#orange street alley

[tomwindeknecht]

Let's play a game: Zoom in close, look around, what do you see looking back at you?

Location: Orange Street Alley - Redlands, California

[bakestpotato]

[sophiemaryjanes]

i love listening to welcome to nightvale when i'm having a bad day because no matter how bad of a day i'm having cecil palmer & co are having a worse one

[meredithseides]

[astillnight]

exploring the city today!!

[thedailymobile]

“Downtown Exhaustions”

[kira-dofc]

Mafia boss! Sukuna x Male reader

Notes- This was supposed to be a Gojo fic but Sukuna fitted this shit better its too dark for Gojo :(

Wc- 3055

Warnings: SMUT! NSFW, unprotected sex, dub-con, breeding, omegaverse, top/bottom, sub/dom, bottom male reader, overstimulation

Flashes of orange and yellow flames streaked past you, casting a fierce glow that punctuated the night with a hellish light. The deafening crack of gunshots shattered the eerie silence, bullets whizzing through the air like deadly fireflies. It was 10:00 p.m., and the city that never slept was now cloaked in an ominous stillness, save for the chaos erupting around you. Frantically, you ran, heart pounding like a war drum in your chest, fleeing from the world's most notorious mafia. For years, they had hunted down omegas with unrelenting ferocity, and tonight, you had become their latest target. As the last of your kind, you had been hiding from them for a long time. Unluckily, tonight marked the end of your concealment. You were unique, hailing from a wealthy lineage.

Your family had perished before your eyes, leaving you to carry on the bloodline. It was them. It had always been them. They murdered your family, your only family. And you had been too naive to do anything but hide, bearing all the responsibilities alone. But that was six years ago. Now, you needed to devise a way to throw them off your trail.

Bloodstains smeared almost your entire body. Your legs were limp, and one of your bones was broken. You fled toward the heart of the city, tears streaming down your cheeks as you sprinted away from the terrifying sounds of pursuit. The once-bustling metropolis had turned into a ghost town, its inhabitants cowering indoors, unwilling to risk becoming the mafia's next victim. The streets were deserted, the silence broken only by your ragged breathing and the distant echoes of violence.

Each step felt like an eternity as adrenaline surged through your veins. You could almost sense their presence behind you, a shadow of death closing in. It seemed they were tracking you by your scent. The sweet, floral fragrance that emanated from your body had made this escape even more challenging. Your sweet blood flowed through your veins, each drop hitting the ground and leaving a trail. You pressed your hands against your wounds, trying to stop the bleeding and prevent them from following your scent. Your mind raced, replaying the events that led to this desperate escape. It had begun with whispers, rumors of the mafia targeting omegas, and then the brutal reality struck as friends and acquaintances began to disappear, leaving only bloodstains and unanswered questions. Their actions were inexplicable: Why would they target people like you? You had witnessed countless deaths at their hands, many shot, others thrown into pits of fire. They burned all the bodies of their victims.

The neon lights of the city, once symbols of vibrancy and life, now cast eerie, elongated shadows that seemed to grasp at you. You rounded a corner, your feet slipping on the rain-slicked pavement. The distant wail of sirens was a cruel reminder that help would not come in time. You had to rely on your instincts and sheer will to survive.

Suddenly, a narrow alleyway caught your eye. Without thinking, you darted into it, hoping to lose your pursuers in the labyrinth of backstreets. But as you ran deeper, the walls seemed to close in, and the alley twisted into a nightmarish maze. The sound of footsteps grew louder, echoing off the brick walls, a relentless reminder that they were drawing closer.

Your frantic flight led you to a dead end, a towering brick wall blocking your path. Panic surged through you as you desperately tried to find a way over it, your fingers scrabbling at the rough surface. The wall loomed high above you, an insurmountable barrier that seemed to mock your desperation. You could hear their voices now, low and menacing, carried on the wind.

You turned to face them, your breath coming in short, terrified gasps. Shadows danced at the entrance of the alley, and then they emerged, dark silhouettes against the dim light. There was no escape. Your eyes darted around, seeking any possible way out, but there was none. The realization hit you like a tidal wave – you were trapped.

One of the men stepped forward, his face obscured by shadows, but the cold glint in his eyes was unmistakable. He raised his weapon, and in that split second, time seemed to slow. You braced yourself for the impact, expecting the searing pain of a bullet. Instead, there was a sharp sting, more like a needle prick than a gunshot.

Confusion mingled with the adrenaline, and a wave of dizziness washed over you. Your vision blurred, and your legs wobbled beneath you. You staggered, trying to stay upright, but your strength was failing. The world around you began to spin, the alleyway becoming a distorted swirl of colors and shadows.

With a final, desperate effort, you reached out to the wall, hoping to steady yourself, but it was too late. Your fingers brushed against the cold bricks before your legs gave way completely. You collapsed to the ground, the impact jarring but distant, as if it were happening to someone else. The cold, unforgiving pavement pressed against your cheek, and darkness crept in at the edges of your vision.

The last thing you saw before everything went black was the triumphant, merciless faces of your captors as they closed in around you. Their voices were muffled, distorted by the haze of unconsciousness, but the satisfaction in their tones was unmistakable. As the world faded away, one thought lingered in your mind – this was only the beginning of a nightmare that had no end in sight.

As the cold seeped into your bones, memories of happier times flickered in your mind like a fading film reel. You remembered your family's laughter, the warmth of your mother's embrace, and the security you felt in your father's presence. Those moments seemed like a lifetime ago, swallowed by the darkness of the present. The mafia had taken everything from you, and now they were about to take your freedom, perhaps even your life.

The darkness enveloped you completely, a void that swallowed all light and sound. Time lost its meaning as you drifted in and out of consciousness, your mind a whirlpool of fear and despair. When you finally awoke, you found yourself in a dimly lit room, the air thick with the smell of damp and decay. Your hands were bound, the rough ropes cutting into your wrists, and your body ached from the rough handling and the injuries sustained during your escape.

-

A single, flickering light bulb cast eerie shadows on the walls, and the faint sound of dripping water echoed in the background. The air was thick with the scent of mildew and something metallic—probably blood. You struggled to sit up, wincing at the pain that shot through your limbs with every small movement. Your captors had taken no chances, securing you tightly to a chair with heavy, rusted chains. The room was bare, save for a small table covered in ominous stains and a single door, which you guessed led to more horrors beyond.

The door creaked open, its sound amplified in the silence, and a figure stepped inside. It was the man who had shot you, his cold eyes glinting with cruel amusement. He approached slowly, savoring your fear, and knelt down to meet your gaze. His smile was a twisted parody of kindness, and his voice was soft, almost gentle, as he spoke.

"Welcome back to the land of the living," he said, his tone mocking. "You gave us quite the chase, but it seems the game is over now."

You glared at him, refusing to let him see the terror that gripped your heart. "What do you want from me?" you demanded, your voice hoarse from disuse and dry from lack of water.

The man chuckled, a low, chilling sound that echoed in the small room. "Oh, it's not me who wants something from you," he replied. He turned his head slightly towards the door, and with a simple, "Boss," he summoned another figure into the room.

A tall, hooded figure stepped in front of you. His eyes were as red as fire, and his hair was a lush cascade of pink, shimmering even in the dim light. His eyes furrowed as he looked down upon you, scrutinizing your scarred figure. His face etched into a grin that sent shivers down your spine. This was Sukuna, the infamous leader of the most feared mafia syndicate in the world.

Sukuna bowed down to your height, his intense gaze never leaving yours. He tilted his head slightly, scanning you as if you were a specimen in a lab. "Let me clear things up for you," he chuckled as he stood back up. "It's not about what we want. It's about what we need. You see, you are the last of your kind, and that makes you very valuable to us. And very valuable to me. Your blood, your lineage, your body."

You squinted your eyes, trying to understand what he was saying. It was hard to focus through the haze of pain and fear, but his words were starting to piece together a horrifying picture. They didn't just want to torture you; they wanted to exploit you, to use you for some nefarious purpose. The thought filled you with a renewed sense of defiance, and you vowed to fight them with every ounce of strength you had left.

Sukuna's voice dropped to a soft, almost affectionate tone. "I want you to be my mate," he said, his words causing a cold shiver to run down your spine. "Consider it a sacrifice; you'll be saving your race, your population. You can save them."

The words hit you like a physical blow. You struggled against your restraints, your mind racing. "Then why did you kill all of them?" you spat out, your voice trembling with rage and sorrow. "Why? Why do it if you just wanted someone? You could have just taken one and left the rest of us be."

Sukuna's grin widened, and there was a maddening glint in his eyes. "Why are you doing this?" you demanded, your voice breaking.

He leaned in close, so close you could feel his breath on your skin. "Oh, I only did this so I could finally get you," he said with a chilling calmness. "I wanted you, and you only. You managed to get away when we slaughtered your whole family. I only did this so I could be with you, my prince."

His words were a twisted declaration, and you could feel the bile rising in your throat. He chuckled as he whispered those words close to your ears, his breath hot and foul. He grazed his hand along your chin, lifting it to force you to look into his eyes.

"Clean him up, then bring him to my room," he ordered the man who had shot you. "I want him clean when I see him again." With a final smirk, Sukuna turned away from you and walked out of the room, leaving you with the chilling promise of what was to come.

The man who had shot you moved to obey Sukuna's orders. He released the chains that held you to the chair, though he left your hands bound behind your back. You were too weak to resist, too weak to do anything but stumble as he dragged you out of the room and down a long, dimly lit corridor.

The corridor seemed to stretch on forever, each step echoing off the cold, stone walls. The faint sound of dripping water followed you, a constant reminder of the dank, underground prison you found yourself in. You were led into another room, this one slightly less decrepit than the last. It had a small basin of water, a towel, and a change of clothes laid out on a table.

The man pushed you towards the basin. "Clean yourself up," he said gruffly. You stared at the water, the reflection of your battered face staring back at you. Every movement was painful, but you forced yourself to comply, knowing that any defiance now would only result in more pain.

You washed as best as you could with your hands still bound, the cold water stinging your wounds. When you were done, the man handed you the change of clothes—a simple, clean shirt and pants. He watched you closely as you struggled to dress yourself, his eyes never leaving you.

Once you were dressed, he grabbed your arm and led you out of the room again. You were taken to yet another corridor, this one even darker and more foreboding than the last. The silence was oppressive, broken only by the sound of your footsteps and the occasional distant echo of voices.

Finally, you were brought to a large, imposing door. The man knocked once, then pushed it open, revealing a lavishly decorated room. Rich tapestries adorned the walls, and expensive-looking furniture filled the space. It was a stark contrast to the squalor of the rest of the compound.

Sukuna was waiting for you inside, seated in an ornate chair. He looked up as you entered, a satisfied smile spreading across his face. "Ah, there you are," he said, his voice dripping with mock warmth. "You look much better now."

You stood there, your body tense and your mind racing. What was he planning? What did he want from you? The uncertainty was almost worse than the pain. Sukuna rose from his chair and approached you, his eyes never leaving yours.

"Come, sit with me," he said, gesturing to a chair opposite his. "We have much to discuss."

You hesitated, but the man behind you gave you a sharp shove, forcing you to comply. You sat down, your hands still bound, and glared at Sukuna. "What do you want from me?" you repeated, your voice filled with defiance.

Sukuna's smile widened. "I told you, didn't I? I want you to be my mate. Together, we can rebuild your race, your people. You are the key to everything."

His words were like a knife to your heart. You couldn't believe what you were hearing. "Why would I ever agree to that?" you demanded.

"Because you have no choice," Sukuna said simply. "Either you cooperate, or you watch as I destroy everything you hold dear. The choice is yours."

His words hung in the air, a chilling ultimatum that left you feeling more trapped than ever. You knew you had to find a way out, to escape this nightmare. But for now, all you could do was sit and listen, and wait for the right moment to strike.

-

"Leave," He ordered, "I want some privacy." The men in front of the door nodded and leaved in order. 

Sukuna walked around the table, his eyes never leaving yours. He leaned down, his face inches from yours. "I can see the defiance in your eyes," he murmured. "It's...exciting."

You turned your head away, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a response. But Sukuna grabbed your chin, forcing you to look at him. His grip was strong, almost painfully so. "Don't look away from me," he said softly. 

He pressed his lips to yours, the kiss rough and demanding. You tried to pull away, but his hand on your chin held you in place. His tongue forced its way into your mouth, claiming you in a way that left no room for doubt—he was in control.

When he finally pulled back, you were breathless, a mixture of anger and confusion swirling inside you. Sukuna's eyes glittered with satisfaction. "See? That wasn't so hard," he said, his voice mocking.

He reached down and began to unbutton your shirt, his fingers moving with a practiced ease. You tensed, every muscle in your body screaming at you to fight, to resist. But the man behind you had a firm grip on your shoulders, holding you in place.

Sukuna's hands roamed over your chest, his touch both gentle and possessive. "You're beautiful," he murmured, almost to himself. "So perfect."

You shuddered, a mixture of fear and unwanted arousal coursing through you. Sukuna's hands moved lower, unbuttoning your pants and sliding them down your legs. He knelt in front of you, his eyes dark with desire. "I want to taste you," he said softly, his breath hot against your skin.

A sudden tug was felt on your shirt, Sukuna lifted you up. Everything went by so fast, your were now on his bed. Your shirt and your pants was tossed to the ends of the bed leaving you bare with your underwear wet as your cock begging to spring out. Your face was flushed between your hands as Sukuna chuckled "You're too cute to handle, boy" He soon unbuttoned his polo, leaving his body bare for you to see. 

His body was toned, veins aching from every muscle. His jawline defined, his hands were scarred, veins and bones revealing themselves under the skin of his hands. He moved down to you as he whispered to your ears, "You're mine." 

Sukuna groaned as he held your hips with harsh and fast thrusts. Every thrust he makes make you squeal and let out moans. Your body now aching with love bites and hickeys as you left scratches on Sukuna's back. His fast thrusts soon slowed as he leaned on you, "Take all of my pups for me, yeah?" He groaned as he came, knotting your insides as you came on his stomach. Your moans shifted into breathless sighs.

One round turned into 20. Its been 1 hour and a half before his dick throbbed your insides. His shape now taking form of your hole, "Ugh...! N-no Ah..., more....." You moaned as you whispered in his ears. "You don't get to order me," He groaned as he whispered back to you, "Just one more darling. Raise all my pups inside you..." He leaned closer to your face as he planted a kiss on your forehead as he thrusts in and out of you. You hugged him tightly as you felt your climax. One final thrust, his cock spurted out his pups in you for the twentieth time. 

You breathed heavily, as your rested your head on the mattress. His hands trailed to your neck to your jaw, moving your head to face him. "I'm not done with you," He says as he kissed you on your neck, through your chin and on your lips. He groaned as he laid next to you. Your head facing his chest as his hands covered your waist. 

[ahmedpalestine]

In these harrowing moments, Jabalia Refugee Camp is under relentless assault. Israeli military tanks and aircraft are bombing the area of Sala Mazaya and Riyadh Al-Salihin, where our family home stands. A place once filled with beautiful memories is now a scene of destruction. They are not only demolishing the walls and stones, but also our dreams, our childhood, and every joyful moment we've ever had.

My relatives and neighbors are trapped inside their homes, unable to escape. They are pleading for help from the Red Cross, but no one can reach them because the army is everywhere, and the streets are soaked in blood and littered with bodies. The sky is dark, lit by the flames of warplanes circling above. These drones are hunting anything that moves, even in the narrow alleys.

I spoke to my loved ones, and fear echoed in their voices as if they were saying their final goodbyes. They are speaking from beneath the shadow of death, from the heart of this nightmare, and you now have the chance to witness death through the eyes of the victims. The sound of explosions is deafening, the sky is an orange blaze, and the chaos feels like the edge of the apocalypse. Women and children roam the streets, unsure where to go, their eyes filled with despair and terror.

This crime being committed against our people is a crime against humanity, against all of our feelings and dreams. We are not just numbers or names on a screen. We are people with hopes, emotions, and a longing for a dignified life.

In this critical time, we need your voice and support more than ever. Do not stop speaking about the atrocities being committed against the Palestinian people. Share this message, spread it across every platform. We need your donations, your solidarity, and for our voices not to be forgotten.

Every share and every donation is a step towards saving lives.

Vetted by bilal-salah0

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@sayruq @anyonghalimaw @punkeropercyjackson

[crownremonique]

I Need Your Help

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!reader

Fandom: The Rookie

Summary: When you find yourself in danger walking late at night, You think it's best to give Tim a call rather than trying to deal with it yourself.

Warnings: Mentions of attacking with weapon, Fluff, crying, comfort, (Tim being a huge softie)

Word count: 1.2k+ words

Bright rays of sunshine slipped through the gap in the curtains, illuminating the room in soft hues of orange. You rubbed the sleep out of your eyes, trying to turn but stopping when you realised you couldn't. The weight of Tim's arm kept you pinned down to the mattress, his soft little snores vibrating on your skin. You craned your neck, just enough for his face to come into view. 

You always loved seeing Tim sleep peacefully, although it was becoming more rare. His job was taxing, draining him by the end of the day, and it filled you with happiness beyond words to see him relax by your side. The harsh furrow between his brows had disappeared, his face devoid of any signs of stress. 

“I can feel your eyes on me, honey” Tim spoke, his eyes still shut. 

“How long have you been awake?” You questioned, clearly being caught off guard. Tim's face broke into a smile as he opened his eyes, pulling you closer. 

“I just wish I didn't have to leave you so soon..” Tim spoke into your hair, drawing little patterns on your forearm. You hummed in agreement, inching closer. Eventually, Tim pulled himself away from you and started getting ready for the day, asking you your own plans. 

“I have some books I gotta return to the library, It’s the last day and I am NOT paying any late fees.” You concluded. Tim chuckled and kissed the top of your head. 

“Need me to drop you there? I can come pick you up on my break” He offered, with a gentle smile. 

“No need, I'll walk. I have to pick up some milk from the grocery store too.” You said. Tim shrugged one of his shoulders with a look that said “Whatever you say” and left the house, with a quick reminder for you to be careful. 

You also decided to get up and get started with some breakfast and then go out for the errands you had planned. What you didn't know was that you would come across a brownie cookie recipe on Pinterest, spend more than a few hours getting them perfect, and then surprise Tim with them at the station. 

When the realisation of how your time had flown by finally settled in, the thought of the unreturned books struck your mind. It was already well past eight, and you would be able to get to the library and back by ten if you hurried up. You briefly thought about Tim’s offer, but shut the idea down, not wanting to disturb him again after you already wasted plenty of his time dropping off your cookies. 

Pulling a jacket around your shoulders, you set out to the library. You were thankful that you got there soon, not wanting to carry the heavy books any longer. Dropping them off with the librarian, you made your way down the dark street, deciding if the milk could wait till tomorrow. 

Seeing the shortcut back through a narrow alley, you decided to take it, wanting to get out of the chilly night as soon as you could. You had taken that very shortcut lots of times, but always when it was light out. You were already halfway into the alley when you heard something shuffle behind you.

You turned around swiftly, planting your feet into the ground to steady yourself. 

You weren't stupid, you knew what was happening as soon as a man stepped out from behind the trash can, weapon in hand. Calming your breathing, you called out to the man. 

“I may not look like much, but I sure as hell can take you out” You said, making sure to raise your voice to get someone's attention in case things got out of hand. The man rushed forward, taking your words as an open challenge. He swung at your side with his knife, grunting when you seemingly dodged his attack with ease. All the time Tim spent teaching you self-defense really did come in handy after all. You managed to kick the man in his groin, stepping away when he doubled over in pain. 

You decided pretty quickly to run when you saw more people emerging from the shadows. You took off down the alley, as you heard the rest of the thugs follow behind. Your heart pounded in your ears, fear flowing through your veins. You definitely wouldn't be able to defend yourself alone from that many people, and the nearest public place was more than a mile away. Your last option? Call Tim. 

You ducked into one of the diversions of the road, and crouched down behind one of the storage units. Pulling out your phone and quickly dialling your boyfriend's number, you prayed that he would pick up. The phone had to ring only a few times before his voice came through. 

“Hello?” 

“I need your help. I'm being chased and cornered by some thugs. 822 E, 20th street” You cut him off, your voice trembling with fear. You heard the line go silent as he processed the information. 

“I'm on my way.” He said curtly, hanging up the phone. Tim rushed to the parking lot, shoving people out of the way. He barked at Lucy to get in the shop, ordering an entire team of cops to follow him. 

“Geez, what's gotten into him?” Nolan asked, staring at Tim's sudden change in behaviour. Nyla shrugged dismissively.

 “No idea, but with that enthusiasm, I can only assume he's going to come back with the greatest criminal in the history of LAPD.” 

You crouched on the floor, pulling your legs closer to you and hoping that Tim would get to you before the thugs did. The time you spent waiting for the cops was agonising, each moment stretching on for what seemed like forever, filled with anticipation of your fate. Your ears were just starting to ring from the silence when you heard the shuffling of footsteps a few metres from where you were hiding.

Your body had started shivering with terror as you tried to calm your breathing. Clasping a hand over your mouth, you tried not to let your shallow whimpers be heard. You jumped when the storage unit hiding you was ripped away, the man smirking and looking down at your trembling form.

“There you are..” the man taunted, grabbing you by your hair. You cried out in pain, as he tugged harder. He pulled you up to meet his eye, but dropped you immediately as a dozen flashlights pointed at you both, blinding him temporarily. 

“LAPD, Drop the weapon! Hands where we can see them, interlock them behind your head and get on your knees.” You heard Tim call out. Relief washed over you, the sight of Tim flooding you with a sense of safety. He kept his gun high and side stepped over to where you were crouched down. You fell into his embrace as you saw Lucy handcuff the man on the hood of their car. 

“Are you okay? Did he hurt you? I swear to god if he laid a finger on you I'm gonna-” You cut him off with a searing kiss, his shoulders relaxing as he felt you, safe in his arms. 

“I'm fine, don't worry about me..” You mumbled against his lips, running your hand through his hair. He buried his nose into the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply as he loosened his grip on your waist. “With you up my alley, I’ll be just fine.” You continued, your eyes welling up again as thoughts of what could have happened flooded your head.

“I am never letting you go anywhere alone again.” Tim declared, searching your eyes for any sign of objection. He never did find any.

✨️

[heavenlyraindrops]

The Devil Made Me Do It | Arcane | Silco x Reader | Chapter One

also on AO3 and Quotev | visit the first tag to find other chapters | warnings: pre- s1 (for now), profanity, mentions of death, addiction, and prostitution

summary:

In the midst of an unfortunate run-in with the enforcers, you meet the young revolutionary Silco, and by extension, his friends Vander and Felicia. Growing close friends, you get through life in the undercity together, determined to make Zaun a better place. Until tragedy strikes, and betrayal and carelessness stabs hard enough to turn you bitter. Years later as time solidifies the scars, Silco proves to be a thorn in your side. You, in his. Hatred festers. And your world cracks further open.

Chapter One:

The undercity was certainly something.

Especially at night, when shadows extended their smoky tendrils to allow those dabbling in unsavoury business to lurk, gloomy buildings hiding things you’d be safer off not knowing within. People milling about, going about their private, dangerous business.

Water splashed across the street as your foot landed in a puddle, ankle twisting the wrong way as you tore through the filthy streets, enforcers hot on your heels. All this for heckling an officer? You clutched your shawl around you as the wind almost buffered it away.

It was ridiculous.

After bumping into a large man, a mother and her child, and knocking over a crate of sludge-y creatures, shouts trailing after you, you found an alleyway to disappear into. You scrambled up some wooden beams, eventually emerging onto the flat roof of the low, squatting building. You watched the idiotic Pilties run straight ahead, missing your small detour entirely, and scoffed, stepping away from the edge.

You turned, and made your way across the rooftops of Zaun. 

You’d reached an impasse. Well, not really- nothing a simple jump couldn’t fix. You squinted down into the dusty darkness of the narrow alley below your feet. This part of the undercity was silent- but you could hear the lapping water, and knew you were close to the river.

Vaulting over a concrete bar and pushing off with your feet, you landed on the other side of the gap with a thud. The roof shook, and you yelped as a tile slid off the edge, and crashed into the darkness.

Holding your breath, you heard nothing. The water continued to rumble. You turned to leave.

Until- 

“Fuck.”

You froze in horror. 

Creeping back towards the piped edge of the roof, weight on the backs of your feet, you peered into the darkness. The glowing end of a cigarette burned orange. You gulped.

A man emerged, stepping into your view. His brow was furrowed. Your hands were shaking. “I-I’m sorry!” You called out, and he scowled. 

“You nearly hit me!” He almost-yelled back. But taking a look at your face his expression softened. Against better judgement, you slid down the pipe, feet landing on the ground with an oof.

He looked at you, eyebrows raised. Someone in the undercity coming down to personally apologise for something like that instead of laughing in one’s face and running away was rare. He looked at the apologetic look on your face, and watched as you opened your mouth to speak while also stretching out your hand.

“I’m sorry…”

He reached for your hand too, ready to dismissively accept your apology and move on with his night.

“…But can I have a cigarette?”

His expression dropped.

You lazily took the cigarette from his hands and took a long, deep drag, tendrils of smoke curling from your mouth. At his frown, you moved it from your lips to speak.

“What? You don’t have herpes, do you? I’m not going to get it, am I?”

Wordlessly, he shook his head. You studied his face. Strong features, blue-green eyes. He wasn’t half bad looking.

I wouldn’t mind getting an STD from him.

Without a single reaction to your rather graphic thought you took another drag on the cigarette, before handing it back to him. “Thanks. Not everyone here knows that sharing is caring.”

He laughs, guarded, and then stops himself, surprised such a sound even came out at your words. You smiled at him sweetly. “And sorry for almost hitting your head and bashing it in with a tile. Though it wasn’t my fault, was it?”

“I suppose it was an accident,” he said stiffly, a strand of hair falling in front of his face. He dropped the cigarette, crushing it under his heel. “Miss…”

“[name]. Janna, I really needed to calm my nerves.” You stretched, arching your back like a cat, feeling the bones pop and muscles stretch deliciously. The man wet his lips, looking out at the street through the alley.

“And why would that be?” His voice was smooth. You readjusted your shawl. 

“Some enforcers were chasing me. The usual.” You let out a slow sigh, going to leave the alley without as much as a goodbye. He didn’t say anything, just watched you leave.

You planted a foot out into the street.

“That’s her!” 

You whipped your head around, watching a gaggle enforcers charging towards you. A scream tore from your lips you rushed back into the alleyway. The man grabbed you as you almost crashed into his chest.

“Fucking run!”

Shimmying up the pipe, you were back on the roof. You didn’t spare a turn to look back as your heavy lunges rattled the roofs, leaping over bars and gaps. You turned and saw an enforcer slip through a gap in the roofs, crashing into the street below. The man from the alley was just at your shoulder. Without a sparing a second you turned and left.

Once you were certain you’d lost the enforcers you stopped, chest heaving, and slumped onto the ground- roof- beneath you. The man stayed standing, eyeing you with an unreadable expression.

“Okay,” you gasped, turning over. “Now I’m actually sorry.” Coughing while trying to catch your breath you extended a hand. “Do you have water or something? I’m sorry.”

He let out a heavy sigh, not knowing how to behave in this situation as he took out a flask, crouching down and holding it out to you as you continuously mumbled apologies. You gulped down the water inside. “It isn’t poisoned, is it?” You sighed, wiping your mouth as you handed it back. He sat down as he took it, joining you on the slanted roof. 

“You only think to ask that after you’ve downed half the thing?” His voice was filled with amusement. You ignored him.

“I’m sorry, mister…”

“Silco.”

You stared at him as he took out another cigarette, patting his pockets for a lighter. Without a word you took one out, flicking it open and pushing down to activate the flame. You held it in front of his face. “I’m sorry, Silco.”

The cigarette lit up. You studied his profile, mainly the line of his sharp nose as he inhaled deeply.

“It’s fine. Why do you keep apologizing?”

“I got you involved in a chase with enforcers after almost dropping a tile on your head and taking your cigarette.”

“You didn’t have to take the cigarette,” he muttered, miffed. You ignored him, the lighter snapping shut. “And my plans for the night have been ruined…”

“I’m sorry,” you repeated. He looked at you, chuckling. “I’ll make it up to you somehow, if you want.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Such generosity is rare.”

“Not generosity. Justice.”

He laughed again, at your dramatics this time as he rolled the cigarette in between his long fingers. “Right. Justice.”

“So, one favour.”

“That’s a dangerous offer, [name].” A thought struck him, and he furrowed his brow. “Don’t tell me you’re from topside.”

You stared at him for a minute, then scoffed. “Of course I’m not. What makes you think that?”

“Your naivety.” He blew smoke from his lungs, and you watched as it curled over the rooftops. “It’s not a good idea to go around offering favours to strangers.”

“I’m as much of a trencher as you are, Silco,” you scoffed.

At this, he suddenly grabbed your wrist. You stared at him in shock as his lip curled, expression furious. You blinked, unmoving. 

“Zaunite.”

“Wh-what?”

“Use Zaunite. Not the name they gave us.” His grip on your wrist loosened before falling away completely. You nodded.

“Right.”

It fell silent.

“And I’ll never cash in that favour.”

You tilted your head. “Why not?”

“Because, it’s a stupid idea. If anything, I’m doing you a favour.” Another drag. You turned over to look at the sky.

“Thanks… I guess?”

He chuckled again, smoke curling from in between his teeth. Your face felt warm. “You’re strange.”

“So I’ve been told. What exactly were the plans for your night that I so rudely ruined?”

He didn’t say anything.

“I hope you weren’t visiting a cathouse.”

He groaned, and you laughed, snatching the cigarette off of him. He didn’t stop you. “Certainly not. Not for the cats, at least.”

“The cats?”

“The women, [name].”

“Well, what else would you go there for?”

“You’d be surprised.”

You frown. “Right… so no prostitutes.”

“Definitely not. It’s an immoral practice.”

Your eyebrows shot up. “A trencher with morals. I see.”

“Zaunite,” he said through gritted teeth.

You shrugged, sucking on the cigarette. “Well, I don’t care. They’re just making a living.”

“And what would you consider immoral?”

You blew out a cloud of smoke, and for a moment you considered saying something that he’d agree with, racking your brains for an appropriate answer. He clearly hated topside…

“What those Pilties are doing. Their prejudice against us,” you said proudly. He gave a small laugh.

“Right. Everyone thinks that. Something unique, please.”

You stayed silent. “Well… I do believe capitalising on addiction is quite immoral.”

“Ironic, considering that cigarette you’re holding.”

“There are extremes.” Your voice was low, and it was clear there was a story behind the subject. He didn’t press you, simply watching you put out the cigarette on the tin roof, your appetite for nicotine crushed.

After a quiet moment you spoke. “My sister was pregnant. Some… drug lord got her hooked onto something.” You rested your head down. “It was dangerous. They don’t make it anymore.” He hummed silently. “I lost both her and the baby. And she was all I had left, so…”

“The father?”

You scoffed, and that told him more than he needed to know.

“That… drug… business owner… whatever he was- he didn’t need money. He was filthy rich,” you spat. “A-“ your eyes slid to Silco- “A Zaunite, hoarding money, sucking life out of his own people, and not sharing a single drop. I hate that bastard.”

“What became of him?”

“Business crushed, killed by enforcers.” Your response was curt.

He hummed. “Well, in that case, I certainly won’t go down that path.”

“…I suppose I won’t work in a brothel either.”

“Or own one,” he added. You laughed.

“Or own one.”

You sighed gently, standing up. “Well, I hope whatever business you missed gets resolved. Goodbye, Silco.” You made to climb down to the street.

“Wait-“

You looked up.

“You said you don’t have anyone. If you’re ever… looking for company, go to the Last Drop. Tell the bartender you’re looking for Silco.”

Your eyes enlarged as you stowed the name in your memory. “The Last Drop,” you repeated, then nodded.

“Goodbye, [name].” 

You smiled again, and dropped down into the crowd.

When you looked back up to the sky, to the roof, he was gone.

-

[clockwayswrites]

Orange, City Pigeon, Danny & Batfam @roanawayspoons WC: 864 CW: Blood, injury

“I’m just saying, you shouldn’t get to be Red by default.”

“Well I can’t be Robin and Hood is a unique identifier.”

“No, nope, just because you weren’t creative enough to come up with something other than Red Robin you shouldn’t get to just claim Red.”

“Creative enough? Oh that’s rich from the man who ripped off the Joker.”

“It was poetic!”

“It was lazy.”

“Look here, bird bones—” …and Tim was gone, Jason thought with a sigh. He turned back to see Tim still before the last jump, staring down into the alleyway with a tilted head. Jason’s hand went to one of his guns. “Red?”

“Blood.”

“And? It’s Gotham. I think the city is held together by blood at this point.”

“Green blood, Hood.”

“How do you know it’s blood then?” Jason asked, but stalked forward to look. Alright, maybe the splatter was pretty distinctive.

That particular shade of green was also concernedly distinctive.

“Well, fuck.”

“Yep.”

“Who bleeds Lazarus water?”

“No clue,” Tim said unhelpfully. “Guess we better find out.”

They dropped silently down into the alley, one after another, and followed the trail of toxic green blood. The trail went cold a few times, whoever was bleeding was clearly trying to hide, but they were inexperienced at it and the Bats had spent enough time stalking through the streets of this city that the cement and stone basically spoke to them. The trail couldn’t hide from them.

Without warning, Jason shot his arm out to stop Tim. He tapped the side of his helmet silently; he heard something. Tim nodded and they fanned out to search. A door in this latest alley they were in was cracked open, like someone had tried to close it and it had bounced back off the latch.

A green hand print was smeared down it.

Jason pulled a gun from his holster, but let Tim go through first. While Jason was far lighter on his feet than someone his size should be, there was no denying that Tim was stealthier. Jason would be just a few steps behind ready to provide the muscles and firepower.

It was odd, then, when Tim purposefully let his foot scrape against the ground as he rounded the corner. Jason just cursed silently as the idiot continued forward, cutting himself off from Jason’s line of sight. “Hey, looks like you could use some help with that wound before you bleed out.”

Jason couldn’t hear what was said back; he edged closer.

“You must not be from Gotham. I’m Red Robin, one of the heroes here.”

The person snorted. “Just… over… then?”

Tim laughed. It was one of his many fake laughs, but the one meant to soothe people in trouble. “Why would I do that? I’m a vigilante. Do you know how illegal what I do is? I just don’t want to see you bleed out. Maybe I can even take you to a safe house where you can rest.

“So… interrogate me?”

“I mean, I’d like to know who tried to kill a kid, but that’s to make them pay, not you.”

Jason’s hand gripped his gun so tightly it hurt.

The person… the kid laughed. It was a broken sound that no kid should have to make.

Jason had heard it a lot on the streets.

“Maybe I deserve it.” Their voice was raspy, like every word caught in their throat.

Jason came around the corner. The kid went rigid, which was the last thing they needed with how blood seeped from their fingers where their pale hand was clutched against a too big hoodie.

Tim leaned casually into Jason's space in a way he wouldn’t normally, putting on a show for the kid that Red Hood was safe. It was at least true for the kid. Jason leaned back, mostly for the comfort of having his brother close in the face of the sight. Seeing bloody kids never got easier.

“You’re what, sixteen?” Jason asked.

“…fifteen?”

“Yeah, no fifteen year old deserves to bleed out. You know who I am?”

They shook their head. It dislodged the hood a little. The tangled, chin length hair was startling white and splattered with dried green blood. Jason forced himself to take a breath.

“I’m Red Hood. I protect part of this city called Crime Alley. I’m not afraid to kill a shithead, especially ones that hurt kids, but I never harm a kid. I’ve got places to put you if you need somewhere safe; places not in the system. Or get you somewhere. Do you have a place to go to?”

The kid laughed again. Somehow it sounded worse this time. “That’s the thing. I do. I might, I guess. Just no one is going to believe me.”

“Why won’t they believe you? Where do you need to get?” Tim asked.

The kid looked up. Jason felt Tim tense against him. Hell, Jason tensed. They were the wrong color, but Jason knew those eyes, those brows, that slope of the nose. Everything was just a little sideways, but Jason knew that face. He knew what the kid was going to say.

“I need to get to Bruce Wayne.”

--- AN: Happy Trauma Tuesday~

Feel free to continue this, use it as a prompt if you'd like!

[livinghalfway]

Younger Years Pt. 6

Masterlist

Summary: Damian gets temp de-aged to 6yrs old; cue him asking where his twin is. This is how everyone finds out about Danny's existence. Word Count: 2162

Danyal keeps to the shadows as he enters the town. He doesn't know where he is or if anyone that could recognize him is here. The last thing he needs right now is for Grandfather to know his location; or Damian. Which is not a thought he would ever think of. While the two of them certainly had their differences, Danyal never thought they would end like this. He should have though he realizes; their story was only ever going to end with a tragedy.

Grand- Ra's has made his displeasure of Danyal known for quite some time now so it shouldn't have surprised him as much as it did when he and Damian were forced to fight. What was surprising though is just how easily his brother accepted it.  

Was he not worth fighting for?

He was prepared to stand against Ra's with Damian at his side knowing full well that it wouldn't have ended favorably for them. It seems his brother didn't feel the same way though. 

Damian and him weren't brothers anymore though were they? He wasn't an al Ghul after all. Danyal al Ghul is dead from this point forward; he's just Danyal right now.

As the sun begins to set lower and lower it makes Danyal feel more comfortable with exploring the town's streets more in depth. The first thing he needs to do is find a place he'll be able to safely lay low for the night. If he can do that then he'll be able to sit and think more clearly about what his plan for the future is. 

What Danyal doesn't expect though is that while making his way through an alley he would have a run in with a girl with bright orange hair who looked to be a couple years older than him. While his first instinct is to immediately eliminate this unknown threat he decides to instead push that feeling down when he realizes that this girl would stand no chance against him in a fight. 

He's not going to let Ra's training control his life anymore; not everything needs to end with spilt blood. So against everything he's ever been taught Danyal runs, or attempts to at the very least. 

The girl on the other hand decides to chase after him instead of simply letting him melt into the night. 

"Hey! Hey wait!" She calls out after him.

Best to get this situation over with now. Danyal abruptly stops and turns to the girl, "What do you want?" 

"Are you ok? Do you need help?"

Which is honestly a fair question honestly now that he thinks about it. He is, after all, still mildly damp, his shirt is torn with blood stains, and overall Danyal would say he looks similar to that of a stray cat. "I'm fine. Leave me alone, and go back to wherever it is that you need to be."

"You look hurt though. I can bring you some bandages, or water!" It's obvious that she's not going to simply let this go anytime soon, After a few moments of silence though she hesitantly offers her name. "I'm Jazz, what's your name?"

"Danyal." He finally answers after a few seconds. 

"Daniel?" 

"…Yes" Everything about his old life is gone from this point forward. Might as well start with a new name. They sound similar enough anyway it won't be a difficult transition to make for himself.

It doesn't take a lot after that for Jazz to convince him to accompany her back to her home. To this day he'll blame it on the exhaustion he was feeling. At the same time though he knows he made the best decision he could have going with his, now, sister. He doesn't know what his life would be like right now if Jazz hadn't followed after him and- 

"-ny! Danny!" Snapping back into reality he sees both Sam and Tucker looking at him questionably.

"Yeah, um yeah! I'm sorry, what were you saying Sam?" 

"I was asking what your thoughts on the new planetarium Wayne Enterprises just opened are. It was apparently something Damian Wayne himself advocated for. Maybe we'll have to plan a group trip to Gotham to check the place out." Sam repeats herself with a dramatic eye roll before her face softens out with a more gentle tone in her voice. "It might be good for you to get away for a bit, away from your parents." 

When it's clear Danny doesn't show any sign of answering right away Tucker takes the moment to try and lighten the mood, "It seems even your celebrity look-a-like is interested in space!" 

Damian was never interested in space that Danny knew for a fact based on how many times he would have to beg his brother to go and watch the stars with him. His twin always did it though, no matter how much of a fuss he put up Damian would join, and listen to him explain the stars. 

"Maybe you're right Sam," He can't help, but let out an exhausted sigh, "Maybe getting away will help them come to terms with everything. I think we should avoid Gotham though; that's basically me asking for trouble. I hear Central City is pretty this time of year though." 

Danny knows that his friends will assume that avoiding Gotham will be about not wanting to get involved with any hero/villain problems, but really it's so that he doesn't have to worry about running into any of the Wayne's, specifically Damian. He'd sworn off the city entirely when he first learned about his brother's dramatic arrival. Danny has long accepted that this would mean never meeting his father. 

“How- how are they doing now? Do you need to stay here again tonight?” Tucker hesitantly asks. It seems like all their conversations eventually lead them to the topic of his parents nowadays. 

“Thanks man, but no. I’m going to be going back tonight. Everyone in the house has been avoiding the topic, and staying away isn’t going to help fix anything either.” It wasn’t easy being in that house though. It’s tense everytime he interacts with his parents. The looks they always give him, as if he’s just some stranger living in their home now. 

At the same time though he can tell that they want to understand, to learn. They haven’t gone hunting since they found out, and removed any kind of weapon from the house; securing them up tightly down in the lab. 

Danny doesn’t quite fault his parents for how they're acting right now. Years and years of research only to learn that everything they have built their lives on is a lie. At the same time though he hoped that all of this could have been a much easier situation for everyone. 

“Before we can plan any summer trip away though we need to figure out a way to deal with the GIW. They’ve been much more active lately, and I’ve seen more and more trucks leaving Amity this past week.” Danny needed to talk about anything other than his parents right now. 

“You think they’re setting up shop somewhere else now?” Tucker questions, already pulling out his laptop. 

“Where would they even move to? They’re already in the most haunted city in America.” Sam gives Tucker a slight nudge, “Mind looking up the second most haunted city?” 

"New Orleans." 

"Yeah, that tracks." Sam peers over Tucker's shoulder to look at his screen, "Think you can finally hack your way into their systems?" 

"You're only talking to the second greatest hacker," He cracks his knuckles before beginning to type, "I'll have us inside in a matter of minutes, and with what Technus and I have been doing lately they won't have any clue we were even there to begin with." 

Despite already knowing what his friend is going to say he still asks, "Second? Who's the first then?”

"If you don't know Danny then I haven't been talking about them enough. Don't worry though I already have a presentation I can show you about why Oracle is the greatest hacker." 

"Nope, I'm good." 

"That's what I thought next time don't-" Tucker cuts himself off as he shouts, "I'm in!" 

Immediately, both Sam and him are moving to see the screen. "Search for anything that talks about moving or new locations."

"Really think it's gonna be that easy?" Sam asks, "That obviously marked down for anyone to find?" 

"If their filing system is anything like my parents, then yes." 

She seems to be thinking about it for a moment before nodding to herself, "That's fair." 

"Got a match with 'new location'. Anyone want to place a bet on where they're going before I open it up?" Tucker grins as his finger hovers over the search hit. 

"Hopefully somewhere cool since Danny is definitely going to drag us there to check the place out." 

"Well you're free to stay behind and miss out on all the fun then, Sam." He laughs at the playful glare she shoots at him, "Open it up Tucker! Let's find out where these guys are going." 

With one click a file was opened and right there at the very top it read: Protocols for new location — Gotham. 

The world really does hate him, Danny thinks to himself. Of all the places the GIW could have picked they just had to pick the one place he desperately wanted to avoid. It was already going to be hard enough staying off the GIW's radar, and now he'll have to plan to stay off the bats' as well. Which Danny was already admitting to himself was a plan doomed to fail from the start. 

He needs to stop the GIW though, "Does it mention anything about what they’re wanting to do there?"

Tucker nods and points to a specific area to screen, "It seems like they’re looking for something called a revenant that’s been detected in the area. They mention it several times throughout all this. Priority number one it’s been listed as."

"Revenant?" Sam asks. 

"A person who has returned from the dead." Danny answers her, "Good to know that all those books Clockwork had me read are actually helpful." 

"And this is different from what you are, how?" 

"I'm both alive and dead right now, this revenant died and is now alive again. They don't quite have a full core though — more of a baby core — which I guess is enough for the GIW to want to capture them." It seems not even being completely alive again is enough to keep the GIW away.Danny can't help but think about how many people they must have taken.

As if sensing his thoughts Tucker turns from the screen, and places a hand on Danny's shoulder, "Are you sure you want to get involved with whatever they’re doing in Gotham?" 

"I- I need to at least warn whoever this revenant that they're being hunted. To give them information about who is after them. I would have given anything to have a friendly stranger answer all my questions." He admits. 

"Seems like we'll be going to that planetarium after all then, huh?" 

Danny is honestly a little shocked at the laugh that creeps out of him, "I guess we will won't we? Might as well see the sites while we're there." 

"Oh! Maybe you'll run into your doppelganger too!" Tucker exclaims, "I'd love to see just how similar you two are in person." 

"I hope not, it's bad luck after all to meet your own doppelganger. Combine that with my Fenton luck, and you can bet on it that if I see Damian Wayne I'm running in the opposite direction. I don't need that in my life right now." Danny assumes that his friends think that he's joking, but if he does run into his twin he's booking it.   

It doesn't take them long after that to get a semi figured out plan sorted. They have a vague idea of where to find the revenant due to the file, mostly likely to be found in a place called Crime Alley. How they're going to find their mystery person he doesn't know, but Danny is hoping that dead recognizes dead will handle that part. 

The hardest part of all this is getting their parents' permission. It's a bit of a back and forth with getting Tucker and Sam's parents to agree to their impromptu travel plans, but they agree in the end. 

Danny on the other hand hesitates over contacting his own parents, and so he doesn't. He sends a text to Jazz to let her know the full situation around why he's going to be spending some time in Gotham. With how little his parents and him are interacting they might not even know he was even gone in the first place. 

With the soonest flight booked the trio this time tomorrow afternoon are boarding the plane to Gotham. 

[shyshyshyz]

Fading Embers

Summary: As the tension between Piltover and Zaun rises, Jinx finds herself caught between vengeance and something unfamiliar—love. Her connection with you is one of the only things grounding her, yet the walls she’s built make it nearly impossible for her to trust. But with threats around every corner, Jinx finds herself facing the ultimate choice: to push you away or let you in.

W: Violence, angst, references to trauma, swearing, mild fluff in dark setting.

a/n: requests are open btw!! 💗

The murky Zaunite streets were heavy with smoke and sparks, painting the sky a faint shade of orange. You tightened the scarf around your neck, hoping the layers could protect you from the smog—and perhaps even from the emotions rolling inside you. In this world of grime and rust, you were trying to find someone who both intrigued and terrified you.

Jinx.

Even thinking her name stirred something raw within you. She was untamed chaos—a wildfire you were too close to, yet could never step away from. And despite the destruction she left behind, there was something beautiful, even vulnerable, in the ruins of her soul.

Your footsteps echoed as you turned into an alley, the air feeling thicker here, as if every building bore witness to her past. Finally, you spotted her leaning against a wall, her two-toned hair flowing freely, electric blue eyes narrowed in suspicion. The shadows carved her features into sharp relief, making her look more like a vengeful spirit than a human.

“Why are you here?” she asked, voice low, as if the question itself could shatter the fragile silence between you.

“I… I thought you could use some company,” you replied, pulse quickening under her intense gaze. She looked at you like she was deciding whether to trust you or cast you aside, like everyone else had in her life.

“Company, huh?” she muttered, a sly smirk forming. But even her smirk carried a hint of pain. “You know, that’s a dangerous game in Zaun.”

“I’m not afraid of danger,” you replied, crossing your arms. “Not if it means being here with you.”

Jinx scoffed, but you noticed the flicker of surprise in her eyes. Vulnerability was something she hid beneath bravado and chaos, yet, around you, it occasionally peeked through. She took a step forward, the distance between you shrinking as she tilted her head.

“You’ve got a death wish, don’t you?” she whispered, her gaze softening, just for a moment.

“Maybe,” you whispered back, “if it means understanding you. The real you.”

Her laughter echoed down the alley, harsh and unsteady, as if the notion itself was a joke. Yet, there was something genuine there—a slight crack in her mask.

But the laughter faded fast, her face hardening again as she turned away, her fingers twitching restlessly. “There’s no real me,” she said, barely a murmur. “Just a ghost, someone who doesn’t know who she is anymore.”

You reached out, hesitating before your hand brushed against her shoulder. “You’re more than that, Jinx. More than a ghost. There’s light in you, even if you can’t see it yet.”

She flinched under your touch, her body tensing. She was like a live wire, on edge, every muscle ready to fight or flee. But she didn’t pull away. “You don’t get it,” she whispered, almost to herself. “People around me… they get hurt.”

Your heart clenched, hearing the regret in her voice. “Then let me choose. I’m not here because I have to be. I’m here because I want to be.”

Jinx turned to face you, her expression unreadable. Her blue eyes, flickering with unspoken feelings, met yours with a weight that felt like it could crush you. But then, unexpectedly, her hand found yours, a rare gesture of trust. Her fingers were cold and unsteady, yet the contact felt more intimate than anything she could say.

In the silence, you could feel her pulse—fast, erratic, like her mind was running a hundred miles a minute, but her hand didn’t let go.

“Guess you really are a fool,” she said, her voice softened, almost gentle.

“Then we’re both fools,” you replied, squeezing her hand.

And for the first time in what felt like an eternity, Jinx’s shoulders relaxed, if only by a fraction. In that fleeting moment, amid the grime and darkness of Zaun, you saw the spark of something fragile yet defiant, something that wanted to be saved but didn’t know how.

[4mrplumi]

ZERO (iii) : SCAVENGERY . (ms/prev/next)

-> plot synopsis - you don't think you're as odd and horrifying as the news makes you out to be. but you have never much cared for the validation of others, and certainly not theirs.

-> batfamily x serial killer reader. playlist (wip) ask 2b added to taglist

-> tw; gn reader, guns, violence, child neglect, messed up legal system, mention of death, poor living conditions, bug taxidermy, everyone's a b, paranoia, ocd, full list on master list.

> a/n; the prologues are text heavy... i'll try more dialogue for the first chapter (next upload) and onwards. in the mean time, feel free to send asks and ideas, i'd love to discuss and tie up my own lose ends too. hope this suffices for the reader's relationship with the bat family!

“family business”, you squint at the sign, “12th sector conveniences, run by a family business!” the print on the plastic sign is misspelled, and fading away completely. red into pink, orange into pale yellow, and green into cyan. a lovely place to be at for what you’re doing.

family has always been an iffy subject for you, in your mind and verbal exchanges. you never humoured your friends’ prods at you to talk, and were especially vigilant about shutting down conversations about family.

you’d already brushed over the meaning of the word in your head, on terms with the fact that you would most likely never understand it in this lifetime, but the experience with it still stung. sometimes.

at ten years old, the landlord of your apartment, who’d let you stay for free since it was so horribly kept, passed away. it meant you had effectively no place to live, since it wasn’t legally in your hands anymore. nothing much about your situation was legal, but he’d argued your case for you for years, and the neighbours were supportive of it too.

gotham is a gritty place, and even with the varied dictionary of swears they used to poke away security, it was a little show of squishy softness from the people. 

after he died, your friends’ parents and your neighbours shuffled you around in their homes, month to month to keep you around. no one thought of calling fosters, or the police, since you were their kid as much as their children were. “love” was an odd word to use, people in your alley married for benefits and children were kept about for that reason too. there were exceptions, but the reason for your staying was obligation.

at eleven, you got caught directly in between a scuffle on the streets. the guys must’ve been waiting to put off steam, since it got bloody way faster than you’d ever seen. but honestly? you could’ve gone past it, it was nothing unnatural for the city, and having grown up in it on your own, you would’ve been fine.

but gotham was a city full of interruptions. buses, classes, going to the store for chips or even walking back home, you would be interrupted. by a gun, a fist, or if you were especially unlucky, the big old bat and his big old car. you wonder if you could’ve saved yourself all the trouble, the tax on your mental state and the worry you keep everyday of your life now, if you had just been a bit faster, fast enough to avoid the batman’s interruption. maybe, you would’ve been in the stairwell with your friends now, eating chips or running from old mister ford on the sixth floor.

you’d been put in the police station down the road, the same one your friend had thrown a brick through last week, while the caped weirdo, batman, told you it’d be alright. alright? you were fine. what did he mean, alright?

you’d nagged the officers to let you go, lying that people at home would be worried (maybe they were, you never got to know), but they’d sat you down and expected forced, timid compliance from you. these guys are always expecting better. one lady even had the gall to put on a show for you on the tiny tv in one of the “comfort-rooms” and you’d gone biting, screaming and struggling.

‘radicalised’ was what your landlord-uncle had called it. gotham’s people, even those not submerged in the high of crime, couldn’t help but grow up to be hard and rough at the edges, hating the people who put them here. the divide between the common people and the socialites was so jarring, so far. you didn’t want to comply with what these guys were telling you to do. all the adults hated them! why wouldn’t you?

it had taken two hours of watching a few pink-haired girls run around behind the screen, in cold, cold anger before you were let out. “a new home,” the lady officer had said, “safer.” it wasn’t until later that you got to know the reason they didn’t let you leave or shoved you in a care-home you could've run from, and instead pushed you into the manor; was because of your lack of legal documents. most noticeably, your birth certificate and the absence of your parents. 

you think now, that maybe batman had expected you to be broken, ruined and lonely like his other odd children. fact of the matter is, that you were fine. you were none of those things, until he intruded in your life. why he never let you go… perhaps he feared any resentment you held. you held none, until him.

the fight never left, you’d hissed all the way home at the old guy and the other man who’d come to pick you up, swiping at a hand offered to you. a new home? a new home? you had a home! they were waiting for you, you think, what do these people mean about a new home? why would you trust a badge and cap or a suit and tie, on their judgement of safety?

you want to go home.

the house they put you in was gargantuanly huge, your room the size of your old shared apartments. it made you sick. the ceiling was too high, and the corridors too long. admitting to fear was a sure way to get snuffed on the streets, and you didn’t admit to it, spending hours hiding in a bathroom alone, still too big for your liking. you hid and hid and you still hide. all the time.

when you got used to the place, pangs of loneliness and homesickness hit you. having never talked much, it was an unusual habit to reach out to someone. the flats you lived in used to be small enough for three people to have to sleep in the same bedroom. and the other four to crash on top of each other on the couch.

it’s different here, you’re alone. there’s no situation where everybody has to be together. you could tail along with the old guy while he cleaned, or stalk the boy who came to visit every month, but you avoided the man who got you here at all costs. you hate him, it would be betrayal to yourself to want to be around him. but seeking out company was too taxing, too new a thing for you. no one else came to you on their own, never needed anything from you. you were isolated. lonely. scared.

you weren’t forbidden from going outside, but always tailed by a security guard your “father” would set on you. the place where you grew up was blocked off your mental map too, a firm hand on your soldier from the boy, richard grayson, and his voice telling you it was off limits.

when you demanded a snarled “why?” with a dark, dark scowl, he’d just shook his head. an answer never came to you on its own, but it was quite clear you’d never be able to disobey.  so you scuffled around, lonely, the shadow of the manor on you making street-kids you’d get along with otherwise frown at you, everywhere.

a few months after your glorified kidnapping, another boy came into the polished picture of your family photo; jason todd. he was about the same age as you, with a noticeable and heavy gothamite-accent that you recognised immediately. though you still didn’t much enjoy seeking out the company of anyone in the house, jason’s was by far, the easiest to go to.

he was a surprisingly tender little kid, you’d expected a meaner, more similar to you type of guy, but it didn’t matter much. you’d sit in the same room as him when he studied, listen to him whisper under his breath about some composition of something, watch him run around in the garden after alfred to help him, gain the favour of the man, and wonder where he’d gone at night when you tried to stay awake with him in either of your rooms. the two of you were unalike, but the comfort of knowing rags better than rugs brought you together, just a bit.

towards the… end, he’d become more biting. more snappy, on edge. the change had come suddenly, and made you conflicted. on one end, you were delighted at his hostility, seeing a familiarity of behaviour with him. he was finally growing into the hardened shell. the other end just made you sad. what happened to the kid? to your brother? what happened to him?

it’s safe to say his death destroyed any neutrality you had for this place. when you’d seen bruce one night, he’d looked absolutely horrible, and you hadn’t understood why. you couldn’t much bother to ask, assuming it must’ve been bitchy-bad billionaire-blues, and the shock, the blunt punch that came to your gut at attending jason’s funeral the next day made you sick. 

dick had stood crying, his face in his hands, alfred had put an umbrella down to his face in what you assumed was sorrow, and bruce’s expression was unintelligible under the shadows that fell on it. you only stared, and stared, and stared at the stone of his grave, as though wanting to erode it, dig him out. jason. jason. a good soldier. 

soldier?

you were livid, entirely unable to express your emotions in any way possible, no outlet among your family, no friends, no social circle or activities to let out even the smallest sliver of your anger out. you hadn’t cried, mourning was never one of your customs, but you were so horribly angry. he was gone. gone.

what probably made it worse was that you never knew how he died. he disappeared one day, and came back dead the other. your only half-friend in your whole life, was gone, the sweet, helpful little boy, gone. your brother. gone. you shut off entirely, unwilling to accept dick’s offers to spend time together, snarling that his attempts at being a better brother to you would never undo anything that he’d ever done. with no knowledge on the cause of his death, you blamed everyone for jason todd’s story. 

dick had pulled away his hand, expression darkening, and did very pointedly avoid you from there on. thinking back, you wonder why he couldn’t excuse your grief. you were a child too. how did he manage to excuse everyone else?

tim drake’s arrival had been a thing of great disgust to you. he’d become an outlet for your fury, shoving past him in the corridors, muttering curses at him at the smallest issues, and flashing a scowl and a glare at his direction whenever he spoke. from the very beginning, tim knew about your distrust, your hatred of him, and avoided you in return to avoid trouble.

maybe you shouldn't have, and you don’t anymore to anybody, but you’d often go at him when you were at home. snarky comments on what he did, brushing off efforts he didn’t even present to you. you could see the slight effect it had on him, reclusivity, him thinking twice over his words. that on it’s own, and grayson’s narrowed glare and muttered “lay off, (name)” had almost made you guilty. 

almost.

he’d come to eventually just spit back at you, or ignore you, and you’d leave him be too. it’s just that the impact that period of time had on the both of you was irrefutable, and harsher exchanges would come out much easier from your mouth now. again, you wonder, why he couldn’t excuse you. you would take any hatred back from him, face the consequences of your actions and accept what you did was terrible. even if he never forgave you for being so unwelcoming to the little boy he was, if it meant that one day, tim drake would look your way without a scowl. but why did he never excuse you?

around this time, you took up many things. jason’s death had soured you against the crime in gotham way more than your arrival at the manor did, so you took to listening to the news and skimming through pamphlets. the common figures of the batman and robin had created a semi-permanent furrow in your brow, and you pitied the robin-boy who’d have to work along the incompetent, interrupting, annoying bat-hag. batman. 

the repetition of’ saves the day’, ‘exposes the scene’ and ‘back at arkham’ formed a slight obsession in you, and you had to know who these… geeks in costume interrupting everything were. if they could so skilfully weave through the riddler’s intricate puzzles, handle the joker’s lunatic schemes and avoid the bristling thorns of poison ivy’s attacks, how could they not put their minds to the little guy? the smaller problems?

 from stalking tim and watching his work methods, without his awareness, you picked up a pin and a photo, and got to work. school was never challenging, maybe initially with your lack of an uneducated pre-teens, but easy to catch up to with your abundance of time. with all the hours freed up from not having to do homework you’d already finished, you made it a personal goal to find out who batman and robin were. the man and the boy who failed you, jason, and all the kids down the road.

and you found out. in february, wearing a short sleeved shirt ‘cause the heating was always up, with a final thread of glittering blue thread, you found out. the anger that had built up over the years had started to die out, and snapped with a fizzle when you understood.

you hate them. bruce wayne, dick grayson, tim drake and even, even jason todd. you hate them all. incompetent fools. idiots.

a sense of emptiness lingered in you for days, a morose sense of nothing to do. you came across a video of a girl stuffing a hollowed spider with cotton, and gently placing it’s dangly limbs on top of pins like they were footrests. the spider’s paws were limp on her sides, but she looked alive. she looked alive, even after dying.

maybe it would’ve passed on a fleeting interest, if you had not come to the terms with the fact that rich people could do just whatever. without asking anyone, you’d gone out to buy a board and some bob-pins, signed your name off as someone else on the shop record book and left. two habits, hobbies, created on the same day. taxidermy and paranoia. 

you were not paranoid.

when you were now sixteen, bruce- no, batman, had gotten home troubled, more so that usual. it had peaked your curiosity, and you couldn’t help but eavesdrop through a micro communicator tim had so considerably left out in his room when you snooped through it.

the silhouette of a red hood trailed their conversations, troubling them with drugs and guns and knives. you’d found it all very amusing, minus the fact of his crimes. anyone who troubled the batman was amusing, but crime? you never excuse.

the relevance two months down that jason todd was alive, when you left the communicator on on a sleepless night, jolted you fully awake. a similar resurgence of not knowing, and fear, and worry engulfed you, much alike the same feelings you felt coming to the manor five years ago. 

you wanted to demand for answers, weasel out how, why, where he was. why he wasn’t coming home and why bruce was so incompetent at getting him back to the manor. but you couldn’t. no one could know you knew, no one could know you had that information, of their identities on them, and have that leverage over you. you bit your tongue. 

you never spoke to him, or saw jason face to face after his “rebirth”, catching glimpses of his voice on the mic’s that inputted into the oracle’s connected networks at night. you caught a glimpse of a large figure, draped in a leather jacket jumping out the window from the kitchen, but too late and too awkward to call out.

he’d gotten so tall. grown up. it hurts so bad, and you’ve never hurt before. never admitted it.

how had he managed to regain just the littlest bit of ties with the rest of the family, but not with you? you knew he snuck in on some nights, and he rarely ever came to the manor to talk to anyone, but how was it so easy for him to just, forget you? did he ever wonder where you were? did he ever want to see you again? you know he couldn’t, wouldn’t, but would he want to?

the pain that comes from seeing damian enter the manor is ten folds that. another little boy, falling to the bat’s trap of glory and growing up like jason and dick and tim, trapped. you want to warn him, but his kohl-lined eyes and scowling face makes it too difficult.

he reminds you too much of yourself, and that’s just about the scariest thing you know. self-importance and snarkiness. 

the worst thing? their tolerance. their excuses. dick’s grin at damian a day after the loudest scuffle, the meanest words you’d heard come from a ten year old’s mouth, him being excused. tolerated. tim excusing him, and bothered to still talk to damian even after all the insults and demeaning of his work, the tolerance he received.

bruce wayne’s hand on his shoulder, showing him around to help him adapt to the new, unfamiliar place. why had no one done that for you? why did no one excuse you, see if you were okay? why were you like this? what had damian done that you hadn’t, and what had you done that he didn’t?

“the blood son”, he had declared at you the first time the two of you spoke, “has come to show his worth to the family. remain on the sidelines from your unimportant and tarnishing stain on father’s name, or struggle against my defense.” you didn’t respond to his edwardian monologue, and left despite his appalled scoff at your indifference. the blood son. he had a family. you could never compare to the concern or the trouble they put in to be with him, because he was family.

family. 

you could’ve ignored damian if he didn’t come into your business so often. poking at the posters you’d put up to cope with the large, empty walls in your room, scoffing at the music you’d put on to drown out the ring in your ears from the silence and snapping your last nerve upon stealing a cricket from your board to bury in the garden.

you’d said nothing, quietly taking it back when he was faraway, straightening the legs of the insect with a motherly tenderness. he had soiled a lifeform put in your hands over his own sense of honour and humanity, effectively disgracing the ideals you had been raised on and live on now.

you knew of his upbringing, and you knew better his horror at your practice. but nevertheless, it was yours. he didn’t excuse you, he demeaned you, he didn’t consider you family.

he was not your family.

none of them were, and none of them will be. they’re self-prestiged vigilantes with overblown egos and no semblance of shame or understanding. they know nothing, and you can’t abandon a city so unfortunate to be in their care like this. they don’t know anything, because the ceiling they live under is too high to need to crouch and hide, and the corridor is too large for them to have to squeeze through when running.

a tap on your shoulder brings you out of thought, and your reply is a gruff “you’re late” at the girl in front of you. the salty green-white lights of 12th sector conveniences buzz on as you make your way inside, and garcia’s grin is too wide for someone so inconsiderate of your carefully mapped plans.

you hate your family, and their poor work. so you’ll have to scheme in different run-down hell holes to undo their messes. but order and control is important. if you’re in hell, why should you stop here? “one day”, your ‘girlfriend’ had said, “all these places you take me-” “you all,” you had interrupted, “i take you all” “-will be as clean as your nails, (name)”

you hope that she’s not mocking. and you hope she’s right.

> a/n; nothing much left 2 say! i notice my writing habits have switched up a bit, way less unnecessary words and stuffs. this is queued for tmrw so hopefully im not spamming anything. re-added the tags i left out for zero:ii too. idk when my next upload will be since my first exam is day after tmrw, but i wanna really write for the plot soon.

thanks for reading!!

taglist: @boredselkie @shirp-collector-of-fixations @randomlyappearingartist @bat1212 @maicenitas @xjesterxjacksx @heartjwonie @lucienneb1ue @vikkus-main @adornedlace @cuntiesweet @minorlyatfall @staarflowerr @ithoughtthinks @crazycaoticsimp

[istoleyoursphenoidbone]

In Search of Kindred Spirits - Chapter 1

DPxDC, Dead on Main

Summary: What happens when two young kids have a fate meeting on the streets of Gotham? Kindred Spirits get formed of course, ones who despite their fates will search to find each other once more.

The streets of Gotham were an endless labyrinth of shadows, filth, and danger. Even at midday, when the sun struggled to cut through the thick layers of smog and skyscrapers, Gotham felt like it existed in a perpetual twilight. For 8-year-old Danny Fenton, it was like stepping into another world—darker, grittier, and far less friendly than Amity Park’s suburban quiet.

Danny trailed behind his parents as they animatedly argued about the schedule for the Paranormal Science Conference. Jack and Maddie Fenton were brilliant, but their hyperfixation on ghost hunting often left Danny feeling like an afterthought. He sighed as they turned another corner, too distracted by their plans to notice him lagging behind.

Something shiny caught his eye—a penny glinting on the grimy sidewalk. Danny stooped to pick it up, grinning at his small treasure. His parents were already several steps ahead, their voices blending into the city’s cacophony.

“Lucky penny,” Danny whispered, pocketing it. When he looked up, his parents were gone.

Panic crept into his chest. He spun around, scanning the street for the telltale flash of Jack’s bright orange jumpsuit or Maddie’s blue lab coat. Nothing. The crowd pressed around him, and for the first time, Gotham felt suffocating.

“Mom? Dad?” Danny called, but his voice barely carried over the noise of honking cars and shouting vendors. He took a few hesitant steps forward, unsure which way his parents had gone.

“Hey, kid,” a gruff voice interrupted. Danny turned to see three older boys, maybe in their late teens, grinning at him in a way that made his stomach twist.

“Lost, are we?” one of them said, stepping closer. He reeked of cigarettes, and his hand casually rested on a switchblade at his belt.

Danny swallowed hard, taking a step back. “N-no, I’m fine. Just looking for my parents.”

The tallest of the group laughed, his yellowed teeth on full display. “Oh, we’ll help you find ‘em, alright. But it’s gonna cost you. Hand over whatever you’ve got, and we might just point you in the right direction.”

Danny’s heart pounded. His mind raced through every ghost-hunting gadget his parents had ever built, none of which were currently on him. All he had was his "lucky penny," and he doubted it would do much good against a knife.

Before he could respond, a voice cut through the tension like a whip.

“Hey! Leave him alone!”

All eyes turned to the boy standing at the mouth of the alley. He looked to be about Danny’s age, though he carried himself with the confidence of someone far older. His dark hair stuck out in messy tufts beneath a red hoodie, and his hands were balled into fists at his sides.

The tallest thug sneered. “Scram, kid. This ain’t your business.”

The boy didn’t move. If anything, he stepped closer, his eyes narrowing. “Yeah? Well, now it is. So unless you wanna explain to the cops why you’re picking on a little kid, I’d suggest you back off.”

Danny couldn’t help but admire the way the boy stood his ground, even as the thugs towered over him.

The one with the knife scoffed. “You’ve got guts, kid. Too bad they’re gonna get you in trouble someday.” With a final glare, the group turned and slunk away, disappearing into the crowd.

Danny let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “T-thanks,” he stammered.

The boy shrugged, a lopsided grin spreading across his face. “No problem. Name’s Jason. You shouldn’t wander around Gotham on your own, y’know.”

Danny gave a sheepish smile. “I wasn’t trying to. I got separated from my parents. I’m Danny, by the way.”

Jason’s grin widened. “Nice to meet ya, Danny. You’re not from around here, are you?”

Danny shook his head. “We’re just visiting for a few months. My parents are scientists—they’re at some big conference thingy.”

Jason raised an eyebrow. “Scientists, huh? That explains the whole… mad scientist vibe you’ve got going on.”

Danny laughed. “You should see my dad. He’s like, twice as loud and ten times weirder.”

Jason snickered, and for a moment, the tension melted away. “C’mon,” he said, motioning for Danny to follow. “I’ll help you find your parents. Gotham’s confusing if you don’t know your way around.”

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

Over the next few weeks, Danny and Jason became inseparable. Jason, who’d always been wary of strangers, found himself drawn to Danny’s unfiltered curiosity and easy laughter. In return, Danny admired Jason’s bravery and quick wit, marveling at how someone his age could navigate Gotham’s streets like they were his personal playground.

Jason introduced Danny to the hidden gems of Gotham: the best place to get day-old bagels for free, the rooftops with the best views, and even an abandoned theater where they could sneak in and watch old movies.

One afternoon, as they sat on a rooftop overlooking the city, Danny turned to Jason with a wide grin. “Y’know, you’re kinda like a superhero.”

Jason raised an eyebrow. “What makes you say that?”

“You saved me that day in the alley, didn’t you? And you’re always looking out for people, even if they don’t deserve it. That’s what heroes do.”

Jason shrugged, but his cheeks flushed faintly. “I’m no hero, Danny. I just… do what I can.”

“Well, if you ever decide to put on a cape, I’d totally be your sidekick,” Danny said, grinning.

Jason smirked. “Yeah? You’d probably trip over it.”

Danny stuck out his tongue. “I’d be the brains of the operation. You’d just punch stuff.”

They both laughed, the sound echoing into the twilight.

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

The day Danny’s family had to leave Gotham came too soon. Standing outside the train station, Danny clutched a small photo of himself and Jason that they’d taken in a cheap photo booth.

“I’ll write to you,” Danny promised, his voice thick with emotion.

Jason gave him a crooked smile. “You better. Don’t ghost me, alright?”

Danny rolled his eyes but smiled through his tears. “Deal. And you better stay out of trouble.”

Jason’s expression turned serious for a moment. “I’ll try. But Gotham’s not exactly easy on people like me.”

“You’re tougher than this whole city,” Danny said firmly.

Jason looked down, his hand brushing the small charm Danny had pressed into his palm earlier. It was a simple necklace with a crudely drawn ghost emblem on it. “For good luck,” Danny had said.

“Thanks,” Jason murmured. “For everything.”

The train whistle blew, cutting through the air. Danny hugged Jason tightly before running to join his parents. As the train pulled away, he pressed his face to the window, watching Jason grow smaller and smaller until he disappeared entirely.

Though Gotham faded into the distance, Danny’s resolve didn’t. He’d made a friend for life.

And no matter what, he wouldn’t let Jason Todd down.

[paulyenvol6]

Ruined

Hiii I'm back :))) I finished my exams and I have a lot more time to write now which I'm looking forward to. I have this one shot that I started in December and just finished writing so I hope you enjoy it <3

Jeyne, a poor common girl, has made the mistake of being caught stealing by Daemon Targaryen. Now she must face the consequences.

Contains: rape, non-con, smut, p in v, unprotected sex, oral (m receiving), fingering, degrading, virginity loss, crying, choking, gagging, anxiety, detailed description of pain and fear, possessiveness, objectification, words like slut and whore, very dark themes, kind of a plot twist

Read with caution!

Wordcount: ~6.73k

Masterlist

It was a warm evening.

Way too warm for the rogue prince's taste and thanks to his heavy armour he was sweating so much that he wished he could just take it off and have a cold bath. But of course he was way too pragmatical to complain about if to himself so he shifted his attention back to the busy market before his eyes.

The sound of laughter, chatter, the screams of children and music filled the air and in any other case perhaps the good mood would've spilled over to him so that he felt excited and animated as well but not tonight. Not when he knew he had to stay here for so many countless minutes more. The thing that bothered him the most was probably the fact that he felt so useless. It wasn't like he was defending his city in brave fights or served as a bearer of justice, no he was walking around beneath that draining sun while watching over commoners who went about their daily tasks such as buying vegetables or spending the evening in a tavern with their friends. He felt almost pathetic like that.

Nothing was happening except a few men hitting each other with bottles of ale and a singer whose ugly voice and incapacity of hitting the right notes had left the audience so unsatisfied that they had started to throw little stones at him. Daemon hadn't even intervened. He was beneath that, he found. He was meant for the battles. When all he could see or taste was hot blood and the adrenaline shot through his veins so quickly that he became dizzy. Seven hells, right now he thought that he was rather meant to be in a pleasure house having his cock sucked than rotting away on his post by the market.

To pass the time Daemon started to think about Dorysa, the blackhaired beauty from Pentos who everyone called Scarlet Fever because of her signiture deep red lips that were such a tempting contrast to her dark skin. She was a whore in his favourite pleasure house in the street of silk and had established herself as one of his favourites. What would he give to be buried inside of her now…

While he daydreamed his eyes lazily wandered over the scene. He yawned open-mouthedly and then his gaze fell on a person with reddish hair that looked like it was glowing in the moonlight. Perhaps that was the very reason why Daemon didn't immediately let his eyes wander further but instead watched her. Because her hair was beautiful, a blonde-gold with an orange tone in it. He smiled and then just wanted to turn his attention to the rest of the people again when suddenly he realized what it was she was doing right now.

This little wench had just stolen something! That was why she had sneaked around so strangely. She had taken something from the merchant's booth and now intended to slip away as inconspicuously as possible. Daemon narrowed his eyes and then without giving it a second thought made his way to the girl. While he approached he stared at the back of her head but when he was only a few feet away she turned around and widened her eyes when she noticed his armour. Swiftly and sleekly as a cat the girl turned to the side and ran towards a little alley that led into the more gloomy and decrepit streets of the city.

The trader shouted a loud "Come back you little bitch!" but Daemon didn't pay attention to him. Instead he followed the girl as quickly as he could and passed the rest of the trader's booths until he entered the alleyway as well. It was dark and he couldn't see a lot but he was able to hear her fast steps on the stone ground. She was fast, yes, but Daemon was faster. She barely made it around a corner when he managed to grab her by her upper arm and stop her. The girl squeaked in surprise and started to hit and push at his upper body at once but his grip was like iron and she didn't stand a chance against him.

"Let me go, seven hells!" she cursed and Daemon watched her helpless attempts while examining her more closely.

Her eyes were somewhere between green and hazel but in the dim light he wasn't sure. She had soft features, high cheekbones and soft-looking lips that were drawn into a pout at the moment. And then there were her blonde-reddish hair of course that fell straight to her chest which rose and fell rapidly right now. Then his eyes wandered up to her face again and he could read her expression as both determined and fearful.

"I didn't do anything, let me go at once," she hissed and squirmed in his grip.

"You stole something."

"I didn't, I swear!" Daemon scoffed and then forcefully reached into the pocket of her linen dress. The girl tried to push him away and hide what laid in her pocket but he managed to grab it and triumphantly held the necklace in the air.

"You didn't?"

She dropped her gaze and thoughtfully chewed on her lower lip.

"Please. I'll give it back, but please don't chop off my hand."

She looked so pathetic and whiny that Daemon had to surpress a smirk. He wouldn't get blinded by her show though so he pulled her closer.

"You know that you have to get punished for this. It's the law, little one."

Her eyes literally begged him and he saw her buttom lip tremble.

"Please, my prince. Please have mercy."

He chuckled quietly. "You're not well educated, girl. Because you should know that I'm not a merciful man."

She tried to fight him again and pushed at his arm in order to make him loosen his grip but of course Daemon just watched her amused.

"What's your name, little one?"

"Jeyne," she whispered almost inaudible.

"Jeyne…," he repeated. "You did something very stupid there, didn't you? And I will have to do something about it."

His voice was low and raspy, almost intimidating and a shiver ran down Jeyne's spine. All of a sudden he started to walk and dragged her with him. She tried to escape and started to shout for help but of course no one would dare help her against the prince of the city.

"What are you doing, let me go!!" she screamed but Daemon simply ignored her complaints and went about his way. She didn't know where he was taking her and that made her feel nervous and panicky. What if he would chop off her hand? That was what the gold cloaks usually did with thieves and this was the rogue prince who was famous for being especially cruel and brutal. Or what if he would kill her?

Jeyne pulled and turned in his grip, hit him with her fist against his chest but he only tightened his hand around her arm while not even looking at her. It was so dark that she couldn't see where he was taking her at first and since she was blind with fear and fright, she had no eyes for her surroundings. Jeyne only realized where they were when Daemon stopped in front of a wooden door which he opened smoothly and dragged her with him.

"What are you doing? Let me go, please."

She hated how weak her voice sounded but at the same time Jeyne was unable to hide her panic. She had no choice but to follow him and then he stopped again once he stood in front of the inn keeper. It was the raven's rest, of course. A place for the more worthy population of king's landing and therefore a place for the prince.

"What is this, what are we doing here?" she demanded to know but was ignored once more.

"My prince. How can I serve you?" The man asked not even looking at the girl he had dragged with him for a second.

"I just need a quiet place. A room preferably."

The inn keeper nodded and bowed his head so low that he almost bumped his head against the counter.

"Of course. You will have the best room of all. Only the best for my prince."

Daemon was immune to his false friendliness and just nodded graciously. Then Jeyne felt herself getting pulled again and her captor roughly and without caring if she got hurt dragged her up the stairs.

"Stop it, what are you doing? Please, I don't want to…"

She squirmed and refused to follow him but if only she was a little stronger because she wasn't able to do anything to fight the rogue prince off. A few seconds later she found herself in front of a door and then in the blink of an eye they were in a room that was quite comfortable and big for an inn.

The walls were made of rough-hewn stone and darkened by years of soot from the hearth below. It was lit, filled the room with a comfortable warmth and the scent of burned cedar got into her nose. There was also a small writing desk and two chairs and a four poster bed that was the center of the room. But that was not where Daemon was heading now because he forcefully pushed Jeyne on one of the two chairs and then towered over her.

"P-Please don't kill me. I swear it upon everything I have, I will never steal again," she whimpered and looked up pleadingly to him with those deer eyes that drove Daemon insane.

"You swear it upon everything you have? You have nothing, little flower. You are nothing but a common stupid little girl who was unwise enough to get caught by me."

"Please," she breathed again and twitched when the prince took hold of her chin.

"You don't think criminals should get punished for their crimes?"

She nodded with wet eyes and her hands anxiously gripped the chair below her.

"They should. But please… Please just don't kill me."

He laughed out and it confused her so much that she forgot about her fear for a moment.

"I'm not gonna kill you, little girl. But you do know what's the punishment for stealing?"

"Yes," she whispered with a trembling buttom lip.

"Say it," Daemon commanded.

"You chop off their hand."

She droped her gaze and just wished with her whole heart that she had stayed home earlier.

"Yes. Do you want that to happen to you?"

She shook her head so quickly that her hair was flying through the air. "N-No, please not."

Daemon smirked and then straightened up to walk around the room.

"Well, that's unfortunate."

"J-Just lock me in a cell for a while…. Or I could work for the merchant I stole from."

He tilted his head at her and then his hand connected with her jaw again.

"No," he hummed and Jeyne felt her heart drop to her legs.

"You're gonna serve me in another way, little flower."

She freezed, couldn't form a thought in her head from feeling so scared when his finger grazed over her skin.

"You're a lovely sight, sweetheart. Has anyone ever had you?"

Jeyne couldn't answer. She feared that she might start to cry if she opened her mouth so she pressed her lips tightly together while the king's brother watched her curiously.

"Has your flower been plucked, little one?"

Her heart was pounding so rapidly that she thought she might die and Jeyne dug her nails into the palms of her hands in an attempt to get rid of some of the fear and chaos in her stomach. She replied to him by shaking her head slightly and Daemon chuckled contently.

"I thought so. A pure little innocent thing like you wouldn't give herself to a man before marriage, isn't that right? Though you're very far away form being innocent."

Jeyne squeezed her eyes as she felt his hand traveling down to her neck and then his fingers stroke the thin and sensitive skin there.

"You really are a little flower. So vulnerable and pretty. And so ready to be plucked."

Her fear was now overshadowed by a panic creeping up in her belly that spread all over her body and made her see white.

"Please, no, my prince, don't do it, please. I'm begging you, just don't – "

Jeyne squirmed on the chair trying to fight him off but was caught off when he wrapped a hand around her throat.

"You know better than to do this, girl," he sighed and his green eyes flashed with anger and amusement which was an odd combination.

"You deserve this. You broke the law. You took something that isn't yours and now I'm gonna take something that isn't mine but I'll make it mine. Consider this your punishment."

A croaked gasp left her throat and her face started to redden while he tigthened his hand around her neck. She tried to peel his hand off by pulling at it but Daemon made her suffer a little longer before he loosened his grip. Jeyne greedily inhaled the dry air in the room and a single tear ran down her face.

"On your knees. Now," he hissed but she painfully shook her head trying to activite any kind of pity or humanity in the prince.

"Please, my prince, I'm supposed to save myself for marriage… And I'm scared…," she cried and Daemon forcefully pulled the girl to the stone floor. Her knees achingly brushed over the floor but she really had bigger problems right now so she ignored the sting.

"You should be grateful I let you off this easily. I could have your hands for what you did. And you're lucky to be taken by a dragon, little flower. It's an honour for a filthy little common girl like you."

Jeyne tried to stand up to flee from him but he just grabbed her hair and pushed her down again.

"Ohh sweetling, there's no need to make this that hard."

"Fuck you," she spat angrily. "Let me go, I don't want this."

Daemon brushed over her hair in a gentle way and it only made her even angrier. "Shh. Be quiet and open your mouth."

Her mouth tensed and she determindely pressed her lips together.

"I'm not gonna open my mouth for you, you little bastard," Jeyne hissed but then she let out a gasp when Daemon smacked her across the face.

"One more disrespectful word out of your slutty mouth and you'll regret ever raising your voice to me."

His voice sounded so cold that something inside tightened and her next words got stuck in her throat.

"Good. Now open your mouth."

That, Jeyne wouldn't do. She would never let him enter her mouth let alone be used to his liking.

"No," she breathed which earned her another slap.

"Do it now. You forget that this is your punishment for a crime that you've committed. You'd be smart to obey me or you'll face much worse and more painful conequences."

Daemon's fingers suddenly enclosed around her nose so the air entering her body was cut off. In a matter of seconds Jeyne realized why he was doing it but she remained stubborn and refused to open up for him.

"Open, little flower. You have no choice."

When she finally accepted that she would have to open her mouth soon because she'd suffocate otherwise Jeyne parted her lips just a tiny bit so she could swallow some fresh air but to her misfortune Daemon seized his chance and pushed two fingers past her lips.

"There we go, sweet girl. Oh and you have such a warm perfect fucking mouth. I know it will feel so good around my cock."

He had grown more eager now with the prospect of inserting himself into this heavenly warmth so he quickly and singlehandedly loosened the belt and then his pants to free his already half-hardened cock. But once his manhood was exposed he felt a sting in his hand and pulled it away from the girl.

"Fuck," he cursed watching the blood leak from the spot where she had bitten him.

Jeyne took advantage of the situation and quick as the wind jumped to her feet and made her way to the door. This was her only chance to escape, she would rush downwards and then through the streets of king's landing. No matter where, just away from Daemon.

But the thoughts about her plan were cut off when she was suddenly pulled back before she even could reach the door. A desperate and frustrated cry left her mouth and she felt how the prince dragged her down to her knees again. Then he clenched his hand around her chin and the angered expression on his face made her fear the consequences of her attempt.

"Stupid little slut. You think you can escape from me? I will fuck your little hole, no matter if you're willing or not. You've got yourself in this position, don't forget that."

He forcefully opened her jaw and pushed his cock past her lips. It was so sudden and powerful that she was unable to fight back and Daemon let out a deep groan.

"Oh seven hells."

He had his eyes closed and fully ignored the way Jeyne tried to move away from his member. He was heavy and veiny and tasted a little salty. She had never seen a cock before let alone had one in her mouth and the fact that he and not her future husband was the first one to do these things with her brought tears to her eyes.

But that was not the only thing bothering her. Daemon bruised her throat at a quick pace and hit the back of it every time which left her gagging and choking. She wanted to get away and make him pull back but Daemon held her head in place while taking what he wanted.

"Yeah, that's a good girl. You have a good fucking mouth. Who would've thought?"

Jeyne let out a cry and pushed against his thighs in order to get him to leave her alone but Daemon just laughed about her attempts.

"You're gonna take it, sweetheart. And you know you deserve it after what you've done. You can be glad that I haven't chopped your dirty little hands off."

He was so deep inside of her mouth that his balls pressed against her face and Jeyne felt like throwing up. She choked and felt tears rolling down her face but of course the prince didn't pay any attention to it. He just growled to himself and looked down to the kneeling girl while smirking crookedly.

Daemon didn't last long. He had found a liking in the little common girl and was more than pleased with the way she felt around his cock and so after merely a couple of minutes that had felt like hours to Jeyne he hissed sharply, threw his head back and then his seed shot down her throat. She gasped surprised and instinctively tried to make his cock slip out but but Daemon wanted to make sure that she swallowed everything so he held her head with both hands and sighed contently as he looked down to her.

"Oh seven hells," he moaned and ran his right hand over her soft hair.

He still wouldn't let go off her so Jeyne desperately looked up to him which almost made his cock swell again. And then he finally loosened his grip on her head and she immediately brought distance between them to cough and deeply inhale fresh air. She was a sight, Daemon thought. Her hair was messy and stood in all directions and her eyes looked glossy and like she was far away with her thoughts. His assault had made her cheeks turn red and of course the wetness on her face was well visible.

"Come here," Daemon spoke a little softer now and reached out to grab her arms.

"N-No," she coughed and hit his arm but he just picked her up as if she weighed nothing and carried her to the bed.

"You wanna do this the hard way, huh?" he spitted and threw her on the mattress.

Instead of pinning her down at once Daemon stood next to the bed and towered over her watching her with arched eyebrows. For a moment Jeyne was too frightened to try and flee again so she looked up to him with wide eyes instead.

"You have two options now, babygirl. I'm either gonna prepare your tight cunt for me or I'll just take you like this which will be a lot more painful for you. It depends on you. If you continue to be such an ungrateful bitch I swear I'll shove my cock inside you and press your head in the cushions so I don't have to listen to your pathetic crying and screaming."

To say she was frightened was an understatement. Jeyne couldn't get a word out and just silently watched him while he climbed onto the bed. Daemon thought that he perhaps had broken her now because she didn't fight back when he crawled to lay on top of her. Yet he wanted didn't want to give her too much space to resist which was why he took both her wrists in one of his big hands and pinned them above her head. A single tear rolled down her flushed cheeks which Daemon wiped away with his pointer finger.

"Don't cry, sweetheart," he whispered. "I like seeing your tears way too much."

His smirk made her let out a sob but he quickly surpressed it by pressing his lips on hers. In the meantime his hands came down to find more naked skin and soon he couldn't wait any longer. He had barely seen anything of her so he clenched his hands around the fabric covering her chest and ripped it apart. Jeyne jolted and her hands instinctively covered her breasts which Daemon commented with a dissatisfied scoff. He pinned her hands down once more while regarding her upper body.

It was too much for her, the way his eyes flashed and this mischievious look on his face that screamed: 'I'm thinking about all the things that I want to do to you.' Jeyne squeezed her eyes as though it would make her disappear and only opened them again when she felt a big hand cupping and then kneading her left breast. His hand was cold and rough and she felt herself getting goosebumps.

"You have some pretty tits," he growled and even if it was supposed to be a compliment it only made the lump in her throat thicken. She felt the urge to run and push him back and wash his touch and scent off her body.

"Please," she whimpered because although she knew that Daemon was as cruel as a man could be she hoped that she would be able to move a little something in him.

"Please don't. I'm scared."

Her voice was so thin and quiet that he had to tilt his head in order to hear her. His hand slowly approached her body and Jeyne tensed fearing what he would do. But he gently stroke the side of her face and held her almost as if she was made of glass.

"Shhh," was all he said and then Jeyne shrieked again as she felt how Daemon ripped her dress further so it loosely hang around her belly. He took advantage of her surprise and pulled it down until her whole body was bare underneath his gaze and it was so much to take in that the prince needed a second to collect himself.

"Gods be good," he hummed and started to slowly draw circles on her stomach. "Aren't you a pretty little thing? Can't wait to make this body all mine."

Before Jeyne was able to protest he had forced a hand between her legs and she didn't stand a chance when Daemon spread them. Suddenly she was filled with a new determination to make him stop which probably was caused by her body realizing that she was in great danger right now because her legs started to kick him and her whole body twitched and turned. He reacted quickly though.

"Stupid slut," he cursed and pressed with his one hand on her hips while his other squeezed her neck. "I thought I made myself clear."

She wasn't able to keep up her fighting for long and soon she fell back on the bed again. Daemon wasn't done with punishing her though because he threatingly flared his nostrils without saying anything which only made her feel even more anxious. His hand stayed around her neck while he went back to spreading her legs by pushing a knee between them. Jeyne's eyes filled with tears as she felt the coldness of his skin against her thighs. She mumbled something that he couldn't understand but it sounded like a desperate cry that made his eyes darken with lust.

This was the moment when Jeyne understood something. This was exactly what he wanted. He got off on seeing her cry and struggle. The thing he enjoyed the most about all of this was the power in it. She was a poor common girl without any power in this world. There was nothing she was able to do against him and Daemon would never face justice for his actions which he knew. Because he was Daemon Targaryen, commander of the city watch and brother to the king. He could do whatever he wanted and Jeyne could do nothing but endure it. By crying and begging she only fueled his desire because it made him aware of the power he held over her at this moment.

Jeyne was snapped back to reality when his hand cupped her sex. She wanted to scream and cry and let out her desperation but she forced herself not to. She simply didn't want to give him the satisfaction and she definitely didn't want to give him what he wanted. So her lips were pressed together and the only sign of her fear were the tears spilling from her eyes every few seconds. She was still and stiff when his finger ran up and down her slit to find that she was dry as a desert.

"Poor girl," Daemon whispered and his free hand enclosed around her chin. "You don't like that?"

Jeyne didn't know if she was supposed to answer and she especially didn't know if she wanted to answer. But eventually her frustration took over and she rapidly shook her head.

"N-No," she said with her shivering voice.

He nodded as if he actually understood and his finger wandered up to her pearl. The girl's lower lip trembled and Daemon precisely watched her face while he started to rub it in tight circles.

"N-No," she repeated and pushed at his arm between her legs.

"Yes," he answered and didn't seem to care about her attempt to get rid of him. "Wanna see this cunt taking my fingers. You can be happy about it. You know I initially wanted to give you a special treat with my tongue but you have missed your chance by behaving like a bratty bitch."

Jeyne didn't know if he had actually punished with this but she didn't think about it for long because suddenly Daemon pushed a finger inside of her hole that was still far from being soaked. She had definitely already experienced more painful things but still it felt aching and uncomfortable so she jolted away from his hand.

"No, you're gonna take it," he breathed against her hand. "You're gonna take it like an obedient whore. And then you're gonna take my cock. The only fucking reason why I'm doing this is so you won't soak these sheets with your blood once I shove my cock inside of you."

His thumb now pressed into her bundle of nerves and Jeyne hated the way she felt a heat rising in her cheeks. Why did her body betray her like this? She despised everything about what was happening here right now but no matter how hard she tensed and tried to move away from him soon she heard a wet noise every time Daemon's finger moved inside of her. Of course the prince noticed it as well.

"What's that, mhm? You like this, don't you?" he chuckled and added a second finger.

For a moment Jeyne tensed and felt a painful stretch in her core but he didn't hesitate for a second and cruelly moved the two digits to scissor her open.

"I thought you despised this. And now I suddenly have you dripping for me? You're a filthy cock-hungry slut. Worthless and pathetic. Only good thing about you are your holes."

It actually sounded like he hated her and despite feeling just the same way about him Jeyne had a dark and bitter feeling in her stomach. She was so scared of this man who was a lot stronger than her and was able to do anything he wanted to her right now. No one would save her or come looking for her here.

Her body stiffened which Daemon felt in the way she clenched around him and he slapped her cunt roughly before going back to fingering her. He was eager now, blind with the desire for her tight hole that he was sure would feel so good clenching around him. She was already hugging his fingers so perfectly and he could only imagine what it would do to his cock.

He continued his assault on her pearl and in her hole for a few more minutes but then Daemon grew too impatient. He drew away from her core and when his hand came down to wrap around his shaft Jeyne eye's sprang open.

"N-No, no, no, please."

She didn't care about begging now, didn't care if she was giving him what he desired rather than being able to make a difference. Fear clouded her senses and she just had to put everything into making him stop. She only now realized how big he actually was and how uncomfortable this would be. His fingers had been nothing in comparison.

"Please," Jeyne pleaded and tears fell down to her cheeks. "Please, it's so big and it's gonna hurt so badly, please… I don't want it, don't make me."

Daemon sighed and a smirk appeared on his voice while he leaned down to press a kiss on her brow.

"Oh sweet girl…," he cooed and ran the tip of his cock over her pearl. "Do you think this will hurt more than getting your hand chopped off?"

Jeyne only whimpered in surprised and shrieked when his hand made contact with her cheek.

"Answer me," he ordered.

"N-No I-I don't think s-so," she replied to his question and closed her eyes in desperation when his hand soothingly caressed where he had hit her.

"That's right. So you should be grateful I'm doing this."

"B-But please…. P-Please be g-gentle. I'm scared."

Daemon pouted sarcastically and kissed her cheek. "Oh I will, babygirl. Why do you think I prepared you for me?"

Jeyne didn't know whether he was mocking her or actually telling the truth but there was no time for her to think about it further because then his cock applied pressure on her hole and he started to work his tip inside of her. It hurt so much that she held her breath for a moment. Perhaps the wetness leaking from her hole made this better but she still felt like he was ripping her apart. She couldn't even say anything and complain. All she could do was stare up to him with wide eyes while Daemon worked himself inside of her inch by inch.

"Fuck…. Oh fucking hells, that's right," he moaned with closed eyes. "Gonna tear my fucking cock off, gods be good."

Jeyne just hoped that it wouldn't take him long to finish so she was freed from this unbearable pain as quickly as possible but she couldn't rely on that so she closed her eyes while forcing herself to breathe. It hurt like hell and she felt like her insides were being tortured but she would do this. She had experienced a lot of shitty things in her past and this one wouldn't bring her down. 'Just breathe,' she told herself. 'Don't cry and don't beg because this is exactly what he wants.'

Another part of her urged her to just let out all of her emotions because perhaps this would make him finish faster but Jeyne couldn't let him humiliate her like this. A little amount of dignity was actually left inside of her and she rather would want him to continue his assault a few more minutes than give him the satisfaction to see her so vulnerable and weak.

He was fully inside of her now and Jeyne had to surpress a sob. He was so big that she felt his veins grazing her walls and she didn't know how his cock fitting inside of her was physically possible. Her core was pulsating and all of her senses were on alert because of the intrusion. She dug her nails into the palms of her own hands, anything to direct her attention to something else rather than the intense pain in her center.

Daemon on the other hand dropped his head to his chest and enjoyed feeling her tight walls hugging his cock. He inhaled a few times before backing out of her a little and then forcefully pushed back inside. Jeyne couldn't surpress a gasp and new tears formed in her eyes.

"Yes that's right," he grunted. "What a good fucking cunt. Knew you had to be good for some things."

His degrading words suddenly filled her with anger and she opened her mouth to hiss something at him but Daemon was faster. He pressed a hand on her mouth surpressing whatever it was she had wanted to say and watched her dangerously.

"Can't listen to your annoying voice anymore. Just stay fucking quiet and lay still. S'all I ask of you."

He now started to fuck her at a steady pace that made her eyes widen every time he filled her to the brim. It was so far from feeling good that Jeyne wondered how women were actually enjoying this. Or was this simply because Daemon didn't want her to feel good? His hand on her mouth loosened a little and a smirk formed on his face.

"Don't you hold back, little one," he whispered lowly and ran his thumb over her lip. "Wanna see you cry those pretty tears. I know it hurts, angel. Let me hear how much."

With a sharp thrust in her core he forced a little whine out of her and her facade crumbled.

"N-No," she cried again and she turned her head to the side just so she wouldn't have to look at him anymore. But Daemon hummed disapprovingly and he connected his hand to her chin to adjust her to his liking.

"You can't escape from me, sweetling. You're gonna take it. You're gonna take all of it because you don't have a fucking choice."

His thrusts became more intense now and Jeyne had to bite her bottom lip in order to hide the pain she was feeling.

"Gonna fill you up with my seed. Make your pretty little body swollen and claim you. You're mine from now on." His hand started to toy with her breasts and nipples while his other was occupied with holding her hips now.

"Every time another man will take you you will remember that it was me who took your innocence. It was me who defiled and ruined you. You'll remember my touch, my hands on your body and my cock in your cunt."

He picked up his speed even more and Jeyne was too exhausted to hold anything back so she twitched and whined every time his cock bruised her walls. Her core ached and burned and all she wanted was to get a minute of peace but she knew better than to try and stop him. His grip on her hips and chest was firm and Jeyne just closed her eyes praying that he would release soon.

And he did. After another few minutes he let out little growls and his thrusts became sloppy and then Daemon finally collapsed on top of her and pressed her into the bed with the weight of his body.

"Fuck…," was all he managed to grunt before he stopped pushing into her and laid still on top of her.

Jeyne stiffly waited and counted the seconds until he would finally release her but he took his time. Panting heavily he thrusted into her again to make sure his seed stayed inside of her and then he pulled himself out. It burned at first and she pressed her legs together but soon it faded and for the first time in what had felt like hours her core was able to relax a little.

She turned her head to the side so she didn't have to look at him and this time Daemon actually let her. He sighed deeply and then slowly rolled himself off her.

"Oh gods be good. Who would've thought that this was exactly what I needed tonight."

It sounded like he was speaking to himself so Jeyne didn't bother to answer him and instead stared at the wall next to her. Daemon grabbed his clothes from the floor and got dressed while he watched her with a smirk that she couldn't see. Once he was done he approached the bed again and Jeyne who heard his steps coming closer cramped.

"I'll let you go, little girl. But only because your cunt was so fucking tight."

He slapped her arse twice without Jeyne looking at him and then straightened up. She anxiously waited and just prayed that he would finally leave the room but it was so quiet in the room that she only heard her own heavy breathing.

"Do not get ungrateful now, you little whore," he whispered dangerously. "You will be a good girl and properly say goodbye to your prince while looking at him."

Jeyne felt numb from the fear taking over her and slowly turned her head although everything inside her tensed up.

"Goodbye, my prince," she breathed and waited for his reaction.

Daemon drew his mouth in a smirk and then his hand came down to her arse one more time.

"There you go. And if you'll steal again make sure you'll do it during my watch."

With these words the rogue prince finally left the room. Jeyne waited and listened to his steps that became more quiet until everything was silent. Only then did she get up and put on the clothes that were ready for her on the table. She smiled softly and then rushed to the door to open it energetically only to look into her husband's face that was drawn with a crooked smile.

"How did I do?" he whispered and Jeyne chuckled.

"Almost too good," she breathed and Daemon gently pushed her back until they were back inside the room.

"I feel like I should be concerned by your desire to have me chase you and then pretend to take you against your will, darling."

She rolled her eyes and wrapped her arms around his back.

"Noooo don't overthink it," Jeyne giggled and kissed his cheek.

"How did I do as a common girl?" she then asked.

"You know exactly how well you did," Daemon hissed with small eyes and held the side of her face.

"Would you be open to do it again?" Jeyne begged him with her eyes and took his hand into hers.

He pretended to think but deep down she knew that he wouldn't refuse her. He never could.

"Maybe," he eventually sighed and leaned down to kiss her.