched into his shoulders and her face smothered into the side of his neck so harshly that Eddie was sure she wasn't going to be able to breathe.

She clung to him tighter when he curved an arm around her waist and moved his other hand to cradle the back of her neck. He began to sway them both from side to side while his lips meshed into her hair.

"Shh, it's okay, I promise everything's okay. I won't let anything happen to you."

He knew what they were going to have to do. They were going to have to sedate (Y/n) to stitch her up and send her for an X-ray and an MRI. That was the only way anyone other than Eddie was going to get near her.

He continued to sway them from side to side, his lips murmuring quiet words into her hair that (Y/n) could barely register.

"I'm gonna kill him for this."

[lxkeee]

IT'S BEEN SO LONG

-PART THREE

pairing: Lucifer Morningstar x Adopted! Fem angel! Reader [platonic!]

fandom: Hazbin Hotel

genre: fluff and cute

notes: a little bit short but meh

PART ONE | PART TWO | PART FOUR ❘ NAVIGATION

“Now... Where's that body...?” [y/n] muttered, looking at the golden holographic map that was coming out of her wrist watch, a blinking dot flickers on the holographic screen. She scrunched up her nose as the scent of smoke, dust, and blood fills her nostrils. I do hope my father is living somewhere far better than the streets of hell, this place is nasty. She thought before shaking her head.

She looked up ahead to see the hotel by the cliff, looking back at the hologram—it seems the body is somewhere by the hotel.

“You have got to be kidding me.” [y/n] muttered underneath her breath. She looked around—no one in sight, with a snap of her fingers, her angel wings disappeared along with her halo that transformed into a golden Laurel wreath that is on her head. Her usual white and gold dress transformed into a plain black one.

“There, I think this is a good camouflage.” she murmured to herself, adjusting her sling back before eventually beginning to trek the cliff towards the hotel.

Finally arriving, she got a good look at the name of the hotel—Hazbin Hotel, very witty, she thought.

“Isn't this the hotel Charlotte Morningstar made? If she's Lucifer's daughter, then does that mean she's my younger step sister?” she wondered before shrugging. Deciding not to knock on the hotel doors and go straight to where Adam's supposed dead body is—which is buried underneath a pile of rubble somewhere a few meters away from the hotel. Truly sad to see but the man got it coming—he was an asshole, to think he was the first man and the first soul to go to heaven but died in hell.

Why do we need to bring him back up again? Oh right... God's favorite.

[Y/n] sighs loudly, moving her hand over the hologram and a keyboard appears. Her fingers danced across the screen as she requested some angel workers to retrieve it.

She sighs, turning back to look at the hotel behind her. Now to get a report on what exactly happened, she thought. I wonder if dad is there? She wondered to herself, she really wanted to see him and hug him, she truly missed her father after all.

Her heels clicked the cement pavement as she walked back to the front of the hotel, climbing up the few steps of stairs till she finally reached the tinted glass front doors.

Maybe I should wear my halo? To let them know I'm from heaven?

She thought and hummed before nodding to herself, snapping her fingers and her halo was once more on top of her head, glowing in angelic pride and power.

She took a deep breath, I can do this. She thought before curling her fingers into her knuckles, bringing it up and then knocking on the glass doors.

Knock, knock, knock.

Charlie stopped talking to Vaggie and Alastor when they heard a knock from the front door, Charlie's eyes sparkled excitedly. A visitor or perhaps a guest?!

“My~ it seems we have a guest, dear.” Alastor grins, leaning against his microphone, “Perhaps after the extermination, it gave hope to these hopeless sinners.” he added, his smirk widening.

Charlie grinned, she too hoped that would be the case.

Vaggie placed a hand on her girlfriend's shoulder, giving Charlie a reassuring smile, “You got this, babe.” she says and Charlie nodded, adjusting her clothes to look presentable.

With a deep breath she walked towards the door, trying to calm her excited heart.

Charlie finally held the handle of the door, opened it and.... A woman slightly taller than her is standing outside, a smile on her face and wait a minute, is that a halo?!

Charlie's eyes widened, she can practically feel the woman's power radiating off her, dare she say it's stronger than Adam's.

She's nervous, almost scared even. What is an angel doing here?

“A pleasant evening, are you perhaps Charlotte Morningstar?” the woman asked, her voice gentle and smooth to the ear, it calms Charlie down. Making the princess of hell lower her guard a bit before she shakes her head. I need to be on guard, I don't know what she wants and I need to be ready.

Charlie took a deep breath before giving the angel a smile, “Yes, that is me! Is there something you need from me? I didn't know heaven would be sending someone today.” she says and the angelic woman chuckled.

“It was so sudden that we couldn't send an advance notice.” The angel chuckled softly and Charlie just looked at her in confusion.

“But to make things easier, I am here to collect Adam's body and also collect data to file a report of what exactly happened during the recent extermination.” The angel says, sighing and slumping her shoulders. Charlie could tell that the woman was annoyed by the situation.

Charlie looked at the woman with slight hesitancy, “Is that all...?” she asked, nervously and the angel nodded.

“Certainly,” She smiles before her eyes widened and she gives Charlie a small and short bow, “How rude of me, I forgot to introduce myself. I am [Y/n], one of heaven's messengers. It is a pleasure to meet you, Princess Morningstar.” [Y/n] says with a smile, offering her hand for a handshake in which Charlie returned. Charlie shivered slightly as she felt how cold the angel's hands were.

The name certainly rings a bell to Charlie, she swore she heard that name before then her eyes widened, don't tell me..? The name, the very cold hands... Is this the girl her dad was talking about?

“Are you... My dad's adopted daughter...?” Charlie questioned, her voice almost a whisper and [Y/n]'s eyes softened.

So he does remember me. [Y/n] thought, a smile on her face.

“Yes, that is indeed me, so dad talked about me huh?” she answered and asked and Charlie's smile widened, her big sister is here!

Charlie chuckled, “Yeah, he told me about you recently.” she says with a shrug and [Y/n] giggles, “Well, at least he didn't forget about me.”

Charlie smiled, moving away from the door so [Y/n] can enter, “Of course, he didn't. Oh, please do come in.”

[Y/n] nodded with a smile, “Thank you.” she says and enters the hotel.

“Do you want me to tell him that you're here? Do you want to see him?” Charlie asked, guiding the angel through the hotel's hallway that leads to the lobby where the bar is.

[Y/n] smiled, “Please do, it's been ages since I've last seen him.” she says, almost pleading and Charlie smiled, whipping out her phone to text her dad before returning it back to her pocket. Her dad is back at the palace as he had some things to get from his room.

“I am sure he misses you too, how about we finish that report while we wait?” Charlie suggested and [Y/n] nodded, “That's a good idea.”

Lucifer was in his room, arranging some things into a box. He heard his phone beep and opened it to see a text from his daughter.

Come back to the hotel as soon as possible, someone wants to see you and it is someone important.

Lucifer raised an eyebrow, wondering who could possibly be looking for him. He shrugs, they can wait.

He returned his phone back to his pocket and continued on putting the rubber ducks inside the boxes.

Another beep was heard and he sighed, opening to see another text from Charlie.

If you're wondering who could possibly be looking for you, their name is [Y/n];)

Lucifer never teleported so fast in his entire life.

TAGLIST:

@adaizel @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx @thedarkkitten @selvyyr @froggybich @brithedemonspawn @kottenox @totallymitya @many-fandoms-lover @dou-dou @mezzyb0nb0n @n1chxyaaenthusiast @cherry-4200 @koirb @galaxyj3lly @crystalplays28 @luleck @scootinonyourmom @rory-cakes @mixplara @crescent-z @bitchyzombienacho @kalisha2004 @altervex @nehy019 @napbatata @kouyoumarryme @sxgacxbe @kooidoom @yukichan67 @apple-pop @akiralovespenguins @storydays @kaurochika @amphiroxx @lil-writer-523 @avitute @lbcreations-blog @dreamzaremyrealityy @des-deswain5621 @snoozewritezz @uiquz @randomuser-89 @flowerboy4eva @apollobeans @des-deswain5621 @sirenetheblogger @astitikeslay

[4wkjun]

✴ Kinktober, day seven: accidental stimulation with Sunoo

✴ Word count: 1,5K ✴ Content warning: kitchen sex, oral sex (f!receiving), little bit of an oral fixation. ✴ Taglist: @starsareseen, @lucid-sombra, @enha13, @karinashairdryer, @kim2005bomi, @hyun00

✴ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT! ✴

✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴

“Jesus Christ, we should’ve bought a cake”, you laughed.

“Ya! It’s not that bad!” Sunoo responded, pretending to be offended.

The two of you were decorating a cake for your nephew’s third birthday. You told your sister you’d buy him a cake, but your lovely boyfriend suggested that the two of you bake it.

Baking wasn’t the problem at all. You two agreed on a chocolate cake, Sunoo mixed the batter while you worked on the filling. However, none of you seemed to know how to work around chantilly, the counter gross and sticky because it took you three tries to finally achieve the right consistency.

Now, the cake was weirdly covered in a heavy mass of chantilly, looking almost like cement all over it. You laughed while Sunoo tried to move it around with a spatula to cover the holes. You collected an excess of it with your (clean) fingers and placed it on the spot without any chantilly at all.

“Maybe we should make more, I think a can of heavy cream wasn’t enough.”

“Do we have any heavy cream left?”, he asked with a chuckle. “Plus, what if we forget to add vanilla again? It’ll taste like nothing.”

“Nah, it’ll taste like whipped cream.”

“Nobody likes plain whipped cream.”

“I do!”, you responded in a higher pitch, ready to playfully fight him. “I’d punch you if my hands weren’t sticky right now.”

Sunoo laughed, putting the spatula down. “Let me see”, he asked, reaching out for your hand. You let him grab your hand in his, only to watch him wrap his lips around your fingertips to suck the chantilly out of them.

You knew it wasn’t his intention, but it sent a shiver right down your core, turning you on instantaneously. You just watched him sucking your fingers (without any sign of dirty thoughts behind his eyes) without a single reaction, not being able to move.

Sunoo removed your fingers from his mouth and smiled, leaning in to peck your lips quickly.

“So much better than plain whipped cream”, he winked, laughing a bit. He turned around to toss the spatula on the sink, and you stood still, your brain suddenly fogged. “Hey, you ok?”, he asked after a few seconds, looking at you over his shoulder as he opened the tap.

You cleaned your throat, nodding. “Yeah, yeah.”

“You sure?”, he asked, pouting. “You got quiet all of a sudden.”

You moved a bit, leaning your back against the counter. Your mind couldn’t forget that scene and how it made you feel – only making it worse.

“Nah, I haven’t”, you said, voice an octave higher.

Sunoo turned the water off, turning around to face you. He arched an eyebrow, obviously not buying it.

“Do you actually think you can fool me?”

“Sometimes, yeah”, you shrugged, smiling awkwardly.

With a sigh, Sunoo walked towards you (took him literally three steps), standing still in front of you. “Do I need to tickle the truth out of you?”

You scoffed, leaning in to lay your forehead against his shoulder. Sunoo crossed his arms behind your back, holding you as he leaned his cheek against your head.

“It’s a little gross.”

“Not possible”, he said softly. “I can take anything that comes from your weird-ass head.”

You playfully slapped his ribcage before wrapping your arms around his torso. “I’m just a little embarrassed ‘cause I got a little turned on.”

“Oh”, Sunoo said, eyebrows raised even though you couldn’t see. “Should I ask how that happened?”

You took a deep breath, closing your eyes and holding him closer.

“When you… sucked my fingers.”

You needed no other word for Sunoo to get it. He stayed silent for a few seconds before rubbing your back. He placed a gentle kiss on top of your head before saying:

“What should we do about it?”

You looked up, confused.

“Nothing?”

Sunoo scoffed, shaking his head. He moved one of his hands towards the side of your neck, part of his fingers placed on your cheek before leaning in to connect your lips.

His soft lips moved slowly against yours, melting you beneath his touch. Every time your tongues brushed against each other’s, you felt a sparkle. Your hands moved to the sides of his body, holding tightly his hoodie.

“What are you doing?”, you asked once he broke the kiss. Sunoo didn’t answer. Instead, he grabbed your hand from his clothing and dragged it towards his lips.

He started kissing your hand gently, just by pecking your fingers – already turning your pupils dilated by the feeling – while keeping eye contact. He didn’t know your hands were that sensitive, but now he wouldn’t let it go.

“Ya, Sunoo”, you tried warning him, but your voice sounded shaky. He scoffed, slowly licking your fingertips. Your eyes closed involuntarily, the excitement growing by the second.

Sunoo held your waist more strongly than he normally would, while his other hand held yours against his lips. He sucked your index and middle finger up to your knuckles, making you sigh heavily.

“How do you want me to make you cum, love?”, he asked gently after completely removing your fingers from his soft mouth while his fingers brushed your waist softly through the fabric of your shirt.

You mumbled something incoherent and lay your head against his shoulder again, completely embarrassed. Sunoo knew not only you but also how your body reacted to his touch. He knew you were wet and growing desperate for him to touch your whole body.

“I guess it’s up to me, then”, he chuckled. Sunoo used his hand to hold your chin and raise your head, looking at your flustered face. His inner self wanted to smirk and make some mean comment about your state, but it was just so hot for him that he couldn’t bring himself to do it.

With care, he kissed your lips. His actions were sweet, but his intentions were just the opposite, his cock getting hard at the thought of you so desperate because of him. 

“Will you let me take care of you?”, he said in almost a whisper, lips brushing against yours as he spoke. You nodded, eyes still closed.

Sunoo used to go big or go home, so instead of torturing you, he dropped to his knees. His fingers reached the button of your jeans, undoing it in such a peace it killed you. Your cheeks burned hot as he calmly pulled your jeans and your panties down, embarrassed for not wearing anything sexy and for that little wet patch on them. Your right hand reached for his soft hair, caressing his scalp as you leaned against the counter. He took your bottom clothing completely off, making you feel exposed. His hand reached for the back of your right thigh, pulling it over his shoulder.

“What are you-”

You couldn’t finish the sentence, once Sunoo’s warm tongue licked a stripe from your slit to your clit and made you hold your breath. His lips focused completely on your clit from that moment on, making patterns in it with his wet muscle and eventually sucking it.

“Jesus, Sunoo”, you meawled, almost melting beneath his touch. Your eyes barely stayed open, but Sunoo’s were focused on your face. Your expressions and soft moans of pleasure were way too amusing for him to miss.

Without a warning, Sunoo’s middle and ring fingers were abusing your velvety walls from the inside. The way he curled his fingers and massaged your g-spot with ease made your eyes close even harder and your hand left his hair, now both of them supporting your weight better against the counter.

Sunoo absolutely loved how fast you’d cum when he eat you out, never lasting more than three minutes of his tongue abusing your swollen clit. He knew how and when to press all the right spots to make you melt beneath his touch.

“Hmpf, Sunoo”, you mumbled, biting your lips in between the words to keep the moans from floating out of your throat. “I’m so close.”

Sunoo scoffed, already knowing that. With no warning, his left hand pressed down your stomach while the other one worked harder and faster, pumping in and out of you and massaging your g-spot with ease.

Within seconds you were a babbling mess, grinding your hips against his face. He only stopped stimulating your g-spot and your clit once you whined higher, letting him know it was too much.

Sunoo got up, wiping his chin with the back of his hand, a big smirk on his face and a bulge on his pants. You were panting, knuckles white from the strength you put into them to keep you standing up while your lover gave you a mindblowing orgasm.

“So, how do you feel?”, he asked, gently even though his face had the biggest grin you’ve ever seen.

“I…” your chest raised fast. “I think I really love you”, you said, playfully.

“Maybe you could show how much you love me”, he said in the same playful tone, right hand pressing his boner over his pants.

You laughed, nodding.

[praisetheaxolotl]

The Arsonist Theory, Part 3: Journey to the Vicious Spiral Nebula

Part 1: Mandibles!

Part 2: We Get It, The Billboard Was A Metaphor

I want to take a step back for a moment. Look at the bigger picture of Gravity Falls as a whole, and at the relationship between narrative foils that are the protagonists and antagonists of a story.

But first, just a recap: For anyone new, the Arsonist Theory proposes that Bill was not the sole person responsible for the destruction of his home dimension-- there was a third party, an accomplice that used him like he uses others now.

Once again:

MAJOR SPOILERS FOR THE BOOK OF BILL, INCLUDING SOLUTIONS TO CIPHERS

On we go!

Gravity Falls is, at its core, a story about cycles.

More specifically, it's a story about the vicious cycles that enable bad behavior- both personal spirals, and cyclical patterns of behavior in families.

We see this most obviously with the Stan twins, with both personal and familial cycles. In the personal side of things, Stan broke Ford's perpetual motion machine, resulting in his parents disowning him and Stan vowing that they were wrong and they'd see that one day, only for every attempt to prove them wrong about him to backfire and get him into even worse trouble, each failure further cementing his reputation more and more as a lying, dishonest criminal-- hey, where have I heard this one before?

On Ford's side, he erroneously trusted Bill and was consumed by both the portal and, once he realized he'd made it, his mistake itself. Even after Bill's death, he's terrified of him-- the mistake consumes him, eats him up inside. However, every time he attempts to subdue Bill on his own without confiding in his family the full story for fear of their judgement, it all ends up making everything worse. The incident with the portal and Stan? It was because he refused to tell Stan what exactly was going on, deciding to keep it all to himself out of guilt and lash out instead of admitting that he'd trusted the wrong person and that he was in grave danger-- hey, I might have heard this one before, too!

On the familial side of things, the Pines twins' parents don't exactly have the best relationship, as revealed in the Book Of Bill.

That fight must have been pretty bad to give Dipper, a kid who's survived the APOCALYPSE, nightmares. The Pines family has been shaped by familial dysfunction, and now it's been passed on-- the Stan twins' parents weren't exactly the healthiest parents, especially Filbrick. It's plain to see that that dysfunction was passed down from generation to generation, until it hit the Pines twins' parents as well.

And hell, Dipper and Mabel almost being broken apart as well-- not only because of Ford offering Dipper an apprenticeship without considering Mabel, mirroring how he sees Stan as dead weight, but also because of their parents fighting. Mabel didn't want to go home to that environment alone, and Dipper wanted to be far, far away from it. The Stan twins were broken apart by their father, and now the Pines twins will be broken apart by the Stans.

Except... that's not what happened, was it?

The Pines twins didn't let this break them apart. Dipper ended up prioritizing his sister and caring about her and her feelings, without just writing her off as deadweight the way Ford did to Stan. And eventually, the Stan twins also reconciled. They broke the cycle, as protagonists in a story with a happy ending tend to do.

Bill, as their antagonistic foil, would therefore be perpetuating cycles like this, instead of breaking them.

Then it stands to reason that, from a Doylist perspective, wouldn't it make sense for Bill to have been a victim of the same kind of manipulation and deceit that he now inflicts onto others?

In fact, we already have an example of Bill being hurt by someone, then going on to pass that same pain onto someone else:

Even though this is a silly example, we've been given canonical evidence that the way Bill deals with trauma is to take it out on someone else. And let's be real, Gravity Falls is rife with examples of something seemingly silly at first but ending up to hold emotional weight for the characters involved. Take in point Stan's attachment to Wax Stan.

So, we've established the cycles present in Gravity Falls and Bill's thematic role as the antagonist leading to him perpetuating instead of breaking cycles. So, what does that mean for this theory?

Bill and Ford are already presented as foils to each other- they're both outcast individuals with both a strange personality and a mutation that make them unpalatable to others, with a sordid home life, who eventually make a huge supernatural mistake with apocalyptic consequences. So, it's natural to wonder: what if their parallels extend even beyond this?

Ford initially blamed himself for being foolish enough to fall for Bill's tricks, placing the blame largely on himself. However, his family was there for him to pull him out of that way of thinking and help him move past it. Bill, in contrast, didn't have a family, ergo he had no one to pull him out of a similar rut. And we see multiple times throughout the Book of Bill and the Axolotl's poem that he does regret what happened to Euclidia, and his role in causing the massacre, so it's not out of the question to think that maybe, his thinking followed a line similar to Ford's. That there was someone that took advantage of Bill's desire to make everyone understand, and Bill blamed himself both for falling for it and for being ineffectual in stopping it.

Ford was at a standstill and approached by Bill, who was a genuine friend in a lifetime of loneliness and who presented himself as a friend, only to be used by him to create a portal that Bill was going to use for destruction-- perhaps Bill went through the same sequence, as victim instead of perpetrator?

Did you know that most perpetrators of abuse are themselves victims of abuse? They grow up without healing from their past traumas, and end up inflicting it onto others, thus continuing the cycle.

(Here's a fun fact- that's actually what my first theory ever was about, before this blog!)

Anyway, to me it's becoming clearer and clearer-- there's a glaringly obvious thematic parallel here that very neatly supports the idea of someone having used Bill in this manner in the past.

Oh, and by the way- on Time Baby's report on Bill, a translated cipher refers to him as the "Lone survivor of the Euclidian Massacre"

Lone survivor? If he'd acted alone, wouldn't it say "perpetrator?" If Time Baby knew enough to know what dimension he was a survivor of despite Bill himself never even speaking its name, then he should know enough to know the story of what happened. There's always the possibility that he didn't, but I saw fit to mention it.

In part four, everything is gonna be tied together as neatly as I can, with some present-day clues from Bill's actions that point to certain parts of his trauma being linked together that, on their own, seem a bit... reach-y, but with three posts of evidence backing them, they hold more water than that.

Part 4: Blame The Arson, Not The Fire

[hellsburners]

pain and suffering

summary: to which criminals run from the shadows, and the shadows run home to you. pairing: frank castle x male reader x matt murdock word count: 4k warnings: 18+ warning, unprotected s3x, dom!mattfrank, bottom!reader, double pen3tration, blowj0bs, mentions of violence a/n: i got this request like a whole month ago and im sorry to anon it took me a while to think of this

masterlist | more matt murdock

gif credit for frank & matt

The night air looms over Hell’s Kitchen. A normal person might hear the honking of cars and the loud chitchat of people in the street, but to a man like Daredevil, he hears everything. He hears Sally from down the street, crying as her husband comes home drunk, or Dominic, stealing another purse to pay for his brother’s medical bills. The city is not just a cluster of sounds for a man like the Devil, it’s a war cry. His city needs help, so he braces for the jump, a leap into the battlefield.

To him, pain and suffering is a saint. The pain of every hit, every jab, and every punch. To Matt Murdock, the pain of getting hit is like lashing for every sin he’s made. He is the fist of God, the guardian angel of the Kitchen, his suffering is the price for the safety of his people. So to him, yes, pain and suffering is the saint that guides him, the adrenaline to jump, to fight, to stand back up and fight again because he knows if he doesn’t, worse men will. 

He sits wounded on top of a building, the hanging laundry hiding him from plain sight. He pants, blood gushing from his lower rib. But then he smells it: gunpowder. The sound of clanking metal and rubber boots walking closer to him. He knows that smell, the smell of danger, the smell of bad news, the smell of The Punisher.

“They hit ya’ pretty bad tonight Red,” his rough voice roared across the building. He smells of blood, not his blood, but the blood of at least thirty other men. 

“I don’t need your help, Frank,” Matt said, wincing as he tried to stand. 

“I doubt that,” he was closer to Matt, he took the rear end of his rifle and pressed it to Matt’s wound, he cried out in pain. “See?”

“I don’t need any help from you.”

“That’s your problem, Red. You’re so self-righteous. You’re out here bleeding yourself to death thinking God sent you here on earth to be his punchin’ bag,'' he puts the rifle down, the metal butt hitting the floor. “You think your God can miraculously heal your wounds? The Devil ain’t no saint.” 

“And you’re any better?” Matt spat. “You wear that skull on your chest and you think that gives you the license to be a killer?” he licks his dried-up lips, the wounds weighing on him. “You’re a beast, Frank. A wild creature with no self-control, bloodthirsty, and—and inhumane.”

Frank was right, but Matt’s pride would never take any help from Frank Castle, he’s a murderer, a cold-blooded killer, and men like him have no place roaming the streets of New York. Matt tries to walk away from Frank, he could feel the blood drip into his waist, his head dizzy. Before he could even reach a meter away from Frank he feels the pull of the earth and drops into the cement floor, out cold. 

“Dumbass,” Frank spat.

—

To Frank Castle, pain and suffering is a weapon. 

Pain is the bullet to the head of a wife beater, a pedophile, a human trafficker, and any other demented fuck that helps in spreading crime in his city. He sniffs in the scent, it’s nauseating, the smell of garbage and piss, the smell of dead bodies piled in a heap for the cops to find. The blood pooled on his boots, painting them red. He reloads the gun, pulling on the lever that locks the bullet in the barrel, ready for the trigger. 

“Please, man. I have a wife and two kids,” the bald man begged. His shirt was soaked in blood, a bullet grazed his hip. He walks backward achingly, his back hitting the wall. “Fuck, man I swear I don't know anything ‘bout this! ”the man kneels in front of Frank, his hands together like he’s praying. 

Pain is the bullet that ends all suffering. 

Bang!

The man falls on the concrete, blood dripping out of his skull. Frank wipes the blood splatter on his face with his sleeve. He takes the pistol and slides it into the holster on his thigh. He grabs the man’s sleeve and pulls him into the heap. No loose ends. 

Frank takes his rifle and leaves. Taking the rooftops so the cops won’t see him. His body is sore, but it was never a hindrance. He sees a red blur across the building. The Devil himself, running from a bunch of men. Frank notices the Devil walking strangely, a hand on his left to cover a bleeding wound. 

He takes the sniper rifle and aims it at the four men searching for the masked vigilante. He reloads the rifle, and one by one the men drop dead. The Devil was clueless as to where the bullets came from. He walks over to the wounded man, lumped over the side of a rooftop wincing in pain. 

Frank had always admired the Devil’s determination, always standing back up after a fight, the line he wouldn’t cross, it amused Frank in a way. He liked to toy with it, always putting the red vigilante in positions where his moral code is tested. 

You know you’re one bad day away from becoming like me. 

Frank once told him, and he guessed it wasn’t true. Despite how hard the world hit him, he never crossed that line. That’s why when the Devil ended up face down on the concrete floor he took his body into his shoulder. Carrying his body to the only place he knew would understand the situation. To the person that knew the creed of pain and suffering. 

He stands in front of the wooden door, the door was locked. Not his first instinct to knock, because he knew he would always be let in. He knocked on the door, no answer. He knocked louder, banging on the door, the sounds echoing throughout the hallway.

“Jesus Christ, people will hear you,” you said, answering the door. 

— 

To you, pain and suffering is a curse. The curse that binds people to hospital beds for years, slowly rotting into the sheets as more and more medicine gets pumped into their veins. The curse that brings people into the emergency room, stabbed my knives, with broken knees, amputated fingers, and gunshot wounds through bone and muscle. 

You earn money from pain and suffering. Doctor’s fees from people you know can’t even afford it. You always wanted to give them pro-bono, but you weren't loaded like that. That’s why when injured vigilantes were involved, everyone in the New York underground knew your number. 

You had known people like Maya Lopez, Misty Knight, Ben Reilly, Ty Johnson, and Tandy Bowen alongside other masked heroes. That’s why when The Devil of Hell’s Kitchen arrived at your door four months ago you didn’t second guess your decision to help him. To you, helping these people would absolve you of being complicit in the suffering of innocent people in the hospital. 

“Got your number from Spider-man, hope you don’t mind,” he said, sprawled on your kitchen table covered in blood. His muscular body contracted from the pain as you sewed his wounds shut. You never truly cared about forming connections with your clients, it was more of a get-patched-up-and-leave type of way. 

He would often flirt with you whenever he came by, his dimples forming under his mask whenever he smiled or laughed. “Don’t worry Doc’ I’m a big boy,” he said, smiling at you. The smile quickly faded when you dug into his skin to retrieve the bullets on his bicep, a groan leaving his lips. You tried not to think about it, but he's pretty cute. 

On one night, a man banged on your door, you rushed to meet a shadow drenched in blood as if it was raining blood from the sky, a white skull on his chest. His hoarse voice groaned as you took him into your kitchen. Multiple bullet wounds, and gashes on his chest, in your personal opinion a person with that many injuries would've ended up on the morgue. 

“Did you fall into a meat grinder? What the hell,” you said. You tried your best to patch him up but he needed some blood transfusions. 

“Check the bag,” he groaned. Inside were bags of blood from the hospital, all type O, what the fuck. 

He stayed in your house for two nights, you checked his vitals every hour to make sure he was still alive. This hasn’t happened before, you’ve never had a client that was on the brink of death. It was always some minor injury, but this man managed to wake up and stand after two days to leave. 

You found a bundle of one hundred dollar bills in your mailbox the next day. 

—

“Bring him to the couch,” you said. You took Matt’s body as Frank carried his legs, you took his limp body into the sofa, a deep wound on the torso, an easy fix for you at this point. It has been months since you first met the two men in your apartment. You’ve spent multiple nights helping them, in your apartment, or Matt’s, or Frank’s bunker. You were technically associated with them to the point that you know their real names. 

“The emergency kit is on the kitchen counter.” 

“Got it Doc,” Frank saluted, removing his trench coat and his bulletproof vest, his muscular form bulging through his black shirt. They reeked of blood, you could taste the iron on your tongue. 

Matt’s eyes fluttered, his head turning to the sound of your voice. “Hey,” he said, groaning through the pain. You cut his undershirt open, the wound gushing out blood. You took some gauze to soak the viscous liquid, making sure the clotting starts. 

“Sit your ass down, Red,” Frank ordered. You managed to sew the wound shut, you gave Matt some pain relievers as his eyes fell back into sleep. You let him rest for a bit, covering him in a fleece blanket. You walked towards Frank, a few cuts on his arms, he was already in the middle of sewing some of them before you helped. “Don’t worry about me, it’s nothin’”

“Make sure you don’t die in my kitchen this time,” you said, walking to the kitchen sink to rinse your bloodied hands. You opened your refrigerator to grab a drink. “Want a beer?”

“Sure,” Frank nods.

You took a cold beer from your fridge, the metal caps clanking on the floor. You handed him the bottle, he took a big swig like he was thirsty for water, some liquid falling from the corner of his lips. He sat on a wooden chair, legs spread, the hem of his shirt raising a bit to show a peak of his abdomen. 

Matt soon woke up. Much to your disagreement, taking a beer of his own. He took a seat in your dining area, topless with bandages around his torso. The three of you are looking at each other around the table. “So–what happened tonight?” you asked. 

Matt’s frown was deadset. Frank taking gulps of his second bottle of beer. You were taking sips of your bottle, looking at the heated tension between the two. It was annoyingly anxiety-inducing. “You know, I don’t know what’s the point of talking to you two—I’m a physician, not a therapist.” 

“You need to stay away from him,” Matt said, his lips a straight line. “He’s a dangerous person with nothing good going on for his pathetic life.”

“Boohoo! Little catholic boy here feels entitled about being god’s little bitch,” Frank spat. “Is that what you think bitch boy?”

“See? He’s an immature old fuck that thinks the world’s answer to violence is guns and bullets,” Matt said, downing his beer.

“He’s just using his lawyer bullshit on you,” Frank said.

You rolled your eyes, it’s always like this, them bickering. You downed the beer, the bitter taste running through your tongue. You set it down with a loud clunk. The two men halted their bickering. 

“I’m not taking sides but I think both of you are annoying cry babies that should just kiss and make out!” the two men frowned their brows. “You bicker like an old couple—the two of you need to suck it up because, at the end of the day, the two of you leave a trail of blood in this city that I clean!” you shouted.“You know how many people end up in the emergency room thanks to you two, I don’t even keep count of them anymore.”

Matt called for your name, to apologize or something, but you took another bottle of beer and gulped on the bubbly drink. Instead of talking you took his lips to yours, the bitter taste of his mouth shared with yours. His hands come to your neck, fingers wrapping around the flesh as his tongue meets yours. You smell his clean shampoo mixing with the alcohol, he smelled like a man who took hygiene seriously.

You pull back to walk towards Frank, bending down to kiss him, pressing on his shoulder with your hands to guide you. The bitter taste of both of your mouths intoxicates you. He grabs the hem of your shirt, pulling you in more. He smelled of cheap soap and gunpowder. You pulled away to catch them frozen, feet glued to the floor, aghast.

“See,” you rubbed your hands. “Not hard at all.” 

Frank was biting his lip chuckling, his fingers massaging his lip. He pulled you to his lap, kissing you harder, his hands falling to your ass. Your hands run through his dark hair, his stubble pricking your face. You moaned from the contact, Matt’s enhanced senses making the sound echo in his head. He hesitated but his groin turned to the noises you made. Frank’s lips fall to your neck, nibbling on the skin eliciting more lewd noises from you. 

“See this red?” he said. “This little slut likes it.”

“Play with his ear, he likes it,” Matt ordered. Frank hadn’t known that.

“He also likes it when I do this,” he pinches your nipples, and you shudder from the slight pain. The two men didn’t know that you had experiences of having sex with them on different occasions. “So you’re a little whore huh, you do this to all of your clients?”

“No—,” you gasped. “Just you two.”

Matt chuckled. Frank had set you on his lap so that you were facing Matt, his hands playing with both of your nipples as he left purple hickeys all over your neck. Matt had knelt in front of you palming your growing erection. The ache in your groin grows from the lack of release. Tonight these men offer you more pain and suffering but in ways that elicit nothing but pleasure. 

He takes your trousers off leaving you with nothing but your shirt, finally something to ease the pain. Matt stood to open his pants, his thick cock standing tall, the hairs neatly trimmed. “Take his dick inside your mouth,” Frank whispered, while he stretched your legs open so his fingers could tease your hole. He took his fingers to your mouth making it wet.

Matt’s hands ran through your hair, his tip teasing your swollen lips. As you took his length into your mouth, Frank's finger entered your hole curling inside drawing out muffled sounds from your mouth. You were quickly bent over by Frank, his head in between your ass cheeks licking and fingering your hole, while your head was bobbing up and down on Matt’s cock. 

Frank smacked your ass so hard it left a red print as he continued to toy with your rear. Matt groaned as the tip of his cock hit the back of your throat. Frank pulled you back with your hair, popping Matt’s cock out with a string of saliva. It was painful the way they carried you, but in some sick twist of events, it turned you on even more. 

“My turn,” Frank said, as he takes your mouth to his sex, you engulf his thick uncut cock, your nose hitting his unkempt hair taking in his scent. Matt bent down to toy with your hole, curling and stretching two fingers inside you stimulating your prostate. You were turning your lips as you sucked on Frank’s cock, a hoarse groan leaving his mouth as he grabbed onto your hair tightly. 

Matt stroked your cock as he moaned, eating you out with his wet tongue and playing with the rim of your hole. Frank took control of your mouth, fucking into it like you’re his sex toy, his cocking hitting the roof of your mouth at a constant speed. Frank could feel his climax coming so he pulls out leaving you a wet mess next to Matt. 

“Can I fuck you?” Matt asked. You nod, taking them into your bedroom. 

Frank undressed and took a seat on the small sofa chair in the corner of the room, stroking his hard cock. You were on all fours on the bed, facing Frank. His eyes glued to you as he stroked. Matt lubes your hole before slowly pressing his cock into your hole. You gasped as he sheathed into you. Frank smirked, this turned him on even more, his large arms contracting as he stroked his cock.

Matt started to fuck you slowly, his hips slapping your ass. He started to let out guttural moans, his hips becoming rigid as he gripped onto your waist, his nails digging into your skin. He bends down to kiss your neck, rutting into you, his hard thrusts ramming into you. “I’m close,” he moaned. He jerks your cock to the point that you yelp out, cum shooting out of your cock as he continues to jerk his hips before he emptied inside you, a deep groan leaving his lips as his cum fills you. You two collapsed on the bed, his body weight on top of you. 

“Move over Red,” Frank said, looming over you as Matt moves over before Frank mounts you. Matt’s cum formed a slippery lube that made Frank’s cock ease its way as it thrusts. Your body was still weak from your high. He grabs onto your hair as he ruts into you, continuing his hard pace against your body. “You like that?” he said, stroking your sore cock back to hardness. 

“Ye–yes, fuck,” you moaned. 

Matt was at the edge of the bed, soothing your hair as he peppered kisses all over your face. The bed creaked as Frank humped you, veins popping across his arms as his grip on you tightened, you’re sure it would leave marks. He pulled out, leaving you to gasp from the sudden lack of fullness. He sits back on the headboard of your bed, legs sprawled as he gestures for you to ride him. You mount yourself on his hardness, sitting on his thick and hairy thighs. Matt sits on the edge of the bed, his erection coming back from the sight of you two. 

“Take it like a good boy,” Frank praises. You hold onto his chest as you feel the hardness enter you, some of Matt’s cum leaking out. You take Frank’s lips, you now realize how abrasive his stubble was. You move your hips around and around, Frank lets out curses here and there. He pulls your head back, littering your neck with more marks, his fingers find your nipples, teasing them to draw out more moans from you.

Franks sees Matt on the side, his hard already leaking precum just from watching you take Frank’s cock. He calls for Matt to come to you two, to join back in. You feel Matt’s fingertips on your skin, your body is now so filled with stimulation, his mere touch driving you wild. You feel his erection on your back, his lips attached to your shoulders. He takes his leaking cock and presses into your hole, the size alongside Frank’s was a tight fit, your breathing quickens from all the pressure. The two men made sure to guide you and praise you as you take both of their lengths. 

You cry out from the sensation. Frank takes your lips to stifle your cries, tears fall from your eyes as your tongues touch, and Matt inches to join your kiss. The three of you kiss into the pain, The two men slowly moving inside you. The pressure was so intense but the arousal overcame, your sex was so hard, leaking so much into Frank’s abdomen. They start to thrust, Matt could feel his sensitive frenulum rub on Frank’s, it made his eyes roll back, his senses overflowing. 

All of you reeked of sex, the sounds of slapping skin and wet tongues fighting for dominance against the grunts and moans. The constant rocking was making the bed hit the wall, the mattress moved as if there were an earthquake. You were all covered in sweat, hair sticking onto skin, Hands gripping the wooden headboard, fingertips roaming skin, and tongues lashing on each other. 

Everything felt like a blur to you, you were being rocked back and forth like a playground swing, your core sore from the fucking, and there were pairs of hands all over you touching your most sensitive spots. You could feel the climax, creeping into your body tingling your coccyx to the highest peak of your spine. You felt their erratic thrusts, Frank was a groaning mess under you, his neck all red and his face flushed. Matt was a noisy mess on your ear, cursing and calling your name like a prayer, his arm wrapped around your waist as he fucked. 

You were at your peak, arousal overflowed from your body into theirs. Their cum filling into you. You all yelped out in pleasure as you rode your highs. Frank dug his hands into your thighs as Matt hid his forehead on your shoulder, rutting their fill into you. The next few minutes came to you in flashing lights, like fireworks spraying colored lights all over the room. 

You woke up the next day to two heavy bodies at your sides. Matt’s arms around your waist with your head resting on Frank’s chest. All of you reeked of sweat and cum. As you turned you saw Matt’s eyes flutter, his long lashes flicking as his golden eyes beamed under the sunlight. 

“Sorry about last night,” he whispered. 

“Why? I had fun,” you said, peppering kisses all over his cheeks. 

“You sure?” he said, as he rubbed his thumbs on your cheeks. 

“Pretty sore but nothing a pain reliever won’t fix,” you said. 

“I guess you’re right, making out fixes everything,” Frank said, his voice deeper. He joins you and Matt, pressing kisses all over your shoulders. Matt takes this as a sign to kiss you all over your neck, their hands snaking all over your body. “What’s good for breakfast around here?” Frank said in between kisses.

“There’s a good diner across the street,” Matt said, leaving soothing kisses on the marks they left on your neck. Your body was so sore and painful, but these men made sure to make it up to you. You woke up last night to them cleaning you up, Matt wiping you with a damp cloth and Frank rummaging through your closet to grab something for you to wear. Despite their rough lifestyles, they made sure you were taken care of. Maybe a little less pain and suffering next time though. 

“But first,” you said, pulling away from them.” Shower.” 

interactions are greatly appreciated btw if u liked this fic and want more send me a prompt and i'd gladly make something from it :>

[minsyal]

She Was His

Tywin Lannister x Reader

Summary: Sad-ish.. Written fast and slowly at the same time. It’s been in my wip for… a few years now. Enjoy 💕 not mega edited, apologies for any grammatical thingies.

Word count: 2800

An overwhelming race of the steadfast beating in her chest exploded as soon as the fields were flooded with a haze of crimson. Flags waved proudly in the wretched wind of the summer day, creating a sea of blood upon the grassy plains. The first harvests of the summer crept in from the false spring of years past, providing the first taste of freshness in two years.

She could hear the heralds heralding from the gates of King’s Landing where forces encroached on the sky scraping walls. With enough focus, she could spot him riding in front. Rising gallantly from a white steed, the Lannister patriarch sat with a stiff back and cold resolve. Pleated drapery cascaded down from his broad shoulders to attach to his narrowed hips. Everything about him bled with an unwavering confidence, the same confidence that had stolen her heart from her intended many years previous.

“Princess.” The Master of Whispers was always lurking around corners and concealing himself within the shadows spoke. His hand was cold and plush against her shoulder as he delicately reached out to guide the princess away. “You should be in the Holdfast where it is safest.”

“There is no threat.” Her tone was resolute and her shoulders squared as she shook loose from his light hold. The Grand Maester was also nearby, listening as the two conversed. “Lord Tywin is here for our protection.” Her defense was as strong as the impenetrable stones holding the earth down. Beliefs cemented in centuries of faith grounded her as she, for the first time in years, felt a wave of calm wash over her body.

“A precious assumption from a naive heart.” He, Varys, paced the small space of the stone tower. “Have you considered-”

His words meant nothing to her for he spoke in an ill favor of her beloved lord. She would have none of his lies. Fleeing his presence, she joined the Grand Maester at the window’s ledge. Her fingers were warm against the cold stone that separated her from the open air. “It is anything but an assumption, my Lord.”

“Lord Tywin has not taken a stance during the Rebellion.” Varys tucked his chin to his chest as he eyed the silken fabrics that hung from his wrists. “Greeting the city with thousands of armed men often is not a welcoming sight. Should Lord Tywin decide that his faith with the crown has run thin, it will not end well for the Targaryen dynasty.”

“It will turn in our favor.” Pycelle insisted, pressing his shaking fingers to the heavy chains that hunched his back. “Lord Tywin has served the Targaryen dynasty valiantly and faithfully since the day he became Lord of Casterly Rock upon his father’s death. His heir serves in the King’s Guard and his daughter was set to wed Rhaegar.”

“The crowned-prince was slain on the Trident and Prince Rhaegar was wed to Elia Martell.” Varys reminded the room, though his words were not warm.

The mention of his name made her suddenly uncomfortable. “Rhaegar is dead, but that does not mean that Cercei’s love for him has ceased. She would have married him if not for my father’s decisions.” She pressed her hand firmly down on her stomach to quell the fluttering butterflies that bounced from its walls as she looked into the blinding glint of his crimson armor. “Let him in.”

“My princess,” Varys tone had become concerningly low, “do not allow your love for him to shroud your rational thought. There is a reason that Lord Tywin had not chosen a side in this war. At the death of your brother, he joins the battle. Does that not leave a bitter taste upon your tongue?”

“He will not allow us to crumble.” She defended, a sweat breaking out on her forehead. “He was my intended for many years. This is a way for him to finally have my father accept the betrothal. The Lannister army will assist us in quelling this rebellion once and for all.”

A hush fell over the room as the uneven footsteps of the king echoed up the stairwell. His were followed closely by another, a younger man covered in heavy armor. All eyes were focused directly on the painted wooden door that separated the overlook from the rest of the Keep.

Hobbling into the room, thin and frail, Aerys used any railing he could to maintain his balance. A wild look clouded his lilac eyes, fluctuating from pinpricks to full dilation. Nobody present was truly sure if he was aware of his surroundings. Behind him stood Jaime Lannister, a dashing young knight with hearts to spare. Though popular among the crowds of maidens, she wondered who he was truly interested in.

Pycelle and Varys plead their cases to the lone judge who seemed to go in and out of listening. His fingers shook as they gripped at the golden crown of tangled wings placed heavily atop his brittle hair. For a moment he pressed his thinning lips together and contemplated deeply in a way that she had not seen him do in decades. Deep in the cavernous depths of his mental prison, he listened to the voices that instructed him in his daily life. “Lord Tywin cannot be trusted, my king.” One voice, foreign and shrill, urged while the other, mature and shaken, suggested differently. “Lord Tywin will protect this city. He will end the rebellion.”

Aerys did not ponder on his options for an extended period of time. His decision was made in the filling of a lung as he muttered the few words aside from garbled madness he had in the past few months.

“Let him in.”

Those words seemed to mean nothing to Aerys as his eyes glazed back over from his position in the room. He did not look to his daughter nor his council who all dispersed throughout the throne room. Pycelle began his short jaunt to the front gates where he instructed a footsoldier to deliver word from the King that the gates should be opened to Lord Tywin.

“Come, princess.” Varys began to pull the princess’s arm, but found a stone wall beneath his fingertips. “We must get you somewhere safe.”

She was unmoving and uncaring of what the Master of Whispers had to say. Any words that came from his mouth were null in her mind.

“Princess, you must go now.” Varys pulled forcefully at the princess’s arm, so much so that the sleeve of her gown tore in his fingertips. Any other instance as such would leave a man without his head but an urgentness in his chest compelled him to act with ferocity. “Lord Tywin and his men are not here to ensure your safety.”

She couldn’t, wouldn’t, believe it.

All the years Tywin spent as Hand of the King he had vied for her hand. He had, on multiple occasions, taken her to spend the summer months in Casterly Rock where she could live freely and happily. He had planted seeds of safety in her core that had only cemented her trust in him, and hindered Varys’s attempts to guide the girl away.

None of it mattered, though. Tywin would get what he wanted in the end even if his desires had to adjust to the circumstances.

~~*~~

“What of the girl?” The path to King’s Landing had been an easy one, one that Lord Tywin had made many in the past.

Red velvet cloth draped thickly over the encampment that laid near the forking of Blackwater Rush. The room was occupied by a select few. The men within were to carry out the most heinous of crimes. Though reports conflict, it is generally accepted that the sinister deeds were ordered by the Lannister lord. In the distance laid their destiny, one that would alter timelines that had been set in stone for centuries.

Lord Tywin adjusted his jaw from where it had been clenched harshly to the right of center, keeping his lips pressed into a thin scornful line. “Leave her to me.”

~~*~~

Her feet could not carry her fast enough away from Varys. Echos of his pitchy voice rang through the walls and into her eardrums, beating away like sticks upon clashing cymbals. Heavy material glided across the floor, sweeping every bit of dirt and debris into its train as she ran desperately for the throne room. At the very least, she knew that Ser Jaime and her father would be there, waiting for their fates.

It was an odd moment of willful ignorance on the princess’s part. Deep in her heart she knew that she was running to her death. She was painfully aware of the chaos that ensued in and outside of the walls that had protected her for her entire life. The screaming in the streets were not joyous. No bells rang for celebration. Scarlet embers flecked with honeyed gold were not that of the evening sunset.

The screams were pained, filled and overflowing with an extinguishment of life. Sounds of bells were morphed from crumbling walls and pounding doors as foot soldiers stormed through the cobblestone streets. The evening sunset was not due for hours. Fires were set across the city, illuminating the rising smoke and ash that clouded the sky in a display of power.

She should have left.

Within the throne room, she was met with a sight that brought bile rising to the top of her throat. Churning upset her stomach and she heaved on a dry tongue. Though his skin had paled throughout the years, he looked particularly gaunt lying on the floor with ichor trickling from his neck. His fingers were curled into fists that bruised purple down to his wrists. Thin and stringy hair that once glittered in the vibrancy of the midday sun was now filled and bland, painted a shade of garnet similar to that of Lord Tywin’s armor.

If it weren’t for the circumstance, she could have said that Jaime looked particularly regal upon the Iron Throne. Downcast eyes focused on the glint of steel in his lap, concentrated rivet directed at the dense pressure that moved his shoulders downward.

“Ser Jaime?”

She could see the turmoil in his eyes as he looked up from his seat. The princess should have fled for Dragonstone, Jaime thought as she took heavy steps in his direction. He refused to listen to the nagging voice in his head telling him to do what was honorable. Her fate was already sealed.

“Ser Jaime?” She repeated, steps growing faster in speed and more uneven as she clutched at her chest and neared her father’s corpse.

“Ser Jaime? Please!” Anguished sorrow bled from her lips as she placed a hand gently over her father’s heart. It had not beat a single time in nearly ten minutes.

Footsteps fell in large groups from the Throne Room’s main entrance. The doors were left open from when she had come through them, allowing Tywin and his small garrison east entry.

Tywin Lannister stood there before her, his crimson armor dulled from bloodshed. Whose blood stained his chest, she did not know, but given his stature and ease of movement one could presume that he was relatively unharmed. A simple halting of his hand had the remaining infantrymen stalled in the doorway, the majority turning their backs to the room as they surveyed the hall outside. Tywin began his approach.

Faint screams bounced off the walls and into the rafters of the room, rising upward like plumes of heavy black smoke until they disappeared into the air. The princess was beside herself, her hands now red with her father’s ichor matching the front of her dress where he had bled as she groomed his hair out of his face. For all that he had put her through, he was still her father.

Tywin was upon her now, his face hardened as he watched her shoulders relaxing as the weight of her situation fully dawned on her. She turned to him then, eyes filled with tears that streamed down the contours of her face.

He had always thought of her to be particularly beautiful. In the warm summer months, he had spent many hours courting her in the privacy of his own home. There was a hope in him back then that they could wed and from their union would come heirs that he could marry off to solidify his power. Whether there was true love for her in there was questionable.

There was nothing about the princess he disliked. She was agreeable, fairly intelligent, and held onto his word like it had been written by the gods. Although, she did not worship him. A clear admiration for the man was displayed on her features, especially so when he was leading council meetings or sitting the throne in the place of her father. She had told him on many occasions that she wished to be able to hold the room the same way he did. In fact, there were many things he found he did like. Her company was comfortable, always melding into his presence as if she had always been there. No one would argue her beauty either. Similar in looks to that of her mother, the princess was soft and ethereal in appearance. She dressed in beautiful gowns and always smelled slightly of rose and mint. Even now in the chaos of the sacking, she held that same look.

“What does this mean for me?” The words fell like a feather from her lips, floating softly downward to the floor where her gaze was focused.

When no answer came from Tywin she turned and looked upward at him. “My lord?”

There were truthfully only two possibilities for her future and Tywin knew that.

He extended a hand down to her and stiffened when she accepted it and rose to meet his gaze. Trembling fingers wrapped around his. The entirety of her body was shaking. He took the opportunity to pull her into his chest despite the hardness of his armor. A gentle hand smoothed down the back of her hair and rested on the nape of her neck.

“What will come of me now?” She repeated, enjoying the way he embraced her. Calming to his touch, she deepened her hold on him.

“The war is over, princess.” Tywin hushed her tearful sobs, pressing a light kiss to the side of her head as her crying intensified. “The house of the dragon has fallen.”

The princess only looked into his emerald eyes when his gloved finger guided her vision upward. He knew he should not have allowed himself to indulge in the moment. Robert Baratheon would not let a Targaryen, especially the sister of Rhaegar, live peacefully. He personally saw to the death of the prince and Tywin did not intend to let him see to the princess’s end.

Knowing that no guard dared to turn their heads in their direction, Tywin drew the princess near and placed a light kiss to her lips. Their personalities in that moment were completely opposite. She was ravenous, starved of his touch and seeking validation in his arms. Her hands found the dimples of his waist, barely detectable through the armor, and rested there. If it were not for the metal, she would have dug crescents into his skin.

On the other hand, he was calm. A storm brewed in the pit of his stomach, but he did not show it.

She let out a soft breath when the cold metal sunk itself into her chest. Tywin held her still, not allowing her legs to give out. One hand held the blade firmly by his side, soaked in her blood. The other was cradling her body, holding her to his chest. An uncomfortable warmth oozed from the bodice of her dress. It added depth to the blood that already stained his breastplate.

Her lips parted to speak but nothing could come from her lungs for no air remained. Pleading questioning eyes met ones that would display sorrow and remorse if they could. It would be a cold day in hell before Tywin would admit what he had done was wrong. Every fiber of his being scolded him, but his own selfishness was not enough to start a war with a man who had just won his own.

Tywin knew that the only end for her that he would accept was the embrace of death. If not for his blade, Robert Baratheon would either have the princess killed or marry her to claim the throne. Selfishly, Tywin could not bear to see her wed to another.

She was his.

Her love, her body, her heart, and her death was his.

That was how it was supposed to be.

[novasdarling]

Hii🌹can i ask "It’s so dangerous out there. Can’t you see that?"

with yandere Chrollo please? Thanks🌹

HEHEHEHE this motherfucker would. He's delusional in the scheme of him being like "Yeah my darling is better than me than anywhere else." but also he knows it's just a lie he makes so he doesn't feel too ad when you cry about being with him

Dangerous Out There

TW: Kidnapping, Yandere Behaviour, Mentions of death, Mentions of punishment

The walls were plain and cold. Made of old cement bricks, leaving little room for any warmth or comfort. Any feelings sparking joy or tenderness were missing. Cold, bland, cruel. This jail cell represented the jailkeeper well. A void of happiness and delight was exactly what Chrollo was. Just this blackhole that took and took, destroying everything it touched and devoured.

However, no amount of sadness or begging changed his mind. Nothing let him declaw himself from you. No matter how much you begged these last few weeks, he refused to let go. Rather it seemed like your tears and pleas just made him dig deeper. Made him pull you closer to him, made him add more locks to the doors and windows. Like the more you begged and craved for freedom, the more he held onto you. The more he denied it. The more he felt like he needed to keep you locked away, keep you hidden. But you couldn't help the hope that pooled inside you. Hoping your begging would chip away at him. Make any sort of difference, cause him to feel any kind of remorse and let you go. A hope you would always hold onto.

Chrollo had made his way into the living room. Standing in the doorway, observing from behind as you watched one of the few movies he had provided when he first took you. You could recite it line by line.

"I know you're there."

"Your senses are getting better. Before you wouldn't have noticed me until you could see me."

Chrollo made his way forward, kneeling in front of you. Placing himself between your legs. It made your skin itch. You didn't give him an answer, even as he waited there. Starring up at you. You ignored him. Starring at the dumb movie in front of you. His hands squeezed your thighs.

"Most people say thank you after a compliment."

"Most people don't kidnap."

Chrollo laughed. Finding your response humorous. He always found your rebuttal funny and pleasant. Making it clear he enjoyed the bit of resistance you had. The wit that came with it. Your snappy remarks. It was fun for him, as long as you never went too far.

"Touché." Chrollo rubbed his knuckles over your cheek.

"Don't touch me."

Flinching away, you pushed him. Trying to create some distance from him. Trying to get the man you hated as far away as possible. He tried again, lifting his knuckles up to caress you, but you moved again. Denying him what he wanted twice.

"Enough."

He grabbed your arms. Trying to keep you still. Keeping himself between your legs and you caged.

"Let me go."

Chrollo held on. Dismissing your words as he wrestled you still.

"I want to go home."

Tears were forming in your eyes. You hated this, hated this man. Despised everything about all of this. How the hell did a charming stranger you bumped into one day turn into the man who was holding you captive? A man that killed and hurt people to get you. A man who had no boundaries.

"Let me go. I just want to go back. P-please. I won't tell anyone. I-I promise. I want to-"

"Stop it. Stop it now."

"Go to hell."

You lashed and kicked at him. Trying to get him away. Trying to make him let go. To understand just how much you hated him. How much you wanted him dead. That this wasn't home. That he wasn't what you wanted.

"I said stop it. Listen to me." Chrollo was raising his voice at you. Not yelling, but still enough to try to demand you listen to him. "Listen to me, just listen sweetheart." One hand now held both of your arms as the other made its way to hold your face still. Forcing you to look at him. "I'm trying to help you, my dear. Trying to keep you safe. It’s so dangerous out there. Can’t you see that? Can't you see understand?"

He sounded angry yet, worried. It was a lesson he was trying to push into your mind. Trying to teach you with him was better than elsewhere. Yet, even as his words sounded sincere. You couldn't help, but laugh at him. Laugh at his words. Dangerous? The danger out there? He was fucking deranged. Worse than you thought.

"Whatever is out there, sure as hell can't be worse than being here with you."

Leaning in, close to his face so he could hear your words. Understand what you were saying. Understanding you meant it. That you would rather be out there with whatever he was worried about than with the monster that was pretending to be your saviour.

The look on Chrollo's face had changed. Like he was hurt and angry. Disappointed by your words. You knew that look, you had hurt his little fantasy. Ruined the image of him being your little hero. The look that meant your behaviour needed to be "corrected". That your wit and back talk had crossed the line.

"Seems like you need some reminding why you're here."

"What, another couple of days locked in the closet? I'll take that if it means being away from you." You spat in his face with the last sentence. Showing him you were genuine.

"See, I was thinking something different." Chrollo grabbed your upper arm. Pulling you up and making you follow him. "If you think I'm such a monster, perhaps I should leave you alone with a colleague of mine. Someone who doesn't care about your safety. Someone who doesn't love you like I do. Remember Feitan?"

You had made the worse mistake since he had taken you. Not only had you been resistant to him, but you had made him the enemy. Not just in the scheme of kidnapping, but in the idea of being with him. You told him how you saw him. Now he was going to correct it. Make you see what is worse than him when there is no love to give.

[webslingingslasher]

banner made by: @thursdaygxrls

PROLOGUE:: FRIDAY MEETING

FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 1ST

Frat row was a stretch of homes between Broadway and Amsterdam. One hundred and fourteenth street had the majority of houses, five frats bled into a hundred and thirteenth street. 

Sigma Nu was one of them. 

It looked like a normal neighborhood, hidden in plain sight. Near the college but not on school grounds per university rules. A street across the final dorm building where houses connected back to back. Personality differentiated the homes, each frat had their own house color, banners and logo.

Frat row made it easy to party, you could jump to five parties in one night if you wanted, and that was just the street Sigma Nu was on. There was an infinite number on the streets behind theirs. 

There was some movement happening on the block, but not much. Fraternity presidents moved in two weeks before the start of school, and chapter officers moved in a week before. No one surrounded the Sig Nu house, you don’t think anyone has moved in yet besides Trent. 

They took turns moving in so the roads wouldn’t be a mess, Sig Nu must be one of the last houses on the block to move in. 

It felt odd being on frat row in the daytime, it was calm. It felt like a residential neighborhood, like you’d greet someone collecting the newspaper or bringing their trash can inside. The summer cleaned up the street, in a few weeks it’d be littered with plastic cups and dried vomit. 

You weren’t sure what it felt like, but you knew it didn’t feel like a frat house. Especially not their frat house, Sig Nu was the party house. It always has been. It was like a glitch in the matrix. 

There were thick white columns that made Sigma Nu stand out from the others on the block, cement stairs that led to and from the street. Their door was a burgundy red, two stone lions that were typically dressed up on either side of their porch. There was a wooden porch swing that you wanted to take for a ride, it seemed like a good place to be on a chilly night out. 

Shaking out your nerves you slowly walked up the steps, and pushed down on the door handle, Sigma Nu opening itself up for you. 

It was a little empty and too bright on the inside. 

And quiet. 

You allowed yourself in per instruction, your meeting partner sitting at the kitchen table gestures for you to sit. The second you scoot in he starts asking.

“Who are you?” 

“Ally’s friend.” 

Trent Simpson looked you up and down, his pen clicking repeatedly, it’s the only sound coming from around you. You stare into his eyes, he’s trying to figure you out and you don’t want him to. Giving him a few cryptic dm’s and insisting you meet before the year started, making sure to specify absolutely no one else was allowed. 

You presented him with the information, and allowed a small glance over to prove you had something of interest to him. 

“So, what do you want?” it’s natural for him to assume you want something, no one presents this type of arsenal without reason. 

Trent didn’t need to know why yet, what mattered was if he was up for the task. 

“I need to know you’re willing to do something for it.” 

“What kind of something?” You find his caution amusing, was the big bad president scared of you? 

“Depends on what you’re willing to do. I help out your frat, your frat helps out me.” 

Your words offended him, Trent scoffed and tossed his pen to the table, a disgusted curl of his lip made you look away. “My frat doesn’t need your help.” You killed any deal with your words, his ego is too big. You have to fight dominance with dominance, but you do it politely. Girls don’t start fights, but they’ll finish them. 

You clear your throat and give him a gentle smile, you cross one leg over the other and run your hands down your thighs. 

“Trent Simpson, third year finance major. I think that’s impressive. Math is hard, ya’know? I’m sure you understand, because you failed out, didn’t you?” 

Uh oh. Did you just beat him at his own game? 

Trent’s jaw clenched, “I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about, and neither do you.” 

A barbie smile, “you’re so silly, Trent. It was last January, remember? They sent you that letter about not returning, academic dismissal, correct?” You take his silence to continue, “but your dad is a very, very successful man, isn’t he? And you’re the only son, you’ve got to follow in his footsteps, he’s counting on it. But he couldn’t stand that you failed him and dad wasn’t going to let it ruin his image.” 

Trent’s fist was shaking with how hard he clenched it. 

“Dad made a donation, and wow! He’s a little petty, you maintained an average of fourteen, so you at least put in that fourteen percent, right? But, you had to make up for the rest of it, didn’t you?” 

“I suggest you shut the fuck up.” 

“Eighty six thousand dollars, and the next day you had an email reinstating you as a student.” 

He’s fuming, you’ve never seen a human face go so red. Trent tries to speak but you’re not done yet, you have one last thing to add, then, he could play his cards. 

“No, your frat doesn’t need my help, but it would be nice. I need your frats help, and I thought this would be a nice way to get it. You’re just collateral, Simpson, it’s nothing personal.” 

He’s mad but something else is brewing, did you just impress him? 

Trent leans until his shoulders hit the back of his chair, his left hand picks up the pen he had earlier and he starts clicking. He’s thinking, the pen drops again. 

“You’re blackmailing me.” 

Amused. Impressed. Challenged. 

“You didn’t take the bait and it would’ve been stupid to come here without the upper hand, don’t you think?” 

Trent leans forward and stretches his hand across the table, waving the folder in your hand over. “Let me look at them again.” You glide it across the oak. He takes his time, slowly looking up at you. 

“What do you need from me?” 

You’ve got him right where you want him. 

“We’ll talk next Friday?” 

Trent nods stiffly, “we’ll talk next Friday.” 

You stand to leave, politely pushing your seat in when he stops you again. Trent held out his hand, “it’s a pleasure to be in business with you.” 

You lean to reach him, gripping tight you shake his hand. 

A dirty smirk wipes across your face, “pleasure’s all mine.” 

[plutoswritingplanet]

Ring Of Fire (Lucifer x Female!Reader) pt.2

a/n: we're taking a turn for the weirder, next chapter will be slightly more comfort than hurt (you know, as much as i know how to write comfort). for now, all we have is darkness and edginess. Cross-Posted on AO3

Warnings: Dub-Con (wow that never fking happens on this blog), Soulmates, Emotional Torture, Biting (not the sexy kind), like...a teeny tiny smidge of cannibalism.

Summary: The psychological torment of being chosen for the Devil tips over as he visits you in your sleep.

PT.1

At first, you're not aware that you're dreaming. A strange haze falls over your vision, as if you've just woken up from a devastating fever. Your limbs sway slowly, like you're treading through honey. It fascinates you, the way the light of a streetlamp flickers over your fingers, as you raise your hand. Bare feet on the concrete, your toes contract, pebbles stuck to the skin. The air feels weird on your skin, like liquid pouring over your form in an invisible cascade. It feels real enough, yet so far away. 

You remember falling asleep on Bobby's guest bed, brought down by the events of the night. What were those events, you couldn't remember, but you can smell smoke swirling in your nose and your eyes are puffy with tears. You sniffle, swipe your hand across your face and feel as if by this simple gesture, your skin has been pulled like fresh taffy. Perhaps you have died in your sleep. The thought is, for some reason, incredibly funny to you, and from somewhere far away you can hear a voice, strangely similar to yours, giggle. It echoes through your skull like a church bell, and you groan at the reverberating sound. 

- Crossroads? Really? - you turn around without any grace in your movement, as another voice rings out right next to you.

Your breath catches in your throat and you can feel all the muscles in your body constric, then relax forcefully, as if some invisible strength was trying to keep you docile. 

There he stands. So human, so plain, it tugs on your heart in a way you were not expecting. Lucifer. His hands clasped in front of him, red spots and abrasions decorating his skin in a grotesque display. Sick, your brain supplies, he looks sick, as if he's starting to rot where he stands, and suddenly, in this strange dream the worst possible feeling comes to surface. You pity him, truly and deeply. Normally you'd jot it down to caring for the poor man he has chosen for his temporary vessel, but here, where reality doesn't exist, you can't force yourself to entertain this lie. Your fingers flex at your sides, a need to heal, to help, pushing at them to come forward, to cradle his face like he did to yours.

God help you, you wanted to help this monster.

Then, his words register in your brain, and you finally look around.

You're in the middle of a cement road, somewhere you don't recognize, and sure enough, there is a crossroad. You haven't been to one in such a long time. Not since Dean got dragged to hell and pushed by grief, you were about to do something unbelievably stupid. You remember begging. Actually begging a demon to take your soul, to save your friend, only to be met with a cruel laughter and emptiness so profound, it nearly broke you. Shame washes through you like a sudden wave, and you try to keep some integrity by encircling your chest with your arms. It does you little to no comfort, and Lucifer cocks his head to the side, as if he's in tune with your emotions. 

- Do you dream of this place often? - Lucifer asks, walking around you at a slow pace.

You don't know how to respond. Do you? Perhaps that is the case, perhaps somehow you've always had some sort of connection to the crossroads, where the most wicked of deals were made. Perhaps it was all his fault, from the very beginning. You nod, once, not trusting your own voice, and the Devil flashes you a quick smile, before his expression darkens, as if he's deeply in thought. There are prominent shadows falling over his face, his eyes sunken even more than you remember. 

- I can't find you - he finally looks up at you, and your heart stops just for a second - You're invisible to me, I wonder, why is that?

Castiel, you immediately think, and you have to look away from him at the memory of your friendly neighborhood Angel carving Enochian symbols into your bones. It's almost like you can feel them, beneath your skin, beneath the muscle and the guts. Not hurting, not really. Just, there. A constant reminder, that you're hunted by a being that feels entitled to your very existence. Being, which is currently taking small steps towards you, looking over your body as if you were a piece of prime meat in a display case at a grocery store.

- You're hiding from something you cannot stop - he says, and you feel the coldness of his breath on your collarbones - It's Dad's will after all. 

That, for some reason, wakes you up from your previous stupor. Shaking your head, you try to take a step back, a litany of "no's" spilling from your lips. To that, he frowns, grabs at your shoulders to keep you in place, and with a sudden wave of horror you realize, you can't move. And you want to move so badly, your body feels as if it's tearing itself in half. White fire, cold burning floods you, when his hands make contact with your skin, fingers skimming over the flesh of your arms, dragging down and down, until they grab at your wrists. 

- I don't want this - there's conviction in your voice you were not expecting, because truly and deeply, you fucking hate this situation, this responsibility which has been placed upon you without your knowledge or consent.

Lucifer laughs an airy laugh.

Gently, as if you're a porcelain doll, he brings your hands closer to his face. He maneuvers your fingers, eyes watching with fascination at the way your knuckles move under your skin. The tendons, the veins, he swallows it all with a greedy gaze, and the coldness of his breath makes hairs stand at the back of your neck. 

- I'm not particularly thrilled by this revelation myself - he whispers to your fingertips - I mean, isn't this insulting? To force me to care for a thing I swore to hate.

You shudder at the sudden harshness in his voice, and his hands dig further into the meat of your wrist. Reminding yourself that this is just a dream, you try to steel your nerves, focus on leveling your breathing, on freeing yourself from his grasp. It's harder than you anticipate, trying to collect any sort of self-preservation, while your mind is cradled by the smothering blanket of whatever dream-magic has been placed on you. 

- But then again, I am a child of an absent father - something akin to mirth flashes through his face, and as he looks up at you, eyes gleaming with something you're too scared to decipher, you're convinced you'll never truly escape him - And such a gift... - he sighs deeply within his chest, pressing the scarred surface of his cheek to your palm - Well, who am I to deny it?

Your face twists into an expression of disgust, and with a whine, you tear yourself away, craning your body as far from him as it is willing to go. Which arguably isn't much. His grip on your body tightens, arms digging into you, as he forces a perversion of a hug onto your unwilling frame.

- I've killed for less - he whispers into your ear, and revels in the way your entire body shivers - You're really lucky, and I don't think you quite realize how much. 

- I don't want to be lucky - painted nails dig into the cotton of his shirt, as you try your hardest to hurt him, force him to back up, or just react to your defiance in any other way than patronizing indifference. - I want nothing to do with you, I don't want you.

To that, he humms low in his throat, and you whimper, as cold lips descent upon the juncture between your neck and your shoulder. You can't truly describe the kind of fear he brings upon you, but your entire body seems to surrender despite your best efforts at doing otherwise. Must be magic, you reason. He must've placed you under some kind of a spell, there is no other explanation.

- Don't you think you're being just a tad ungrateful? - he asks, nose dragging along your artery - I mean, here I am, ready to love you, to care for you, to accept you as the gift that you are... - he takes a long drag of your hair, savoring the scent as your knees start to buckle - And you're ready to throw it all away because, what exactly? Because I'm what my Father has made me?

- Because you're a monster, only capable of hurting others - you seethe through your teeth, and immediately get cut off, when presses your bodies tighter together, something worryingly similar to a growl resounding deep within his chest. 

- Is that what you think?

You've made a mistake, immediately you can recognize that. Playing the tough guy in front of the literal Devil, while having no real idea of the supposed bond tying you both together, wasn't your smartest moment. Cold sweat forms on your forehead, when Lucifer extends his hands out, fingers digging into the flesh of your arms. Then, looking at you from that small distance, he gives you a strangely bored look. Like he has seen everything you've done play out in front of him a million times, like he knows all there is to know about you. 

God save you, you hate that look more than any atrocity he has committed. 

- Don't look at me like that - bravery, or stupidity, you can't decide as words leave your mouth in a snarl. - You don't know anything about me. 

- I know all that's important - he counters - I know God made you for me.

He takes a step closer, and suddenly you've grown very tired of this constant dance. His hands massage their way towards your shoulders, where he grips you tight and drags you towards him. You stumble, nearly falling into his chest, but he straightens you out forcefully, like you're some doll he can maneuver all he likes. 

- I know you're rebellious, just like me - his whisper seeps into your very being, as if you've become infected by his gentle tone - You're lonely, just like me.

You want to shake your head no, you really want to, but he keeps you frozen, enchanted by his sudden closeness, and the barely noticable note of vulnerability hidden in his grey eyes.

 Sam and Dean flood your mind. Your boys, your closest friends. The times you've spent together were few and far between, but you cherish them. You truly do. Which is why, your heart breaks at the realization, that Lucifer is right. Despite the bars, and the hunts, and the long drives, you're lonely. Loneliness follows you like a shadow, too ingrained into your bones to ever leave. But not right now, never when he's around. 

- It's okay, you know - Lucifer sighs, leaning down to kiss right between your collarbones - Sooner or later you'll realize, there's no shelter, no hideout where I wouldn't find you. That's true love, babe.

- Stop - a plea slips between your lips, quiet and pathetic, reminiscent of when you've fallen to your knees, begging a demon to bring your friend back.

What you were pleading for this time, you couldn't really comprehend, all you know is, you don't want to do this. You can't do this, and if this really was true love, wasn't he supposed to understand? 

The beating of your hear escalates, when he moves to grab at your face, hands so perfectly fitting alongside your jaw. He turns your head from side to side, as if wanting to commemorate every angle, etch it into his mind. If it were any other man, you'd be over the moon. If he wasn't a threat of catastrophic magnitude, just waiting to end the lives of your friends and everyone on Earth, you would've craned your neck further, given him access. Accepted your fate.

Yet, when his cold lips press into yours, it's so easy to forget why you've been unwilling all this time. He's gotten better at it, you muse, as he kisses your unmoving mouth, trying to pull some reaction out of you. Finally, you gasp, when he traps your bottom lip between his teeth, and bites down hard enough to draw blood. Immediately he takes advantage, thumbs digging into the hinges of your jaw, until you have no choice, but to open up to him. It's nauseating, the way he kisses you, as if he needs to map out the insides of your mouth right this instance. 

Lucifer pulls away so suddenly, for a second you follow his mouth before steeling yourself. Blood trickles down from your bitten lips, and he launches at the small streak. Tongue laps at the skin of your chin, licking off every trace of red, and the sound he makes is downrigh sinful. Then, emboldened by your taste, his hands push upwards, the muscles of your neck straining, as he moves your head back. 

The skin of your throat is exposed and pulled taunt, and your entire body is ready to collapse, when he presses open mouthed kisses along your trachea. Then, as you let out a  whimper, he moves to the side, kissing and licking a line towards your pulse point. He stays there for a moment, dragging his teeth down the cullumn of your throat, hard enough to make you squirm in discomfort. From gentle coaxing, his ministrations took a sharp turn to roughter territories.  

- So sweet - Lucifer muses to himself, taking another whiff of your scent - I could just eat you up. 

Something in his tone of voice startles you. It's not a cute love confession, a cliche line from a romantic movie. From his lips, it sounds daunting, like a promise he can't wait to fulfill. Your eyes swipe downwards, but all you can see is the top of his head, as he dips down to further abuse your throat. He's not gentle by any means, all teeth and no comfort with the way he nibbles at the skin behind your ear. It's pleasurable, or it would be, if it were any other person, or a person at all. 

Then, the air seems to shift, a sinister streak you're not familiar with crawls the lenght of your back, and you tremble like a caught bird in his unwavering grasp. As if sensing the change, his hands switch the hold on your face, supporting the underside of your jaw and chin, pulling up and up, until you have to stand on your tippy toes. 

- Perhaps I should - ringing fills your ears as tears flood the corners of your eyes - Perhaps that will show you, who you belong to. 

And with that, he pulls back. Like a priest raising his cup at the Holy Communion, he raises your head, eyes roaming across the marks he has made on your throat. And then, he dives down, jaw open, teeth glistening in the darkness of the night. 

You can feel it all, as he tears through skin and muscle, sinking into your trachea as if taking a bite out of a ripe apple. Your scream sounds so far away, so muddled, for a moment you can't recognize it's you that's screaming. Then, he pulls back with a sickening, wet, tearing sound, and your voice dies down in a gargle. Blood floods your mouth, spills through your teeth, a waterfall of red soaking your entire front. Through hazy vision you see him chew and swallow, and the sight churns your insides, as you double over, bile quickly making it's way up what's left of your throat.

Except, it doesn't hit the pavement. It lands on the wooden floors of Bobby's guest room. Confusion barely registers in your panicked state, as you roll off the bed, grabbing at the gaping wound in your throat. A wound that isn't there at all. Phantom pain wrenches a series of shouts from you, like an animal caught in a trap. Begging from help. Knowing it will recieve none. The coarse surface of the floor scratches at your thighs, as you push yourself into a nearest corner, tears mixing with sweat on your face. 

That's when Dean rushes in, Sam right after him. Any other day, you'd consider their company a blessing, but right now all you can think of, is what Lucifer has in store for them. How he can hurt them, to get to you. Castiel teleports into the room soon after, and you wish the floorboards would open up and swallow you whole. 

- He was... - you wince, voice creaking like old hinges - He was in my dream.

That's all Sam needs to cross the room and kneel in front of you, gently pulling at your hands, which are still clutching the non-existent wound on your throat. The skin is red and raw, nail marks trail down from under your chin to your collarbones, but there is nothing else.

- I know - Sam whispers, arms encircling you in a warm hug, that just feels like entrapment - I know, I'm so sorry.

Deep down you know, he understands. The weight of being promised to the Devil, the torment he can bring upon a person, the fear. But right now, all you can feel are teeth, and lips, and hands which are too cold to be anything other than a monster.

Castiel has questions, you can see it, in the way his eyes scan the room, fall on your shaking frame, still pushed into a corner. He doesn't ask them, thankfully, opting to gruffly mutter something about checking the wards around the house. Bobby yells from his office, Dean yells back. You try to focus on the warmth coming from Sam's chest. You stay like that for a couple more minutes, before finally, calming down enough to stand up and wipe your tears off your face with a heavy hand. 

- We'll figure something out - Sam supplies his usual response to anything Apocalypse related.

What used to be a hopeful promise, right now sounds more like a hollow echo.

Dean keeps his opinions to himself, chewing on them as he hands you a beer fresh out of the fridge. Only when the liquid freezes it's way down your pipes, you are certain your throat is where it should be. Your brain is coming back as well, rebellion, loneliness, all the traits Lucifer has read from you. They mix with anger, slowly rising within your chest, because fuck that. Fuck him, fuck God and fuck every single entity responsible for your current predicament.

- Yeah - you force yourself to sound convinced - Yeah, we'll kick his fucking ass.

[thebennettdiaries]

Klonnie Weekend 2024: Sweet or Spicy -- PDA

"This is not going to work," Bonnie says, stepping back from him. She is stiff, radiating the tension she is feeling.

Klaus' mouth tightens, clearly unhappy with her latest protest. They have been over this more than once. He takes a deep breath, drawing air through his nostrils and attempting to soothe his temper. Getting angry with her will only push her further way.

And he needs her close as possible.

He is careful, reaching out to trace his fingers along her arm as they move down to tangle with hers. He can feel the way each muscle tenses beneath his touch. A challenge. She is a challenge and one he wants to rise to. If they had more time he would be oh so careful in the way he touches her, the way he moves about her, the words he whispers in her ear. However, time is no luxury for them.

"Bonnie, love, we have discussed this. Appearing united tonight will ensure that no more harm will come to those caught in the crossfire. Together we are strong." He gives her hand a squeeze and feels some comfort in the fact that she squeezes his back. It is a start.

There is a quick retreat to change into a dress that is made for her (and only her --- he knew as soon as he saw it that it would be perfect). His hand hovers over the small of her back as they enter the ballroom. Eyes are on them, clocking the newest alliance between two of the strongest beings in existence.

They are scared. They should be.

He pulls her into his arms for a dance. He can feel the moment that something changes in her. She relaxes, molds her body to his, lets his hands roam over her heated skin. At the end of the night, in plain view of everyone, his mouth finds hers and she doesn't push him away. She falls into it, hands tangling in the curls at the nape of his neck.

Later she will say she did that because it cemented the illusion they were creating for those around them.

He knows she is lying --- but for now, he will allow it.

[megalony]

Medic Mode

This is an Eddie Diaz imagine, requested by anon, I hope you will all like it. I tried to make it as fluffy as I could. Any feedback is always lovely.

Taglist: @lunaticspoem@sj-thefanthefan@hellsdragon@im-an-adult-ish@crazylittlethingg@allauraleigh@onceuponadetectivedemigod@ceres27@avyannadawn@sleepylunarwolf@coverupps@justagirlthatlovedtoread @musicistheway @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @luula @missdreamofendless @bradleybeachbabe @woderfulkawaii  @amberpanda99 @daggersquadphantom @marvel-and-chicago-fan @angryknightstatesmantrash @minjix @lyjen @kmc1989 @itsmytimetoodream @noonenuts @hiireadstuff @ashie-babie @classyunknownlover @jayyeahthatsme @sp1ritssz @dumb-fawkin-bitch @oliverstarksbae @gimatida @heart-35

Eddie Diaz Masterlist

Summary: While Eddie is at work, (Y/n) has a small cooking accident. And when he finds out, he looks after her and patches her up.

Enjoy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Chris, I need to head off now. You be good for me and I'll be back tomorrow night, okay?" Eddie strapped his watch around his wrist before he crouched down beside the sofa where Chris was laid out. He was curled up in his pyjamas and dressing gown with a blanket around his legs. It was almost time for bed.

Eddie was doing a double shift, working twenty four hours straight from tonight until tomorrow night. It was going to be a killer, but it meant he would have the next few days off after this.

"Okay, love you."

"I love you too." With his hand pressed against the back of Chris's head, Eddie kissed his temple and leaned over to hug him before he got to his feet.

He had tried to take a nap this afternoon before Chris got home from school so he would be prepared to go all night and all through tomorrow. Eddie didn't sleep at the station unless he was doing a long run of shifts all meshed together. He couldn't very well turn up for a night shift and try to catch a few hours of sleep not long after he arrived, and he wanted to be rearing and ready to go when he got there.

He pulled back from the sofa with a lasting smile on his face for Chris before he moved towards the hall.

"Okay mi amor, I gotta go." His eyes focused on the hem of his shirt which he tucked into his trousers but when Eddie lifted his head, all the blood drained down to his feet. His lips suddenly went very dry and his jaw hung open but he couldn't find anything else to say.

Oh, that wasn't fair.

How was Eddie supposed to leave for a double shift when (Y/n) looked like that? She was burning her image into his eyes and leaving it cemented into his brain. How could he go out on a call and try to focus when his wife was at home looking that good? How was he supposed to head to work and not stay here when she looked that appealing to him?

The sight of her stood there like that was enough to make Eddie growl and rethink going into work tonight.

It was clear that (Y/n) had just gotten out the shower. She was wearing one of Eddie's plain cotton shirts and a pair of his boxers that were glued rather shapely around her bum. And his shirt hung off her left shoulder as if giving him a sneak preview of what he was missing out on but it was the way his shirt was bunched up over her hip and partly tucked into the boxers that made it hard to stay in control. He wanted to go over there and rip it over her head and drag the boxers down to her ankles.

He swallowed harshly as he watched (Y/n) pad barefoot down the hall, one hand tangled in her hair, brushing it back across her shoulder.

"Really?" His voice came out a lot deeper than he intended and he saw the confusion pool in (Y/n)'s eyes as she approached him.

"What?"

A shiver rolled down (Y/n)'s spine when his arms coiled around her waist and he dragged her closer until her chest bumped into his. His chin brushed against her shoulder and his lips attached to her neck as he absentmindedly leaned up and lifted her high enough that she had to push up on her tiptoes to balance against him.

The feeling of him breathing harshly and sucking at her neck had her knees going weak but when she looked at the watch strapped on his wrist, she knew he was going to be late if he stayed. And Christopher was still awake, they couldn't exactly do anything without him hearing or noticing. He was an observant kid.

"Baby you'll be late," She turned her head to look at him but he caught her lips in a kiss instead and she could feel his hands slip beneath her shirt. His palms pressed flat against the dip in her lower back before she felt his fingertips trace lower and dip past the waistband of his boxers she was wearing.

His shift was going to feel like a week instead of a day with (Y/n)'s image burned into his mind like this.

"Then you shouldn't entice me to stay." He growled and he felt (Y/n) suck in a deep breath when he took her bottom lip between his teeth. He was all prepared to leave until she walked out looking like this.

"Sorry baby," Sincerity flooded her voice while she cupped Eddie's face in her hands and pecked his lips again before she tried to wriggle out of his arms.

It didn't work. His hands slipped lower into the boxers until both hands had a grip on her bum and he stepped closer, pressing every ridge of his body against hers. When he dug his fingers into her flesh, (Y/n) rolled her lips together and pressed her nose against his cheek.

Maybe she should walk him to the door to make sure he actually left. It wouldn't do him any favours to be late to work when he had a clean track record so far.

She gave him a gentle nudge until he was walking backwards, his arms tightening around her waist with his elbows digging into her hips. Her hands reached up to rub across his chest and she continued to nudge him backwards while he stole kiss after kiss from her lips like it was the last time he was going to see her and he was getting his money's worth.

"Don't wanna go when you look like that. It's teasing."

He had to get his head in gear and rush into uncertain situations with this image of (Y/n) at the forefront of his mind. He had to save people and clean the trucks and tend to wounds and injuries and run into burning buildings, all while (Y/n) danced across his mind, looking like this.

"I wasn't trying to tease you baby… you're back tomorrow night, I'll be all your tomorrow."

"Hm, but I want you now."

A gasp tumbled past (Y/n)'s lips when one of Eddie's hands suddenly unhooked from her behind and reached up for the collar of her shirt that was halfway down her shoulder. With it being Eddie's shirt and two sizes too big for her, the collar was looser and easier to move. It let Eddie hook a finger into the collar and drag it further down her arm, exposing her chest to his prying eyes.

(Y/n) tilted her upper half back just as Eddie's lips attached to her chest. Both hands moved to his shoulders and she gave him a strong push until he had to reel back up and disconnect from her chest. She dragged the shirt back up her shoulder, hiding the view he had given himself which made him groan.

"Go to work, Edmundo."

Eddie moved one arm behind him to unlock the door and grab his keys from the lock. When the door opened, he begrudgingly let (Y/n) push him back until he was over the threshold like a lovesick puppy waiting outside for her. But the moment she was out of his arms, Eddie planted one hand on the doorframe and the other on the door. Preventing her from closing the door on him.

He waited until (Y/n) cupped his face in her hands and tugged him down to press a feverish kiss to his lips. She let him swipe his tongue across her lower lip, begging for entrance before she pulled back, mumbling a quiet 'I love you' and 'goodbye' against his lips before giving him a final nudge out the door.

One whole day.

How was he going to survive with that image burned into his mind and the desire bubbling away inside of him?

***

"Next one," Chris murmured and swiped his hand across (Y/n)'s phone until the next song started to play. He wanted the upbeat songs to play so he could dance and stim while they made dinner.

"Here you go baby."

(Y/n) set down the jar of mayonaise in front of Chris who was stood with the salad bowl in front of him. They had made their own coleslaw tonight, something Chris was starting to master. They hadn't quite mastered making their own mayonaise yet but that was next on their list.

"Save some for your dad," She reminded as he tipped half the jar into the bowl before he began to mix it in.

She always plated Eddie a meal up because she knew what it was like down at the station. He didn't always get a chance to eat with how hectic their days could be. Most of the time the team managed to eat lunch but not tea and Eddie would be hungry when he came home.

(Y/n) began nodding her head along to the music while she found a knife and began cutting up the chicken.

Her lips curved into a smile when Chris let go of the spoon and started to wave his hand at his side, curling two of his fingers into his palm as he began to stim. Chris didn't always enjoy cooking but sometimes, when he was in the mood, he loved being in the kitchen. Baking was something he preferred rather than cooking dinner and he loved making pancakes for breakfast.

"Dad home tonight?"

"Yep, he'll be back just before you go to bed."

She started humming the tune while Chris finished up mixing the coleslaw and began rocking back and forth as he sang the song.

"I think your dad-" (Y/n)'s words mashed into a scream when the knife slipped along the side of the chicken and pierced into the side of her hand.

Her body stiffened, her elbows pinned against her waist and her eyes snapped closed when a blinding pain scoured through the base of her left palm. Pain was all (Y/n) could feel, shooting through to her fingertips and down her wrist towards her elbow in electrifying bolts.

Fuck!

Her right hand began to shake when she dared to open her eyes that were already watering on impact. She blinked away the tears and tried to stare down at her hands but the sight made her gulp.

The knife had pierced into the edge of her hand just below her little finger and made a slice up towards her middle finger, right through her palm. The tip of the knife was still imbedded in her hand just below her finger and (Y/n) didn't feel anything when she slid the knife out and dropped it onto the counter.

She took three stumbling steps away from the counter so she didn't get blood all over the chicken. The last thing she wanted was to ruin dinner and have to make something else and take twice as long.

Blood poured through the grooves of her fingers. It trickled steadily down her wrist towards her forearm and splatters dropped down onto the floor at her feet.

"Mum, you hurt?" Chris stepped back and started to wave his arms at his sides and flap them like he was trying to take flight.

"No… no I'm okay baby… w-why don't you play a video game, while I clean up? Please?"

The moment Chris hurried out the kitchen, (Y/n) let her jaw slack and a small cry froffed past her lips. Her fingers curled tightly around her left wrist and she tried to hold her arm up in the air to stop the blood flowing down to her hand. Everything started to shake as the pain just kept flooding down with each thud of her heartbeat.

God, why did she have to go and hurt herself tonight? Why did she have to have an accident right when they were about to have dinner and when Eddie wasn't home?

He was a medic, he was like (Y/n)'s personal doctor. Whenever she bumped into something or had a fall or had any aches and pains, Eddie took care of her. He would go into medic mode and assess her and patch her back up. But he wasn't home right now. (Y/n) would have to deal with this herself and look after herself and Chris.

Her fingers curled around her left wrist in a death grip, digging her nails in until she was splitting the skin. She trudged across to the sink and turned on the cold tap.

Tears flooded her face along with a quiet sob when the freezing cold water trickled over her hand and made her arm pulse with each heartbeat.

The water didn't seem to help.

A river of burnt orange and strawberry red mingled in the bottom of the sink and splattered around the silver edges. The water allowed (Y/n) to have a clear view of her hand. The cut didn't look deep enough to reach any muscle or bone, but it was enough to cause blistering pain and when it healed, (Y/n) knew she would have a large scar through her palm.

She didn't want to go to the hospital. (Y/n) couldn't deal with an evening trip to the emergency room. It would be packed if she went now and she would have to take Chris along with her. That wouldn't be fair to him and she couldn't be bothered with the stress of waiting around for someone to patch her up.

If she could sort it herself, she would.

Scanning her eyes around the kitchen, (Y/n) kept her shaking, bloody hand beneath the water and scrunched her right hand around the kitchen roll in front of the kitchen window.

"One… two… three."

She counted herself down and pulled her hand from the water and held her arm high up in the air. Three sheets of soaked kitchen roll packed against her hand before she wrapped a further six or seven dry sheets of kitchen roll around her hand as tightly as she could to pack the wound together.

When she tried to grab the first aid kit from the top cupboard, it clattered onto the counter and split open.

(Y/n) grabbed a roll of bandage and tore it open with her teeth before she wrapped it around her hand from the base of her fingers, down to her wrist. Keeping the kitchen roll tightly packed behind the bandage to apply more pressure and be safe in case it kept bleeding.

When the bandage was wrapped, (Y/n) wound a tight lot of medical tape around it before keeping a teatowel tightly clenched around her hand. That would do for now.

It felt like her arm had been disconnected from the rest of her body. From her shoulder right down to her fingertips, her arm was thudding and pulsing and aching.

Tears streamed freely down (Y/n)'s face but she tried to wipe them away and take a few deep, calming breaths.

She tossed the bloodied knife into the sink and turned towards the chicken that she now despised. It was cooked well enough that she could shred it with a fork instead of cutting it with another knife.

She would tidy the kitchen after dinner.

***

Adrenaline sparked up in (Y/n)'s stomach when she heard the front door open and close with a bang. Eddie was home.

Her eyes immediately darted down to her left hand and she could feel herself shaking when she noticed spots of blood beginning to soak through the bandage. It was bleeding again. She wasn't sure if her hand had even stopped bleeding since she'd cut it, or if she had just packed it well enough to stop it from bleeding as fast.

Reaching out, she grabbed the teatowel and rolled it around her left hand to cover the bandage before she picked up one of the plates and started to dry it. She would sort her hand out soon. She wasn't going to worry Eddie the moment he walked through the door. He had been on a double shift, he needed to come home and sit down and have something to eat, not come home and feel like he was right back at work again.

"There you are."

Her lips curved into a soft smile when a pair of tense arms looped around her waist and she felt Eddie's lips smother the side of her neck.

Turning her head to the left, (Y/n) kissed his temple and brushed her nose against his damp hair. Her breathing hitched and her lips stretched into a wider grin when Eddie straightened up and almost pulled her off her feet when he dragged her back up against his chest.

"Missed you," He muttered lowly into her neck before he sank his teeth down between her neck and shoulder making (Y/n) swallow down a groan.

Eddie reached his hand up and hooked a finger beneath (Y/n)'s chin, tilting her head up so he could steal a kiss. Then another. Then another.

"Dad! Dad!"

He grumbled something against her lips but (Y/n) couldn't make out what he was trying to say. She kissed the corner of his mouth before she pulled back enough to look up at him with a tender smile.

"He's waited up for you." It had been hard to keep her hand away from Chris's perceptive gaze and try to tell him she had just scratched it and was covering it up so it wouldn't get wet.

But she had managed to get through Chris's evening routine without bursting into tears, no matter how badly her hand hurt or how much ir throbbed or felt like it was going to fall off. Chris had been settled in bed for the last half an hour with the tv on. He was waiting up for Eddie to settle him to bed and as always, Chris had managed to hear the door and knew the moment his dad had come home.

"Here," She kept the teatowel hooked around her left hand while she reached across the counter, as much as she could with Eddie's arms still bound around her middle and his chest against her back. She arched her bum out against him so she could grab the plate from the side and turned to hold it out to him.

He could let Chris have another five minutes watching tv so he could eat his dinner. It wouldn't do Eddie any good going much longer without something to eat. (Y/n) knew he wouldn't have had dinner at the station.

"Thank you." He caught her lips in another kiss before he slowly unravelled from around her and took the plate with a grateful smile.

"Dad!"

"Alright, alright I'm coming." His lips attached to (Y/n)'s cheek before he leaned round to hover over her ear. And (Y/n) could feel the way he grinned into her skin when his voice sent her knees quaking. "I'll be back for you later."

As soon as Eddie was out of the kitchen, (Y/n) moved to the cupboard and grabbed the first aid box again.

Her hands began to tremble when she carefully peeled away the tape and unravelled the bloodied bandage from her hand. Her skin was discoloured and felt like squishy jelly when she prodded at the skin. She had definitely cut the blood supply off for a while with how numb her hand felt.

Flakes of dried blood smeared into the grooves of her palm but fresh blood started to trickle down her hand and made her grimace.

(Y/n) didn't bother running her hand under the cold tap again. She found a fresh bandage and rolled it around her hand as tightly as she could manage and threw the old bandage and wads of kitchen roll in the bin.

Painkillers had taken the edge off earlier, but (Y/n) could still feel the throbbing, splintering pain shooting through her hand every now and then. And her fingers were constantly cramping and splitting from the numbess coursing down her hand.

She left the kitchen to make her way down the hall just as she heard Eddie saying goodnight to Chris. She passed Chris's room and headed into her and Eddie's room and turned the tv on low.

Her lips pressed into a thin line and scrunched up to one side in a grimace when she tried to pull her hair into a ponytail. She could barely get her left hand to move, let alone curl her fingers and wind a bobble between her fingers to go around her hair. A sigh passed her lips and she wrenched the bobble free and let her hair fan down across her shoulders. Her hair would have to stay down tonight.

She barely moved the covers to sit down in bed before she heard Chris's bedroom door shut and the sound of approaching footsteps.

Her eyes followed his movements as he stripped off his button up shirt and approached the end of the bed rather slowly. He crawled along the end of the bed and slowly caged her beneath him with his knees pressing into her legs and up her thighs. Until he was close enough to sink back on his heels with his knees digging comfortably into (Y/n)'s hips so he was sat on her thighs.

(Y/n) stayed silent and held her breath when Eddie raked his eyes up and down her frame and she bit her lip when she watched his tongue dart out across his lower lip. Her heart thudded in her chest as his hands moved to cup the sides of her jaw and she could feel his fingertips tracing along the top of her neck like he was drawing patterns into her skin.

He tilted her head back until she was looking up at him and his lips quirked up into a grin before he swooped down and captured her lips with his.

Her eyes fell closed and her arms weaved beneath his so she could loop them around the back of his neck and pull him closer. She could tell she almost pulled him off balance as his weight shifted to his knees that dug down into the mattress to steady himself. And his chest pressed down into hers, pushing (Y/n) back until she was slanted at an angle against the pillows.

Eddie seemed to steal each breath she tried to take until she had to knot her fingers into his hair at the back of his head and give a sharp tug. Earning a groan that allowed (Y/n) to take back a breath for herself, her lips barely touching his that panted against hers.

"You really missed me, hm?" (Y/n) panted against his lips and pulled his lower lip between hers just to see the way his pupils would expand and darken like swirling orbs in front of her.

"Been thinking 'bout you all day." Eddie's lips curved into a dark grin and he leaned down to kiss her shoulder as his hands worked their way down her sides. Grinning into her skin when he felt her squirm beneath him as he found her ticklish spot.

One hand curled around her hip as if to make sure she stayed put and didn't dare think about moving and his other hand scrunched up the bottom of her shirt, ready to rip it over her head.

But just as Eddie pulled his lips away from her skin, something caught the corner of his eye. He tilted his head down to the right and the smile started to fade from his lips that parted so he could pant and catch his breath back. He smoothed his thumb across her hip and leaned to kiss her shoulder before he moved to look down at the bed sheet.

There was blood on it.

"Why'd you stop?" (Y/n)'s voice stayed quiet, as if speaking any louder would break the atmosphere around them. She let her hands slide down to cup Eddie's neck and tilt his head back up so they were level again.

Reaching up behind him, Eddie let his hands curve around (Y/n)'s wrists but his smile morphed more into a frown when he felt something on (Y/n)'s wrist. He pulled her hands down from his neck and leaned to sit back on her thighs so he could hold her hands in front of him.

Why did she have a bandage on? What had she done? Eddie knew she hadn't been wearing that yesterday before he went to work.

"Baby, you okay? Did you have an accident or something?"

Eddie's fingers stayed curled softly around (Y/n)'s wrist and it was almost comforting to feel his thumb smoothing up and down the back of her hand. But when her hand still felt numb and touching it made the wound start to throb, she wanted to wince.

She had been hoping he wouldn't notice, at least not for a little while. And she thought it had stopped bleeding by now. (Y/n) could see the confusion pooling on Eddie's face as he brought her hand closer to his face so he could inspect the bandage that had been hastily wrapped tight around her palm. Blood was starting to pool like splattered paint in the middle of the bandage and it had soaked through into the bed when she had her hands planted down on the mattress a few minutes ago.

"Um, just a small incident- ow!" Her eyes snapped closed and she couldn't help the way she winced when Eddie tried to drag his fingertips across her palm. It still hurt.

"Oh, baby it's bleeding quite a lot. I'm gonna have to take a look at it." His features pulled into a grimace with his lips pressed together and his brows furrowed down in concentration.

(Y/n) kept her eyes focused on Eddie's bare chest while he turned her hand over so her palm was held between them instead of pulled up towards his face. Both his hands moved so one was gently cupping her wrist, keeping her hand steady, and his other hand started to unravel the bandage as slowly as he could so he didn't hurt her.

Reaching out, (Y/n) dragged her right hand up and down Eddie's thigh, raking her nails along his trousers until his leg twitched beneath her touch and his eyes darted to glance up at her and see what she was doing.

He let the bandage unravel and drop down onto his thigh and slide onto the bed but Eddie's upper lip curled in distaste and a deep growl vibrated through his chest when he looked at the problem. There was a large, gaping wound in the middle of her palm. The skin was discoloured and shrivelled up where it had been cut and it let Eddie see how deep it was. He couldn't see any muscle or bone, thankfully, but it was still deeper than he'd of liked.

"Fuck! Mi amor what did you do? Why didn't you say something when I came in?" There was dried blood caked all around her palm and in the grooves of her fingers but he was glad to see it wasn't bleeding steadily. She just have applied a bit of pressure and caused it to bleed slowly again.

"The knife slipped when I was making dinner. I… I tried to wrap it tight to make it stop."

Panic bubbled up in (Y/n)'s chest when Eddie let go of her wrist and moved to climb over her and get off the bed. She watched him stand beside the bed, but a gasp tumbled past her lips when he reached out and curled his hands beneath her thighs. He gave a sharp tug and dragged her to the edge of the bed and leaned forward so he could hook her legs around his hips.

He murmured a quiet but stern 'up' with one hand on her bum and the other on her lower back and he lifted her and sat her on his hips.

(Y/n) curved her arms loosely around his shoulders and pressed her face into the crook of his neck as her heels crossed behind his back. She closed her eyes and kept her face buried into his neck but her lips curved into a soft grin when she felt Eddie's hand move from her back to swat down on her bum.

"You should have told me," He mumbled quietly into her hair as he walked down the hall and turned into the kitchen.

"Didn't wanna worry you."

"Well I'm worried now."

He heard a small 'sorry' vibrate through his neck and it made him purse his lips and back down. He wasn't trying to have a go at her or be rude, but if she was hurt, Eddie wanted to know as soon as possible rather than wait and find out by accident.

When they reached the kitchen, Eddie moved over to the counter near the sink and carefully eased (Y/n) down so she was sat on the countertop. His hands gave her thighs a tight squeeze before he broke free from her legs and rummaged in the medicine cupboard.

He found the first aid kit and the dark green tupperware box where he stashed the extra medical supplies and some spare bits and pieces he usually brought home from work.

"Alright mi amor, let's sort you out." Eddie moved back between (Y/n)'s thighs and he felt her heels rest comfortably against his lower back between his hips.

He opened the two boxes on the counter and rummaged through to find what he needed before he grabbed a cloth from the side drawer and ran it under the cold water.

(Y/n) bit down on her lower lip and tightened her thighs into Eddie's hips when he started to dab the cold cloth against her hand to clean away the dried and freshly forming blood. Her free hand moved to cradle the side of his neck and she swiped her thumb up and down his jaw that was locked tight in concentration. She tried to study his features instead to take her mind off what he was doing to her hand.

Her hand moved to his shoulder and she groaned, jumping back on the counter when he dabbed an antiseptic wipe across the cut. It felt like he had just poured a bottle of salt onto her hand with the way it bit and stung at her cut. The feeling of Eddie's lips on her cheek soothed one of the many nerves going haywire in her stomach and she tried to focus on his thumb that started caressing up and down her wrist.

"Hand down on here, try and hold steady so I can put the suture strips on."

She did as requested and placed her hand down on the side of the sink and tried to keep her fingers stretched out straight and steady her arm. The last thing Eddie needed was to hold her arm down if she began trembling or pulling away when he tried to help her.

"Okay, here we go." His voice was soothing and rugged but when he pinched her split skin together, (Y/n) couldn't help the broken cry that spit past her lips.

When Eddie taped the first plastic stitch over the wound to hold the skin together, (Y/n) leaned forward. She hooked her free arm around the back of his shoulders and pressed her face down into the junction between his neck and shoulder. Her lips smothered his skin and panted into his neck while her eyes closed tightly so she could try and focus on the feeling of Eddie's soft, laboured breaths.

Eddie continued to work his way along the cut, pinching the skin and sticking the home remedy stitches along to take the wound together so the skin could heal and patch back up.

He could feel the way (Y/n)'s arm was trembling despite how well she managed to hold herself still and not pull away from the pain it caused.

Once it was done, Eddie grabbed a fresh bandage roll and started to wind it around the base of (Y/n)'s fingers, between the groove of her finger and thumb and down to her wrist. He wanted the wound packed and covered so it wouldn't get infected or split open again. He taped the bandage in place before he leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to the inside of her wrist.

"All done baby."

"Thank you," (Y/n) murmured softly against his lips when he leaned forward to capture her with a kiss.

Her arms looped around the back of his neck and she used her legs as leverage to tug him closer until his knees bashed into the cupboard and his hips melted into her thighs.

"Now, where were we?"

[ripplestitchskein]

Thinking about this anti idea that the show switched gears on them. I don’t understand it. I’ve never understood it. I’ve already talked about how it’s pretty clear from the writing and show setup in the first few episodes what the focus would be but what baffles me is that it’s also just not true that the character’s issues are purely centered on and only expressed via the romance aspect. They are pretty good at applying the character’s issues to all aspects of their lives and interactions. Especially with Blitz because he is the main character.

Blitz, to put it simply hates himself, plain and simple. We all know this. He creates scenarios to force others to see him as he sees himself. He is a textbook case of someone who self sabotages due to extreme self loathing. He’s not sabotaging his work or his life in general though. We can see Blitz is hardworking, he is ambitious, he has his life together from a material perspective. He had a roof over his head, clothes on his back and food in his fridge. He provides these material things for a whole other person as well.

Where Blitz self sabotages is his relationships. It’s made clear from early on in the show it’s NOT just romantic relationships, it’s ALL of them. Blitz targets what he thinks will drive people away the fastest. I need it to be super clear that he does this to everyone and its ongoing even if sometimes it’s less prevalent. The show is about Blitz and Stolas, whether you like it or not they were the two characters who were focused on in the first few episodes. And the plot is driven by their issues and always has been, what gets disregarded in these arguments that the show is only about Stolitz now is how we see these issues manifest outside of the romance aspect of the show consistently and regularly just maybe not in entire episode long plots, it’s a through line.

With Moxxie Blitz insults him, he makes comments to make him uncomfortable. He targets little insecurities he has with himself. As we’ve gone along and they’ve developed he does this less, he compliments him more, he gives him responsibility. I think we see a good subtle example of Blitz’s influence in Moxxie on Full Moon. The Welcome to Hell, Bitch line was pure Blitz. His comfort with saying “So fuck him good sir”. These are the kinds of little things that slowly and carefully drive the changes in their relationship.

For Moxxie and Millie as a couple he inserts themselves into their relationship. He makes sexual jokes about them both. He mentions having a threesome with them. He follows and stalks them. It’s an odd and imo off putting behavior, one I think we’ve theorized about a lot and that’s lead to some interesting takes on his character and his view of monogamy in general. I don’t agree or disagree on the reasonings, I don’t have any info to make an informed decision on it but after Apology Tour it was kind of cemented for me that this behavior was also a pretty effective way to test them and drive them away. They are a very loving and committed couple, if I were a serial self sabotager faced with pushing away a couple to prevent them from getting too close, what is the best way to drive them away for good? Obviously, be the toxic third, have them join the Blitz Exes. He’s not going to admit that’s what he’s doing of course, so he approaches it in earnest like he does most things he is deluding himself about. Go all in on denial.

Blitz only ever tests the fence about them though, he never makes any serious moves on it, and he has largely stopped doing it at all after Chaz and Ozzie’s. I think that episode, how he felt after sleeping with Chaz, was the turning point for him when it came to them. It remains to be seen though.

I think GhostFuckers will be the place to explore it if there is anything left to explore about that. We seem to be getting a Millie based flashback and that might shed some additional light.

What also saves Moxxie and Millie from the full force of his self sabotaging behavior is that there is a built in buffer by them being his employees. He always has a way to keep them at arm’s length if there is a power dynamic he can fall back on.

With Loona she is a very closed off, anti-affection person. With her, the tact Blitzø takes is give her too much attention and show too much love. Smother her in affection no matter how many boundaries she sets and how much she protests about it. In Queen Bee he’s too in his head over Stolas to bother with that, and it’s sadly probably the most in sync they’ve ever been until the end. I pointed it out before but in Full Moon Blitz treats Loona very differently. He imitates her and actually snaps back at her when she says Stolas is dropping him, it was a very different interaction than earlier episodes and I think another subtle sign that how he feels right now is changing him and he’s making efforts. He hasn’t simpered at her for awhile. And he obviously is giving her a more active role in the day to day.

These are ongoing threads and they are all part of of the larger picture of Blitz’s growth and change. Just because a romantic relationship is helping drive that change doesn’t meant other things aren’t, or that the only changes or growth we see are only about the romance.

The fact that that there are two episodes focused entirely on Fizz speaks for itself.

[cptn-m]

Wind and Truth Review

This review is spoiler-free for Wind and Truth but may contain mild, implicit spoilers for previous Stormlight books.

Brandon Sanderson has a particular way of writing finales. They are big and bombastic and bring foreshadowing from the whole story to bear while plot threads cascade into one another, resolving in sequence. The POV begins to shift rapidly to accommodate the sheer amount of story in play and the prose becomes simple and plain - abandoning all pretense of subtlety - to stay out of the way of the action. Wind and Truth is an experiment with writing not just a final act but a whole final book in this style, for better and for worse.

WaT makes a rough first impression. Even with its aspirations of being a 1,300 page, foot-to-the-floor final act, it still needs to start with slower scenes to provide a calm before the storm and a chance for the cast to have intimate and emotional moments with their friends, family and partners before embarking into battles they know they might not return from. This section of the book does not gel with the simple prose and constant headhopping at all. Without explosive action to back it up, the language feels stilted and the prose seems to beat you over the head with the intended takeaway from every interaction. When you don't even get to spend a full chapter in one POV, it's hard to get immersed in the atmosphere of these would-be cosy scenes.

There's also a steady issue of humour and modernised language in these early chapters. A lot of quippy lines and juvenile bits that just do not land. And while Stormlight has always had the characters speak in a more modern tone compared to most other fantasy, it really pushes the limits of immersion here. Particularly in the therapy scenes - this is a world where the idea of any mental healthcare beyond 'ignore it' and 'stuff em in an asylum' is a couple of months old at most, but the cast is suddenly dropping recognisable technical real world terms for afflictions and coping strategies in a way that feels way too on the nose. Mental health has always been a big theme in Stormlight, but previous books had a little more faith in readers to put together what the characters were dealing with and which strategies helped them make positive progress without rubbing our noses in the precise therapy speak for it.

Finally, there are plot threads that while functional on a technical level never quite reach the levels of emotional connection they were supposed to have as the story buckles under the sheer size of its cast. Ten Heralds and nine Unmade (with ridiculous hyphenated names) on top of the actual main and supporting cast is a crazy amount for even the most dedicated reader to keep track of, and they most of them haven't had enough presence as individuals to cement a place in memory outside their collective. I was losing track of which ones we've seen before and which ones we've just heard of; which ones have been driven made by the centuries and who can still be reasoned with; who is associated with what abilities and has their fingerprints on which parts of this sprawling plot.

Things click more into place more after the opening downtime is out of the way and the plot gets in gear. The action that justifies the shallow prose starts to happen, and the big lore bombs and plot reveals overshadow the unsubtle and unfunny parts of the character writing.

The core conceit of this one is that both sides of the war know that the climactic, conflict-ending confrontation will happen in ten days and there will be no more gaining or losing territory after that point. For some of the core cast, this means a quest to complete or a puzzle to solve within the time limit to prepare for that last confrontation. For others, it means holding ground against an enemy who wants to control as much of the landmass as possible when the ceasefire is called. Sanderson somehow manages to leverage the time limit in two directions at once. When you're with the questers and puzzle solvers, ten days feels like a terrifyingly short amount of time to finish everything they're trying to do. But then the perspective shifts to a defender on the front lines, facing assault after assault, and ten days feels like an eternity to endure. The ability to turn the atmosphere from time pressure to survival marathon on a dime without feeling like it's contradicting itself is one of the great, redeeming victories of this book's writing.

The central arcs and personal journeys that the main characters have to face are also strong across the board, and do justice to the people we spent the past four books coming to know and love. The story feels deliberate and planned, with foreshadowing and loose ends from the first book through to the fourth finally coming together and paying off. Bombs drop, sending shockwaves that will define not just the direction of the second arc of the Stormlight Archive, but of all the connected works in the Cosmere going forward. While I'm in no hurry to do so, a reread of everything that's come before this with the benefit of hindsight will likely be a very rewarding experience. WaT feels like a vital seed for the planned endgame of Sanderson's one of a kind fantasy extended universe.

(That said, I might dock a point for some similarities to how the finale of the first Mistborn trilogy played out in terms of revealing ancient history and playing with the powers of competing gods. WaT changes enough that it's only one point, but I'll be disappointed if we get a third iteration of these ideas.)

Wind and Truth is everything Brandon Sanderson does well and everything he struggles with all amped up to eleven and put in a blender. It's bold and epic and conceptually ambitious with larger than life characters who are easy to love; and it's bloated and unsubtle and linguistically unambitious and frontloaded with "jokes" that are easy to hate. Sanderson claims WaT to be his most heavily edited book to date, but I have to assume that's all structural edits to fit all these plot threads into one tome without cutting so much they no longer make sense. There is no way to give a book this long the line by line polish it needs with only a year between the completion of the first draft and its release, and it shows. If you're already invested in this universe and these characters there's a lot here that will satisfy, but I hope the next big release gets a little longer in the oven to make the prose into something that lives up to the lofty narrative ideas.