#prove to her that you are not the threat she already sees you as

[trappedinafantasy37]

I went to a very old save of mine in which I knocked out Minthara in Act 1 and I talked to her again in the throne room. If you knocked her out, this is how she looks at you when she questions you:

She seems genuinely disturbed over your actions. Can you blame her? You were the one who knocked her out. You brought her harm for reasons that she cannot understand. She can understand someone killing her as that is what she expects of those around her. She will criticize your choice of sparing an enemy and showing mercy to someone you have greater reason to kill. Even though she has doubts about you, she shuts herself down, thinking she should be more grateful rather than doubtful of you.

You can tell her that you saw her as a potential ally, but she will call you a hypocrite as Gut and Ragzlin were not shown the same mercy, nor was any other True Soul.

You can even tell her, "You were simply too stubborn to die" as a means of trying to take any culpability off yourself. To try to turn the situation into a little jokey joke. However,

Minthara does not take it as a compliment and she knows you are full of shit. Even though you took the "good" path, she does not trust you.

Minthara understands mercy and even she believes some people are deserving of it. Sadly, she does not see herself as one of those people and is disturbed as to why you gave her mercy. There is no answer you can give her here that will make her trust you. She knows you went out of your way to spare her and only her, and that frightens her.

Remember, this is not the first time in which Minthara's entire army was killed right from underneath her and she was deliberately left as the sole survivor. Orin slaughtered all of her men in a blink of an eye, and Orin's "mercy" only brought her pain and torture. Later down the road, Minthara criticizes herself for not paying more attention to Orin when she first arrived at Moonrise. And so she is giving you a lot of attention, she is watching you, studying you, because she fears that you are going to hurt her the moment she takes her eye off you. Because you already have. Your "mercy" gave her a concussion, your deception had her found guilty of incompetence, and she was then subjected to even more torture by the Absolute in which she was given permanent brain damage. She is afraid that the only reason that you spared her, is because you want to torture her. Even when you show up in Moonrise and enter into her mind prison, she is expecting you to kill her and begs you do it quickly. She is not expecting mercy from you, only death. She is only in that predicament because of you. Why would she think for a single second that your mercy comes from a place of good intentions?

She knows fully well that she owes her life to you and that her life is entirely at your mercy, one you can revoke at any time. She doesn't trust you, she doesn't trust the rest of the companions, but she cannot leave nor walk away. There is no good way out of this for her and she's afraid of the cycle repeating. She is not going to make the same mistake again. Instead of her oath to you being from a place of affection, her oath to you comes from a place of fear.

[cuppajj]

Neo beasts x reader head cannons? 🥺

You know what anon? Just for you

Beast Ancients AU - Neo Beasts x Reader Headcanons

Congratulations! Someway somehow you’ve attracted the attention—and affection—of the Neo beasts. How do each treat you?

Saint Vanilla Cookie

This implies that he’s decided not to purify you out of his intense compassion. In fact, he’s settled for something arguably much worse: saving you for last, so you can witness his deliverance.

You’re his lamb, his bluebird, and he never lets you forget how blessed you are to be one of his

He’s gentle in almost every way. Voice, touch, words. He especially likes cupping your cheek and cooing sweet little things. Sometimes they’re laced with dark promises

On his orders, the Lambs of Penance are your personal servants and won’t let any harm befall you. Cream Wafer speaks to you respectfully, but you can hear a little envy in his voice

Saint pays attention to every little detail you have, the things you like, and your wishes. He wants to see you at your happiest because a tainted soul as yourself should never feel sad. He’ll wipe your tears away

But don’t assume he’s perfect; he’s far from. Saint stays true to his personal promise that you will be safe and happy and alive until the day he finally saves you, and that means that any potential threat to you will be dealt with by his lambs. If he thinks something will taint your soul further, he’ll be sure that it’ll never have the chance.

In fact, why don’t you stay with him? In his timeless kingdom, amongst his loyal followers and all the orchids that will watch over you. It’s the closest you’ll be to the light.

Make no mistake, saint is two steps away from being a yandere. He just wouldn’t get his hands dirty, and he would never change to that typical yandere-ish behavior. The oh so benevolent saint just wants to see you safe, and if that safety is under his wings, so be it…

Dragonberry Cookie

As the Beast of Pride, the way she loves is bold and loud. She will make it known to you that she loves you pretty quickly.

While she throws parties pretty frequently already, you’ll be center stage at a lot of them with her as she makes you dance together and drinks herself stupid with a bunch of glasses poured your way as well.

If you’re the shy type, expect to be embarrassed or put in big social situations a lot since she’s a massive extrovert who would bring you along to things. Outside of parties and other events of the sort, she would also love for you to watch her spar with Wildberry and her other soldiers

She’ll also give you lots of gifts

She does have a pretty big ego though, so she expects praise and validation from you. Compliments, acts of service, things that assure her you’re not just mooching off of what she gives you. If she thinks you’re not being grateful, she’ll get bitter and confront you about it, which will or won’t go well depending on how well you can prove your point to her

She’ll kill for you 100%. She might even do it in front of you. If you get messed up from that? It’s okay! You’ll get over it in no time.

Despite all this she does respect your boundaries, she’ll give you space if you’re vocal about it. She disappears on occasions and comes back covered in battle wounds and jam anyway.

You know about Pitaya locked up in her basement but you know not to touch them, let alone try and free them if you’re hero enough. She might just have to punish you for that if she catches you doing something you shouldn’t. Don’t worry though, it’s just this once, because you’ll surely never try anything again, right?

Big hugger, her love language is touch so expect hugs and kisses and mandatory cuddle sessions. Honestly if you’re just as messed as her then she’s a pretty solid lover

Frigid Cacao Cookie

It’s hard to tell he cares for you because he’s so distant, even from you.

You’re allowed into the throne room without summons, but the furthest into it you can go is to the foot of his throne. Like everyone else in the citadel, you’re not allowed to touch him.

Your days in the citadel are quiet. The outside is cold but the hallways and your room are warm, the latter always supplied to the brim with what you need.

Tiny licorice creatures slink in and out of your peripheral vision, watching you curiously. Sometimes they slink up to you, purring and chittering, and some might even be balancing trays of food, warm towels, clothes, or other things on their heads. Little do you know that Cacao has been ordering them to take care of you

While he doesn’t forbid you from leaving the kingdom, he’ll want you to come back to him one way or another. Ideally on your own, but one of the licorice oozes that have been watching you since you left could also bring you back.

You might see him out and about on rare occasions, and he might look at you. On even rarer occasions he might ask about your well being

The only thing he’s strict about is that you absolutely cannot attract attention from the other neobeasts, especially Saint Vanilla. The beast of Penance is already curious about learning what things make Cacao go soft; he does not need to learn about you.

Also don’t bring up Choco, he has a reaction to it

Celestial Cheese Cookie

Pampers you. Pampers you and pampers you and pampers you and pampers you

Thinks you’re the sweetest little thing and pinches your cheeks and everything

She’d be more than happy to show herself off, as well as all of her achievements. She gives you treasures from her conquests regularly

She’s similar to Dragonberry though where she expects praise, but unlike her she doesn’t get as angry. She doesn’t see her gift giving as a transactional thing, she does it because she can. You just gotta tell her how wonderful she is

The oases are a popular spot for her to bring you for food and refreshments, cared for by gold-adorned servants as she gushes over the grand vision for her kingdom. She’s honestly quite excitable and loves talking about herself and her plans.

Pay no mind to the scans that are run on you while you sleep, or the diagnostics of your information that run deep in her servers. She doesn’t think it’ll need to happen soon, but she’s planning to put you in a sarcophagus and hook you into her virtual world to make you live forever. She’s not going to let something else she cares about go.

Midnight Lily Cookie

The tamest one honestly

Unlike the others, she sees you as an equal. She knows your personal space and doesn’t encroach on it too much or too little, makes sure you’re well cared for and healthy, and keeps you safe. She also lets you leave and trusts you to take care of yourself. Being Beast of Sovereignty, she encourages the people under her to do whatever they please within their allegiance to her, and this includes you.

She’ll play the harp for you and ask you how she did

You also get lots of gifts and compliments from the other faeries for being the lover of their queen

She does have preferences though. She likes honesty and expects you to keep promises, she prefers if you do something for her in exchange for her doing something for you, and to not question her motive and means to take down her other half. She will get very defensive with you and shut down the conversation pretty fast

The flora in the silver kingdom bloom to their fullest around you both, but when Lily is upset with you, they curl or bud as you pass by them.

Speaking of chlorokinesis, get used to seeing her show no mercy with her plants. Unlike Dragonberry though, she’ll do her best to help you if the sight of bodies skewered on flower stems is too much. Maybe stick to the heart of the kingdom for your own good, where you’re less likely to see how the rest of Beast Yeast challenge her kingdom.

She has a whole bunch of rules set up when Saint visits. While she’d encourage not being with him at all, if you really want to see him, she made it expressly clear to him that he cannot purify you.

[ccsainzleclerc5516]

Just Like His Father

Pairing: Lewis Hamilton x reader

Warnings: none, pure fluff, I actually saw this on tiktok and thought it'd be cute to make sth out of it

You were in the kitchen finishing making dinner when your husband returned from a business meeting.

"Hey, love" Lewis greeted you as he entered the kitchen.

"Hey, baby" You smiled as he stood behind you and wrapped his arms around you leaving a kiss on your cheek. "You tired?"

"No, but I am starving." He sighed. "What's for dinner?"

"Curry chicken and rice. It'll be ready in a minute, you can sit at the table"

"Oh, yes, please.." He groaned. "Where's Marlo?"

"He should be in his room doing his homework. The young gentleman didn't have lunch today so he has to eat dinner" You chuckled remembering the talk you had with your son earlier today. Marlo was 5 years old and in preschool. He was the smartest, most lovable, but also unintentionally the funniest kid ever.

"Marlo, daddy's home!" You shouted. "Wash your hands and come sit at the table"

"Why were you laughing when you said he didn't have lunch today?" Lewis asked curiously.

"Oh you just wait till you hear it from him" You giggled taking the dish and walking with it over to the table.

When Marlo washed his hands, he ran into the kitchen extending his arms towards Lewis. "Daddy!" He screamed with joy seeing him.

"Buddy" Lewis softened, picking him up in his arms and hugging him tightly. "I missed you. Did you have a good day at school?" He asked.

"Yup" Marlo nodded.

"Tell daddy what happened at school today" You said trying to refrain from laughing so that Marlo doesn't think you're making fun of him.

"What happened at school?" Lewis was still confused. "Did someone mess with you? Did someone touch you? Y/n?" He was already visibly upset and paternal protective instincts kicked in within seconds.

"No, no-"

"Mom did.." Marlo blurted out and his gaze shifted to you. “Mom messed with me..”

"What do you mean?"

"Marlo, did you eat your lunch at school today?" You asked crossing your arms and leaning your elbows onto the table waiting for his response.

"I didn't actually" He said turning to Lewis.

"And why is that?" Lewis asked.

"Because my girlfriend was sat right across from me and you put a note that said I love you babe" Marlo explained pointing his finger at you.

Lewis paused for a second, blinking a couple of times before bursting into laughter. "Your girlfriend, buddy? You have a girlfriend?"

"I'm not sure if I still have one after today" He sighed.

"Oh, your girlfriend didn't like mom's note?"

"No! She got mad!"

You chuckled again remembering how upset he was about it earlier today when he first told you the story. You felt bad for him, but you couldn't help but laugh at the kid stuff that was concerning him.

"And what did you do after that?" Lewis listened intently as you put food on the plates for both of them.

"Nothing, I explained to her that she's married to my dad and I said that my dad is Lewis Hamilton."

"You hear how beautifully he emphasized that my husband is none other than Lewis Hamilton" You joked as Lewis held his head laughing.

"What? I didn't say anything wrong?" Marlo shrugged his shoulders. Love problems were clearly too much for the young man.

"Baby, no girl will ever love you as much as your mom loves you, remember that." You stood up from your chair and walked over to him placing his small face between your hands and kissing his forehead.

"Well, she doesn't have to know that!" Marlo defended.

"Okay, okay. No more notes in lunch boxes just so that your girlfriend doesn't feel like I'm a threat to her apparently" You playfully rolled your eyes going back to your seat. "Now, please start eating your dinner"

"But I still don't understand, regardless of the note, why didn't you eat your lunch?" Lewis asked him.

"Because I wanted to prove her how much I loved her." He sighed before continuing "Dad once told me how he proves his love for you by eating everything you cook even though sometimes he may not like it, but he eats everything because he loves you. I just did the opposite."

Your and Lewis' hearts melted when you hear him say it. You were so proud of your little boy who was too young to know what love was but he learned it so well from his daddy. you knew that one day he would make some girl the happiest girl in the world, just like his father made you and continues to do so day after day.

After dinner was over, both you and Lewis wanted to get Marlo ready for bed. After you gave him a shower and Lewis helped him brush his teeth, you read him a bedtime story and cuddled him before saying goodnight. You also made pinky promises that there would be no more "embarrassing" notes from mom in the lunchbox, and that Marlo would eat his lunch every day.

After that you and Lewis decided to relax on the couch in front of the TV in each other's arms.

"If one day we have a daughter and she comes to me at the age of 5 and says she has a boyfriend, I swear, I will lose my mind" Lewis said jokingly even though you knew he meant it.

"Yeah, we'll homeschool her so she doesn't have any contact with the boys" You said sarcastically rolling your eyes at him.

"Exactly! That's a great idea actually!" He seemed to love it of course.

"Oh stop it!"

"As you told our son today, so I will tell our daughter, no man in her life will ever love her more than me. That's a fact. I already love her."

"Baby, we don't even have a daughter...yet"

"Then I better get to work, no?" He smirked rolling you over and nuzzling his head into your neck making you giggle.

"Well, you better, Lewis Hamilton."

[dccomicsimagines]

A Sight for Sore Eyes - Jason Todd x Reader

Warning - Gun Violence

Requested by Anon - Can I have Jason Todd run into his ex-wife? Maybe the heat is still between them????!!

Author's Note - I finally finished something! Also this is more like an estranged wife than ex. Hope that's okay!

***

"Stay here," you whispered to the maid who was nervously biting her nails. "I'll take the tea in."

"You sure? I hate that man." She looked around the kitchen as if the walls had ears. They did, but you doubt they were listening to you now. Not with the big meeting going on.

"I'll be fine." You flashed her a smile to hide the butterflies in your stomach.

She added the last cup. "Thank you." She went to go sit in the corner with her head in her hands. Her face pale.

You understood her fear, trying not to feel it yourself. Touching the necklace around your neck, you pressed it against your collarbone. It took you a moment to gather your courage, but eventually you picked up the tray and headed out of the kitchen doors.

The Falcone residence oozed old wealth and a posh lifestyle. Almost like it wasn't funded by blood money.

You paused by the door and reached up to adjust the red rose pin on your shirt. Something Mario Falcone, the current head of the family after the blood bath that was the Holiday murders twenty years ago, added to all the Falcone servants' uniforms.

As if you needed a mark to prove you worked for Mario. You were literally in his penthouse serving tea.

You tapped the pin three times, hearing the slight beep of the recorder.

A lump formed in your throat as you prayed for any help from some higher power. You took a deep breath and quietly entered the office.

"And you want us to help you how?" Mario said from behind his desk. You walked across the plush Persian rug and set the tray on the desk. He gestured for you to stay. You backed into the far corner and folded your shaking hands behind your back.

The man in the other chair squawked. "I need men." You dared a peek. The Penguin looked older than you last saw him. He had a black eye. You wondered who punched him.

Mario leaned back in his seat, holding his fingers together. "What do you have to offer? I know Batman is breathing down your neck." He pursed his lips. "I'd rather not get that kind of attention."

The Penguin wiped sweat from his brow. You frowned slightly.

Mario motioned for you to pour the tea. You did, keeping your eyes on the floor.

"You see..." The Penguin took the cup of tea before you finished pouring. You stopped the tea just in time to barely miss his hand. He took a loud sip. You eyed him before pouring for Mario.

Mario raised an eyebrow. You added sugar to his tea and started to step back.

"If you don't give me men, I can't stop what they will do to you." The Penguin looked up with such genuine fear. Your heart stopped. From the widening of his eyes, you knew Mario's stopped as well.

"Who's they?" Mario glanced at you. He frowned. You quickly moved back to your place by the far wall.

The Penguin shook his head and dropped his cup. "I've already said too much." You stepped forward and knelt down to pick up the cup. Taking the towel you kept in your pocket out, you dabbed the tea stain.

The Falcones spilled. They were hot headed bunch after Carmine passed.

Although from what you knew of the Penguin, he never spilled. Your gut told you something was very wrong.

"Well, I can't help you." You heard Mario stand up. "Not if all you can give me is veiled threats."

"You don't understand." The Penguin stood up, almost hitting you with his cane. "This is your only chance, boy. Don't be a idiot."

You winced as you heard Mario take a sharp breath.

Glass shattered. You saw tea dripping down the far wall. "What did you call me?!"

Not again. You crawled back and stayed near the wall out of Mario's range.

Mario threw as many objects as his sister, Sophia. Neither had regard for who they might hit with those said objects. You had a cut on your arm to prove it.

"You stupid brat. As dumb as your father!" The Penguin's face flushed. "You just dug your own grave and probably mine."

Suddenly, screams echoed from inside the penthouse. The Penguin's face went white as a sheet. He flopped face first onto Mario's desk, spilling the rest of the tea tray.

You winced as everything shattered. Mario grabbed a gun from his desk drawer.

"(Y/N)." Mario tossed it to you. You caught it. It was heavy in your hands, bringing back old memories. You pushed them away as you swore you heard a gurgle on the other side of the door.

Mario took out another gun, loading it. He moved toward his fireplace. You watched as he pressed three different stones on it. A secret door next to it popped open. "Stay here and defend," Mario ordered.

"What?!" You watched him enter the secret room and shut the door. A lock whirled as it resealed. "Bastard," you mumbled.

You tapped the rose pin. "Help."

No response. You hoped it meant they were on their way. The office door rattled. You ducked into the shadows in the corner of the room.

Another scream echoed through the penthouse. The maid. You swallowed hard. You'd have to get to her.

Suddenly, the office door opened and an animal-like monster fell through. It had long claws, crawling on all fours. It sniffed at the Penguin.

You held your breath. It turned your way. It had an owl-like black mask that reveal part of it's jaw. You could see the bone. Zombie?

It let out a terrible shriek. You flinched. It saw the movement and sprang toward you.

You fired, getting it in the face. It flew back against the wall.

Not wasting a moment, you ran out of the room. Another scream came from the kitchen. You ran toward it, bursting through the door to find two more of the zombies surrounding the terrified maid.

Without hesitation, you shot both. They flew against the kitchen cabinets. You ran for the maid, grabbing her hand and going into the pantry.

She seemed to wake up from her shock to slam the door shut.

"Block it." You pointed your gun at the door. The maid ran, tossing bags of rice against the door. When she ran out, she grabbed everything off the shelves to add to the pile with no logical thought in her mind.

You let yourself feel the nausea in your stomach, the adrenaline shaking your very bones.

"What are those?" The maid whispered, freezing as more gunshots and screams echoed from somewhere else in the penthouse.

"I don't know." You swallowed hard, keeping your gun aimed at the door. "Do you have your phone?"

She nodded. "Should I call the cops?"

You shook your head. "I doubt they'd be much help." You held out your free hand. "Let me call a number I know."

The maid eyed you, but scratches on the door made her toss the phone into your hand. She got behind you, shivering.

You sighed and typed a number you knew by heart. It rang, much to your relief.

Your finger twitched on the trigger. The door began to rattle just as Oracle's voice came through the speaker.

***

Jason punched the last Talon. It spun before collapsing in a heap on the rooftop of the Gotham News building. "All clear here," Jason said, holding back a yawn.

He hadn't slept well. If anyone asked, he claimed it was the new bed, but he knew it was because you were no longer sleeping beside him.

Six months since you left. You hadn't bothered to contact him since walking out the door.

Jason stewed. "Red Hood, meet Batman and Robin at Falcone's penthouse. Talons are overrunning the place," Barbara said through his comm.

"Good riddance." Jason turned to look out over the city. The lights shined on the wet pavement. He took a deep breath of the damp air.

Barbara clicked her tongue. "Jason, (Y/N) is there."

Jason's blood ran cold. Your disappointed face flashed before his eyes. His feet were moving before his mind.

"Keep calm, Jason. I was just on the phone with her." Barbara's voice was faint. Jason grappled off the closest building, flying through the air before grappling to the next.

He didn't realize how fast he was moving until he saw Falcone's building in the distance. His legs burned, arms aching.

Jason couldn't let that disappointment be the last thing he remembered of you.

***

Nothing surprised Bruce much anymore. Years of being Batman had led him to expect the unexpected.

However, today was different.

He and Damian crashed through the skylight of Mario Falcone's penthouse to find a blood bath and several feral Talons.

What caused the Court of Owls to make a direct attack against the Falcone family? Why so many Talons? Why were they taking out everyone?

Questions he had to worry about later. Hopefully, you could shine some light on the subject. If he could find you.

Bruce threw a Talon against the far wall before dodging the blade of another. "Robin, find (Y/N)."

"TT." Damian's huff reached his ears just as the Talon next to Bruce shrieked. Bruce threw an ice grenade at the Talon. It exploded upon impact, freezing the Talon in place.

Damian ran out of the room, cutting down two Talons as he went with his katana.

More Talons crawled out of the vents. Bruce grimaced, catching a knife thrown by one of the Talons.

He let out a slow breath, calculating the best strategy before the far window shattered and a flash of red barreled in. The red took out three Talons from their momentum alone. Gunshots rang out quickly, almost making it impossible to identify them as separate shots.

Bruce's eyes widened. All the Talons fell. "Where's (Y/N)?" The flash of red turned toward Bruce. He finally could make out Red Hood, Jason.

Bruce nodded to the Talons. "That was...helpful."

Jason grunted. "Where is she?!"

"(Y/N)'s camera pinged in what looks to be the kitchen," Oracle said. "I'll lead you there."

Jason charged out of the room. Bruce followed, taking out a Talon hiding in the shadows of the hallway.

He hoped they weren't too late as they passed several fallen Falcone guards.

***

A fraction of the door broke off. A clawed hand reached through. The maid screamed. Everything in you wanted to shoot, but you held yourself back. You had two shots left, had to make them count if Bruce didn't make it in time.

Fuck Bruce for taking so long.

Please don't let Jason fall apart if you died. You doubted he was doing well since you left him, you couldn't imagine what he'd do if you died on a mission for Bruce.

"Grab something to fight with," you told the maid as she clung to the back of your shirt. "Anything."

She didn't listen, muttering prayers under her breath.

More chunks broke off the door. You let out a slow breath.

The first zombie started to crawl through, bending to squeeze through the small hole. You waited until it was halfway through before shooting it in the head.

The maid screamed. She pulled at your shirt. You had to fight to not fall back on her. The zombie went limp.

It blocked the hole, but soon it's body was pulled out and another zombie started to crawl through.

You shot that one in the head. It blocked the hole again, but the whole door started to shake. Scratches on the wood.

The other body was pulled out and just as claws enclosed on the edge of the hole, a shout came from the other room. Your heart skipped a beat. You lifted your hand to prepare to throw the gun.

You heard the slice of a katana followed closely by a remark of how disgusting this whole situation was. A smile pulled at your lips. "I think we're saved," you told the maid. She looked up at you before turning to throw up.

Gross, but you couldn't blame her. You wrinkled your nose and patted her back. "I'm sorry," she coughed. "You're so calm. Are you used to this?"

You bit your lip, wanting to say you married into it. However, all you could do is shake your head. "I'm not used to zombies. Not these kind anyway."

She looked confused, but you focused back on the door. "(Y/N)!" Jason's voice echoed from behind the door as it started to shake even more than before.

You froze. How did Jason get here? Bruce promised he'd keep him out of your mission. "Red?" You asked, raising your gun to throw just in case.

"Open the damn door. It's safe," Jason demanded. A rush of anger filled you.

The maid looked at you with wide eyes. "I thought you said you didn't call the cops."

"I didn't." You didn't look at her, keeping your eyes on the door. "How do I know it's you, Red?"

The irritated sigh that followed confirmed it for you. He did that to you a lot. One of the problems in your marriage actually.

"(Y/N), the area is secure." Damian's snotty voice made your anger cool. "You may exit now."

The maid grabbed your hand as you moved to shove things out of the way. She didn't help you, just squeezed your hand until you thought your bones broke.

You opened the door to find Red Hood flying forward to crush you against him. All the breath left your lungs.

Butterflies fluttered in your stomach, but this time it was for other reasons. Reasons you weren't going to think about for now.

"I'm fine, Red," you whispered to him.

"You better be." Jason pulled away when the maid cleared her throat.

"Robin, guide her to safety," Bruce ordered, nodding to the maid. The maid squeaked at being addressed.

Damian opened his mouth to protest, but one look from Bruce silenced him. "Come along," Damian said, taking the maid's arm.

"(Y/N)?" The maid looked at you wide eyed.

"I'll be fine." You flashed her a smile. "Don't worry. Robin will keep you safe."

She bit her lip, but let Robin drag her out of the room.

You looked around the kitchen at the zombie bodies on the floor. The counters were cracked, cupboards pulled down, glass from the dishes covered every surface. Luckily, you were wearing thick shoes.

"Report," Bruce said. You pursed your lips and looked at him. He looked no worse for wear.

Jason tensed. "Wait a minute." He shook his head. You wished you could see his face, but the helmet hid it. "Is this where you were this whole time? You were undercover for him?!" He was glaring at you. You hated when he did that with his helmet on.

"You aren't the only one who can disappear for months," you snapped, narrowing your eyes.

He flinched. "That's low."

"Oh that's low. Isn't it low to not tell your wife that you're running away to space with your ex?" You crossed your arms.

"Enough." Bruce stepped between you and Jason. "Work this out later." He turned toward you, giving Jason his back. "Report."

Jason huffed. You couldn't stop yourself from smiling at the sound. "Mario had a meeting with the Penguin." You tapped your pin. "I recorded it."

"Where are they?" Bruce studied you. You felt touched your sort of father-in-law cared enough to check you for injuries.

"In Mario's office. Penguin fainted once the attack started. The zombies left him alone for the most part." You gestured for them to follow you toward Mario's office.

Jason bullied his way in front of Bruce and next to you. "Talons, not zombies."

You hummed. "So this is the Court of Owls?" You glanced back at Bruce.

"The court has decided to come out of retirement." Bruce frowned. You stepped over a few bodies of Mario's guards. You knew them, but you didn't let yourself feel anything yet.

Jason touched your hand. You allowed yourself to take his hand for a moment before pulling away at doorway to Mario's office.

Penguin was stirring from in front of Mario's desk. Batman went over to him and dragged him up onto the chair.

You went over to Mario's secret door. It was untouched. "Mario is still here," you said.

Jason followed you. "He in a secret room or something?"

"Safe room. Left me out here to defend him." You bit your lip when Jason's head snapped to you. "Stop it."

"Were you his bodyguard?" Jason's shoulder tensed. "Or more?"

You gagged. "No, god. Don't even suggest it." You slapped his arm.

The Penguin squawked awake, blubbering as Bruce interrogated him.

"What am I supposed to think, (Y/N)? You walked out, said you needed space, but then disappeared for six months," Jason growled.

You pursed your lips, narrowing your eyes at him. "Now you know what I was thinking when you ran off with Starfire, huh?"

Jason flinched. It didn't feel as satisfying as you wished it did.

You knocked on the hidden door. "Mr. Falcone, it's (Y/N). It's safe to come out."

"Starfire isn't really my ex. We just slept together once," Jason grumbled. You rolled your eyes. He was making the same excuses he did six months ago. Nothing changed.

"Doesn't help your case." You punched his arm to shut him up.

Mario opened the door. He smiled when he saw you, but froze at the sight of Red Hood.

A unmanly shriek came out of Mario. He tried to close the door, but Jason grabbed the corner and ripped it open.

Mario backed into his safe room, eyes wide with terror. Jason followed him in. "(Y/N), did you call this thug? I'll have you burned alive." Mario spat, grabbing a gun and aiming it toward Jason. Jason kept walking toward him unbothered.

"I didn't call him specifically." You leaned against the doorway. The adrenaline was wearing off. Your hands trembled as everything sunk in. "By the way, I quit."

Mario shot Jason in the chest, but it bounced off his armor. You covered your ears. The gun shots echoed loudly in the small room.

Jason knocked the gun out of his hand and picked him up by the front of his shirt. He held him up until his feet were dangling off the ground.

You couldn't help feeling warm from seeing Jason was still as strong as ever.

"You don't threatened her." Jason's voice was colder than ice. "Forget her name, forget her face. She was never in your disgusting presence, do you understand?" Jason brought Mario's face close to his helmet. "Do you?"

"Yes." Mario shook like a leaf. You swore you saw the front of his pants darken.

A hand touched your shoulder. Bruce moved you out of the room. "Watch the Penguin. I want to have a word with Mr. Falcone."

You snorted, stepping out to find the Penguin unconscious on the floor. "What a rough day for you." You nudged his side with your toe as Mario screamed from his safe room. "A rough day for all of us."

You sat down in the chair and crossed your arms. Taking a shaky breath, you tried to keep your emotions locked up, but tears still filled your eyes anyway.

***

"Red Hood, wait outside," Bruce ordered. Jason dropped Mario. Mario crumbled to the floor, blubbering.

"Fine." Jason stomped out. He saw the Penguin unconsciousness on the floor. Worrying his lip, he saw the top of your head as you sat in an armchair facing away from him.

A sniffle came from you. Jason's stomach dropped.

He moved to your side and knelt beside the chair. You recoiled, quickly wiping your face with your hands.

His heart fell slightly. "You okay?"

"I'm tired." You sighed, "This was...a lot."

Jason nodded. He reached out and laid his hand on your knee. You relaxed under his touch. A little hope blossomed in his heart.

Even though he was madder than heck to know you were working for Bruce for six months. That Bruce didn't tell him and you didn't try to contact him at all. That you were with Falcone this whole time.

He still wanted you home. Still wanted you to be his wife, partner in life and beyond.

Bruce stomped out of the safe room. "We need to go. The police are on their way." You jumped up at the sound of his voice. Jason slowly stood, grabbing your hand. You let him.

"I should wait here for the cops," you said softly. Your hand trembled in his.

"Not necessary." Bruce pursed his lips. "I'll give a copy of your video recording to Gordon. It will be enough."

Jason squeezed your hand. "I'm taking her home." He stared at Bruce, daring him to say something.

You looked at him slightly surprised. "Our home?"

"Is there anywhere else, sweetheart?" Jason's voice cracked. He cursed his helmet for hiding what he hoped was the love in his face.

"No." Bruce laid a hand on Jason's shoulder. Jason tensed.

"What do you mean no?" Jason snarled. You squeezed his hand gently.

Bruce stepped closer. "It's best if (Y/N) is kept somewhere safe since she is a witness. You remember what the court does to witnesses." Jason pulled you into his side suddenly, his arm around your waist. You gasped, but relaxed into him.

"Our place is safe." Jason bit his lip. He tried not to think about you being pinned to a wall by Talons, bleeding to death as you screamed his name. A lump formed in his throat.

"It is, but you know the cave is safer." Bruce's lips pursed. "(Y/N) needs to be cleared for any trackers as well."

"He's right." Your voice shook. Jason studied you, noting your trembling lips, widening of your eyes, a sickly pallor overtaking your cheeks.

Jason swallowed hard. "Fine, but I'll take her."

Bruce nodded. "I wouldn't expect anything less. Take the batmobile." He pressed the remote key to the batmobile into Jason's free hand. Jason looked at it before closing his fingers around it.

Jason started to lead you from the room, but you stopped. You pulled away from him. His arm felt empty without you. "Please make sure Mia is safe. She's the maid, she doesn't know anything,"

"She will be safe." Bruce rested his hand on your shoulder. You and Bruce shared a long look. Jason's stomach tightened at the sight. When had you and Bruce became so close? "Now go."

You nodded, quickly using your sleeve to wipe your face. Jason stepped toward you at the sight. You took a deep breath. "(Y/N)," Jason whispered, reaching out to you.

You flinched. "Not now." Brushing his arm away, you walk past him and out the door.

Jason watched you go with a sigh before quickly following you.

"Good luck," Bruce said so softly that Jason almost missed it. It was only the threat of leaving you alone that stopped him from going back in and unleashing his rage onto Bruce.

***

"Thank you, Alfred." You gave him a hug, even though you were only wearing a oversized robe. It did little to protect you from chill of the batcave, but you had to toss your clothes after going through several scans and a bug sweep.

"You're welcome, Miss (Y/N). It is good to have you home." Alfred patted your back before pulling away to look you in the eye. "Now head upstairs. I have clothes waiting in Master Jason's old room." You frowned slightly, but Alfred held up a hand. "And Master Jason knows not to enter unless you give him permission."

You smiled at the thought of Jason being locked out of his old room. "Thank you again." You turned and headed upstairs.

Bruce's study still looked the same. You paused at Bruce's desk as the grandfather clock door swung closed behind you.

The gold frame caught your eye. You traced it with one finger, smiling sadly. It was you and Jason on your wedding day. You were wearing a nice dress you got from Walmart, he in jeans and a button down.

That day had been magical. The beach was warm, sand soft under your feet. Jason had a boyish grin through the whole ceremony.

You shook your head. No point staying in the past now. You left Bruce's study and made your way upstairs.

The manor was quiet. You closed your eyes to enjoy the peace, the safety.

A lump formed in your throat as you remembered the blood, the bodies of people you gotten to know over six months.

Tears burned in your eyes. "Damn it." You covered your face and hurried to Jason's old room.

The room smelled of lemon and fresh laundry. You opened your eyes, taking in the familiar ACDC poster on the wall, the red comforter on the king sized bed. An old pair of pajamas was folded neatly on the bed.

You picked up the pjs and headed into the bathroom.

Turning the water as hot as it could go, you waited to let the steam fill the room before you let yourself grieve.

***

Jason carefully balanced the tray he prepared with one hand and knocked on door with the other. Steam rose from the mug of tea and bowl of soup he had made for you.

He hoped you would accept them. That you would let him in.

A long moment of silence followed his knock. "Come in," you said weakly. He heard the roughness of your voice. His heart ached at the thought you had been crying.

Jason turned the knob and slowly opened the door. You were sitting on the bed, towel draped over your head and his old pjs on. Warmth flooded his gut at the sight.

"I brought you something to eat and drink." He walked past you and set the tray on the side table. You pulled off the towel at his voice, staring at him with a calculated gaze. Your eyes were swollen and red.

"Thanks." Your gaze dropped to his body. Jason couldn't stop himself from blushing. "Did you lose weight?"

"Haven't been eating as much." Jason turned away. He went to stand by the window, looking out at the dark gardens below.

You hummed. He heard you sip from the mug of tea. The silence that fell was thick. Jason almost couldn't breathe.

"I see you are wearing your ring," you whispered.

"And you aren't wearing yours." Jason spun to face you. You cupped the mug in your hands, staring down into it.

"I was undercover, Jason. I couldn't have a wedding ring." You reached for your neck. Jason blinked when you pulled out a simple gold chain necklace with the ring attached. "But I had it on me."

Jason's voice caught in his throat. "Why did you go undercover and not tell me?"

You sighed. "It was only supposed to be for a few weeks. Mario Falcone was doing business in Italy. I came to Bruce and asked him if I could get away, he offered the job."

Jason sank onto the bed next to you, but left a decent distance between you and him. A distance that honestly hurt. "And it turned into six months?"

"I was working as a waitress at a cafe Mario was frequenting there. There was an attempt on his life. I saved him, he hired me on the spot." You sipped your tea. "I was still angry with you, so I took him up on it."

Jason leaned forward on his knees. "So you were being petty? Disappearing because I left you? At least I left you a fucking note."

"You left me a note saying you'll be gone for months in space with Kori." You narrowed your eyes. Jason scowled back at you. "On our anniversary."

"It wasn't our anniversary." Jason stood up and paced in front of you.

"Oh, right. It was the day before." Sarcasm slipped into your tone.

Something snapped inside Jason. "Nothing happened between me and Starfire! We slept together once a long time ago!"

"That's not even the point!" You set your mug back on the tray.

"Then what's the point, (Y/N)?!" Jason threw his arms in the air.

You grabbed a pillow from the bed and threw it at him. Jason caught it easily. "You idiot! Maybe the point was that you didn't tell me in person?! That you didn't even discuss it with me! I'm your wife and you ran off to space without even bothering to check with me!" Tears filled your eyes.

"Fine, it was a mistake not to talk to you about it!" Jason threw the pillow back onto the bed. "But you don't get to just disappear on me! What happens if you died while you were with that bastard Falcone?! You would do that to me?! Leave me to find out from Bruce that you died on his mission!"

"Like you couldn't have died in space and did the same to me! At least I was on earth!" You straightened your shoulders.

Jason towered over you. You glared back at him.

The red faded from his vision. He dropped his shoulders, taking a step away from you. "This isn't getting us anywhere."

You sighed and turned away from him. "We're just going in circles."

Jason studied your back. He closed his eyes and took a soothing slow breath.

Alfred told him once after he started dating you that relationships sometimes meant swallowing your pride. Letting go to move on.

He also said sometimes an apology can fix more than you think.

"I'm sorry." The words left Jason's lips freely. "I messed up. You were right. I should have talked to you about going to space. Even if it wasn't with Kori, I should have discussed it with you."

You peeked over your shoulder at him. "I'm sorry too. I should have gotten a message to you. Let you know where I was and that I was as safe as I could be."

"You shouldn't have left in the first place. How were we supposed to work it out if you weren't here?" Jason grumbled, smiling when you let out a little laugh.

"I guess we're both to blame." You bit your lip. A moment of silence passed between you.

Jason wanted to ask you to come home, be his wife again...but what if that wasn't what you wanted? Maybe you didn't want him anymore? He rocked on his ankles.

"What should we do now?" you asked softly, eyes on the floor.

Jason put his hands in his pockets. "I don't know."

You pursed your lips and sank down onto the edge of the bed. "I don't want to give up on us."

Jason dropped to his knees as if you stole the air out of him. "Sweetheart, I don't want that either." He shuffled until he was knelt in front of you. You took his hands. He frowned at how cold you were, trying to rub warmth into them. "I love you. Always have, always will."

You looked at him with a glimmer of a smile on your lips. "I love you too."

Jason leaned forward. You met him halfway. The kiss shattered any resentment or anger Jason had left inside him. He could only think that you were here, you loved him, you wanted him.

You wrapped your arms around his neck. Jason picked you up, chuckling when you gasped in surprise. He kissed you again as he laid down on the bed with you.

***

You woke to the late afternoon sun shining through the window. Stretching, you felt Jason's callused hand on your bare hip. He squeezed gently before sliding his hand up around your waist to pull you back into him.

He was warm, a human furnace. You rolled over, opening your eyes to take him in.

Jason had dark circles under his eyes, his face thinner than it was before you left. However, he was still the same. You reached up to trace his lips with your thumb.

He mumbled in his sleep. You leaned forward to steal a quick kiss. Jason's eyes opened the moment your lips touched his. He rolled over, pulling you halfway onto his chest.

You laughed, grinning down at him. "Morning, handsome."

"Aren't you a sight for sore eyes?" Jason smirked back at you. His fingertips tickled your back slightly. "God, I missed you."

"I missed you too." You rested your chin on his chest, watching him. Jason's hand moved to the back of your neck. You blinked when you felt them touch the clasp of your necklace. "What are you doing?"

Jason undid the clasp and pulled your necklace off. Your wedding ring sparkled in the sunlight. "I want to put your ring back on your finger where it belongs."

Your heart melted. "Okay." You watched him slid the ring off the chain and take your hand. He slipped it on your finger. "I remember you missed my finger a few times during the ceremony."

"Because I was too busy looking at you." Jason sighed, holding up your hand to study your ring. "Beautiful."

Your face burned slightly. "Bruce has the photo on his desk."

Jason hummed. "How did he get a picture?"

"Must have made a copy of the one we gave Alfred." You closed your eyes, turning your head so your ear was pressed against his skin. His heartbeat soothing some of the worry in your belly.

Jason laid a hand in your hair. "Can we promise that if either one of us has to leave for a long mission, that we'll take the other with?"

You opened one eye to look at him. His jaw firm. "You're serious?"

"I am." He looked at you without wavering.

"Okay." You smiled, opening your other eye. "But I doubt I'll go undercover again. It sucked."

Jason hummed. "And space sucked. All the food was terrible and all the alien girls wanted to fuck me, but I told them I was married to the most beautiful woman in the universe who would kicked their asses if they laid a hand on me."

You snorted, kissing his chest. "Charmer." You sobered when you thought about last night. "What are we going to do about the Court of Owls?"

"Well..." Jason groaned, pulling you fully on top of him. You rolled your eyes when you felt how excited he was. "Right now, I think we should celebrate being together."

"You mean celebrate again?" You raised an eyebrow, sitting up as you straddled his hips.

"And maybe again afterward? If you're willing?" Jason smirked, eyes sparkling with mischief. "Then once we're completely done celebrating, we can see what intel they found last night."

You couldn't stop yourself from grinning back at him. "Fine." You leaned down to kiss his lips. "I love you."

"And I love you." Jason suddenly flipping you so he was on top. You laughed before you lost yourselves in each other.

[yanderes-galore]

Yan!Heian!Sukuna and with Y/N?

Lately, whenever Darling got pregnant she ended up having countless miscarriages, the longest lasting at least 3 months, Sukuna began to suspect these countless coincidences.

He doesn't care about these losses since he didn't want to share Y/N with some brat, but he found it very strange that every time she got pregnant resulted in a miscarriage, so he started investigating and finally found out why this was happening.

He discovered that Y/N was causing her own miscarriages, as she knew that the last thing the world needed was Sukuna's descendants, so he finally confronts her but with that damn psychological terror that he loves to do to her.

I wasn't sure if you were just putting an idea out there or not... But I can see if I can write something small for this, sure!

Infertile Falsehoods

Yandere! Heian Era! Sukuna Short

Pairing: Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Female Darling, Obsession, Pregnancy/Miscarriages, Mentions of abortion/Forced miscarriage, Possessive behavior, Dark themes, Blood, Manipulation, Mature themes, Spicy scenes, Threats, Implied threat of forced pregnancy, Forced relationship.

The lie you originally told your husband was that you were simply unable to carry.

You are one of the wives of Lord Ryomen Sukuna, The King of Curses. Despite him having many, you always seemed to be the favored one. You were always the one to warm his bed the most, the one he clung to even after such an act.

Naturally, pregnancy often comes up in your life. Sukuna always seemed dismissive of it, not seeming to care much about descendants. Yet he also never tried to remove such an issue.

Part of you wonders if it gives him pride to see you in such a position... To show to others he's the one to claim you.

You were never on board with carrying the demon's descendants. You hate Sukuna, you've hated him since he pressured you into a marriage you didn't want. No one deserved to be burdened with his spawn.

Which led to your frequent miscarriages.

Whenever you notice signs of being pregnant, you'd order specific herbs to be brought to you in private. While Sukuna wasn't with you, no doubt fighting or playing with some other human toy, you use the herbs to make tea or syrup. Then, quickly and out of sight, you take it.

Hours later you're a bloody mess... but heir free.

You have servants clean you, often telling them you simply can't carry. You spread the lie that you're infertile. That you aren't capable of carrying his heirs.

Sukuna, again, didn't seem to mind such losses. If anything he seemed pleased to not have a child. However... It happened so often that it was almost suspicious.

Your miscarriages were often reported to him. Something just didn't seem right. But for a long time he accepted it.

Until he caught wind of the herb issue.

Eventually some Sukuna loyalists would uncover your lie. Soon it would come to light that your miscarriages were... self-inflicted. It was bound to happen eventually...

You already knew you were done for the moment Sukuna stalked into the room he made you two share.

At first, it's just like any night with Sukuna. You're sitting on his bed while he stands in front of you. You expect him to do the usual ritual you do... especially when he leans you down.

Your lord and husband leans over you as you lay on the bed. You're used to this, watching him as one set of hands lays by your head... while the second set wraps around your waist.

Until...

"It's on purpose, isn't it?" Sukuna muses, the purr of his voice nearly making your heart stop.

"What is, my husband?" You try to play dumb, but Sukuna's grin is taunting you.

"Your miscarriages? The servants talk, wife. I know your little schemes." Sukuna accuses, once of his hands stroking your stomach gently. "You aren't infertile. We both know that."

It's suddenly hard to breathe under your husband as he teases you. He doesn't seem... mad. But it only proves you can't hide anything from him....

"You've been asking servants to bring you herbs to miscarry. I'm not stupid, girl." Sukuna clicks his tongue. "I don't care for heirs... The thought of your attention being focused on a brat is annoying... but my irritation isn't about that..."

A clawed hand wraps around your throat while another holds your hands above your head. He's always been stronger... always been larger....

He's always scared you when he cages you in.

"My issue is your disobedience." Sukuna scolds. "As my favorite wife, you are meant to be loyal and transparent... not sneak around."

"I'm sorry, my lord—!" You try to plead, yet Sukuna's grip tightens.

"You're scared of carrying my heirs, aren't you?" Sukuna growls, holding you tightly as he straddles you. "Maybe a proper punishment would be making you carry one... How's that sound?"

You shake your head, making Sukuna laugh.

"So cute when you're scared... You're lucky I don't like to share with you..." Sukuna murmurs, breath ghosting over your face. "I don't like the idea of all your attention going to a brat of my blood for legacy or what not... but I hate disobedience even more...."

Sukuna chuckles when he sees the fear on your face, loosening his grip to caress your cheek.

"Tell you what... Beg me for forgiveness tonight... Show me you're sorry." Sukuna taunts as he nibbles your neck, his many eyes glancing at you.

"Show me you mean your apology... and maybe I won't make you carry an heir... think you can do that?" Sukuna grins with sadism dripping from his tone.

Fearfully, you brace yourself for what's to come... You tell yourself you're lucky Sukuna's being merciful with you...

Yet as the night goes on with him ... you begin to wonder if he means his words... or if he'll truly use tonight as punishment for his favorite wife.

[grugruel]

Big Iron

Pairings:

bounty hunter!Arthur Morgan x outlaw!f!reader

NSFW/MDNI

Masterlist

Summary: She's escaped a robbery, and bounty hunters have been sent out after her. They'd made no problem so far– that said, the notorious Arthur Morgan set upon her trail.

Word count: 5.7k

Warnings: Arthur Morgan, pinv sex, rough sex, soft sex ish, lap/bulge-riding, praise, petnames (girl, sweetheart, ma'am), creampie, overstimulation.

AN: 3rd person pov, trying it out. Not yet proofread!

A campfire blazed in the night, casting a warm glow over the small, temporary hideout.

Smoldering flakes of ash rose skyward in tired swirls, and the woman's face lit up, sizzling embers of spent coal entrancing her.

The fires of a bright building shouldered It's way into her mind, stealing precious space from all else.

Trees around her rustled, and she leaned back against the rockwall. An overhanging cliff sheltering her.

Guard lowered, at last. She let herself slide down the wall until she felt the ground beneath her thighs. Then dove deeper into the memory.

Money was all she had needed. But the simple, well practiced heist escalated. Attempted arson had suddenly been added to her list of offences, robbery another one among them. Which she could admit to, and proudly so.

But the fire. . . Now the fire was not her fault.

Not only was the law after her, but they'd also sent out money hungry bounty hunters aswell. She'd already tied two of them down yesterday, big brutish men they were. All muscle and no brains. Still, they proved to be quite the nuisance. But they wouldn't be a problem anymore unless they died of starvation, which would indeed be u fortunate.

She gritted her teeth at the memory, her eyes interanally. She doubted it, seeing as they were curently tied to the fence of the sheriff's office.

Which left only one real threat.

One man, one singular man; a notorious outlaw himself. He was the sheriff's most resent hire. Big, deadly, tall and muscled. From long days of hard work killing and robbing she imagined.

She'd actually seen him in person once, and she could admit, he looked dangerous, and devilishly handsome. The rumors had been right about that, she was only hoping that his volatile reputation along with the Van Der Lind gang's would turn out to be folly.

She shivered at the thought, shaking her to the very bones. If it were from the thought of him or the cool of the night, she did not know. She closed her arms around herself, stroking them for warmth as she pushed the unpleasant thoughts away, her gaze snapping to the treeline beyond.

Back to reality, and suddenly accutely aware of the black darkness that lingered between the thick stems beyond. Her vision was good, and she was quite hidden after all. No one would be sneaking up on her.

"Ma'am."

From the shadows, a man appeared at the edge of the campfires domain, vaguely illuminated by its warmth. Broad and tall in frame, the deep night clung to his back. His sudden prescence was the only evidence of his arrival, he'd made no sound nor been seen before he'd needed to be.

Her eyes snapped in his direction, widening with recognition, the eerie sense divulged itself to her body. Like poison, it spread quickly, crawling into every blood vessel and turning them ice-cold along its journey.

"Mister," she greeted, doing her damndest to stay calm.

His hat covered his eyes, but the smile he dealt was unmistakable. 'There's quite the bounty on you, girl.' The drawl of his accent sunk into her skin like the warmth of the fire.

"There's no doubtin' that," she nodded in admittal, slowly moving away from him, "Although im only worth half of it, I assure you."

She moved slowly, eyes meeting his as they poked out beneath his hat. He tilted his head to face hers, regarding her silently. Eyes flickering over her, the way her hair fell over her shoulders, and how her blouse revealed the hills of her chest. ". . . 'S that so?. . ." He took a step closer, the rope in his hands now excruciatingly evident to her.

She got to her feet in one swift motion, hesitantly gesturing for him to stay calm. "Mister, I'm not a murderer. The sheriff framed me." She took a few steps to the left, placing the fire between them.

The man chuckled. "I belive ya' ma'am." His hands pulled on the lasso, adjusting its length. Gripping it roughly from time to time, trigger fingers readying themselves for any sudden movement. "But the law can be a crooked thing sometimes." His eyes narrowed in on her, then shrugged nonchalantly. "But, a bounty 's still a bounty girl."

The birds sang above them, and the world blurred around her, her knees suddenly weak. Unfortunately for her, he would be there to catch her in a sense too literal for her liking.

"And I can say the same for myself ma'am, I'm a bad man. . ." His voice imposed, yet, the gravely tone vibrated perfectly well in her ears.

Gulping her nervousity, she assessed her options. . . And then ran.

Trees rushed past in peripheral whirls as she made her way along the cliff wall. Rope flexed behind her, threads wringing against eachother as it was swung and thrown with a woosh.

The air caressed her cheeks, pulling tears from her eyes and whistling in her ears. She gave it all she had, but it wasn't enough to stop the lasso from capturing her with deadly accuracy. It fell over her shoulders and tightened around her waist, pinning her arms to her sides.

The rope pulled taunt–and the world stopped moving for a short second, with a yank, her body whipped forward, and her feet was swept from under her–then, just as suddenly, it sped up again.

Like a tree cut down for its timber, she fell. The ground rushed up to greet her face as she stumbled to the ground with a hard thud. She panted, smelling the earth and feeling the wet grass tickle her face as she struggled against her entanglement; wriggling and thrashing like a stranded fish.

Well-used leather chaps groaned behind her as he stalked closer, winding the rope up with friction she was sure could start a fire, her stumache churned the thought.

The woman rolled onto her back to get a better layout of the situation–and there he stood. Just by her feet, he loomed over her. With his back to the fire, it cast a back-lit glow around him, framing the big man as he filled her sight. Fear and desire fought for the helm, conflicting her mind terribly.

He crouched down, bending over her as he circled the rope around her waist, foirtyfying her restraints and securing his valuable bounty tightly.

He grabbed the lasso and pulled her up diagonally. It pinched her midriff painfully and pulled her body flush against his, just so he could level her head with his. ". . . And I've done bad things," he whispered, lips brushing against her ear. A dull pulse appeared where there ought to be no pulse. She screwed her eyes shut, and lust for this man was the last thing she should be feeling. But oh. . . How his breath raised goosebumps and spread like a wildfire over her skin.

He straightened his legs and stood back, pulling her with him while keeping their bodies close together.

Her breath fanned over his lips as they stood a mere inch apart, one bound and the other free. A smirk made its way onto his lips, his hands sliding along the tied rope around her abdomen until they were at her waist. And in one strong motion–he threw her over his shoulder.

She yelped in surprise. "You brute!" Kicking wildy in hopes of getting free. But one of his arms circled around her legs and gripped the back of her thigh to keep them still, while he laid the other on the small of her back to stop her from falling. "You keep your hands to yourself Mister!" She shouted, struggling against his bullish strength.

"Yes, ma'am." He assured as he began walking, not paying her futile thrashing much mind. "That's not the kind of bad man I am."

She cleared her throat and huffed, expecting more of a reaction. She didn't quite know what to do in this situation, she hadn't planned this far ahead. She didn't think she'd ever be properly cought. "Well, good," she said curtly, calming herself.

Being a nuisance and making this whole situation worse would be a bad idea, and she hadn't made any progress thus far, seeing as his grip was solid steel. So she'd have to settle her mind with the feeling of his strong back beneath her instead. In fact, she was reveling in the feeling of his hand on her thigh.

He stomped out the campfire before moving to where he'd hidden his horse. "Sittin' or layin'?" He asked, being nice enough to hand her to option of sharing his saddle or to be stored over his horses ass.

She huffed, "what a gentleman. Take a guess Mister," she muttered.

He nodded, "Sittin' with me it is." His hands moved to her waist, and easily transfered her from his shoulder and onto the saddle. She scoffed for the sake of scoffing, eyes narrowing as she looked down on him, and if it had the power to, her look could certainly have killed him. "Quite presumtions of you."

With a low chuckle and a shake of his head, he gripped the saddle before climbing on. Placing his hands on either side of it, one hand on the pommel and the other on the cantel. Which just so happened to be between her thighs, and just behind her ass. Almost grazing her on both sides as he braced himself against the saddle, eyes meeting hers with a satisfied smirk, "Much more attitude from ya' girl and I'll have to take meassures."

Shock sprung itself on her, feeling dizzy all over again. The knuckle of his thumb was an inch away from brushing against her cunt. Her eyes widened at the fact, and the implications his words carried. Her loins burned, but she simply cleared her throat and neutralised her expression, "Id like to see you try." And faced away from him, turning her nose upward.

He climbed onto the horse, placing himself close intil her back and leaned over her shoulder. "I will if you'd let me, respectfully, ma'am," he whispered in her ear and then spurred his horse. Shivers shook her at that, her entire body vibrating with a dull sense of need.

They rode silently for a long while, and she wanted to sass him, she wanted it terribly. But was both afraid and hoping he'd take action, just as he'd stated.

The miles wound on, oh it felt never ending. Especially with the man behind her, rutting his hips against her with every step of the horse. He was a blessing against the cold, but pure torture as his heat soaked into all the wrong spots of her body.

Finally, it came time to rest. They'd ridden nonstop from the early morning of her capture to the next night. If that weren't enough, a heatwave had been raging for the entirety of the day as well, and the setting of the sun had barely made a difference.

He set her on the ground, binding her feet and hands before starting on the camp. Making quick work of the fire and tent as she sat down on a rock, silently watching the man work, and very much enjoying the show.

His skin was slick with sweat, much like herself. The cool light of the moon and the warmth of the fire made him glisten in every sense of the word, and oh, the way he toiled away.

He'd removed his vest and chaps as he got to work, respectively rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, which now stuck to his skin. A nuisance for him to be sure, but a dream for her, she could practically see the muscles of his chest rippling.

A drop of sweat trickled down her temple, tickling her skin and drawing focus away from the view. Her eyes widened as she realised how she stared at the stranger and shook her head, attempting to clear it.

Goodness, focus. She needed to hatch a plan.

Running would do her no good, he would be too fast. He wouldn't accept bribes either and was very hard to persuade. No attempts had been successful so far.

At that thought, unavoidably, abashedly her eyes snapped back to him as he pulled his shirt off and reached for a new one in his saddlebag. She clenched her jaw to keep it from falling, his strong chest was adorned by hair, trailing down his abdomen and disappearing under, the waist of his pants.

She swallowed. In that exact moment, she wanted nothing more than to see where that trail ended.

Her jaw began aching, she fought to tear her eyes away from him. Managing to direct her gaze to the ground instead, a d impatiently waited for him to put a fresh shirt on.

After a short while, she dared look up again. He'd pulled a log to opposite side of the fire and sat down, a cigarette had been placed between his lips, and was currently being inhaled with fervor. Tilting his head back, he released the cloud of smoke with a sigh.

Her eyes followed his movements intently, studying them as she hoped that perhaps he'd notice her and offer one–

"Want one, girl?" He nodded toward her, gesturing with the match box.

"I do, yes," she answered expectantly, holding her hands out for him to untie.

But to her surprise, he scoffed, then stod and walked around the fire. He crouched onto one knee in front of her, his arm bracing on top of the other. "You'll have to do better than that," he said.

He plucked the cigarette from his lips and offered it to her, holding it an inch from her mouth. She hesitated, observing him with disdain. "Go on," he nodded.

Reluctantly, she followed his orders, but met his eyes to make sure he knew how unhappy she was about it, and then leaned in.

Closing her lips around the cigarette, she could feel the dampness where his own lips had been moments before, and sucked the toxic smoke into her lungs, as if it were air.

She swore she saw something glint in his eyes, studying her pouting lips. And a plan struck her suddenly, but–

"Good girl," he hummed.

Again, shock gripped her. The praise rose right to her head, sending waves of heat cascading through her body. Then she coughed, the smoke settling wrong in her airways. She pulled back, letting him retrieve his cigarette while she worked to regain her composure. "You alright there, sweetheart?" He asked with a grin and patted her back before replacing the cig between his lips.

"Just fine, mister," she hissed, still reeling. "You got anything stronger? Whiskey, bourbon?"

He nodded and pulled out an old bottle of bourbon from his bag, "Could you?" She held her hands out to him again.

He studied her, stroking his stubbled jaw in thought. "Got somethin' for me, then?"

Insinuations led her down a path of filthy thoughts, but she instead opted for a simple, "Please?" Instead, attempting it cheapishly.

His hands slipped down to his hip, pulling the knife from its hilt. "That's more like it," he mumbeled with his cigarette clad lips.

And cut the rope around her hands and feet, stopping at the rope around her waist and met her eyes. "Try anythin'. . ." He raised his eyebrows and lowered his voice to a mocking tone. ". . . Run, hurt me, trick me." His eyes narrowed, the corner of his lip tugging. "And there'll be a steep price to be paid."

Swallowing, she nodded enthusiastically, "I just wan't a sliver of freedom before im locked up, you could understand that."

He nodded. "S'pose so. . ." And began untying. "The difference is, girl–" The lasso loosened and slid down her sides. "–that I'd never get caught." He gathered it and pulled it over her body, his fingers accidentally brushing against her hips, the sides of her breasts.

Her breath hitched, and their eyes met. Her skin tingled desperately as fluttering wingbeats set off in her stumache. Such a small thing, building into such a big reaction.

He cleared his throat, handing her the bottle as he threw the rope into the fire and put the lasso bag in his saddlebag. Finally replacing himself on another log, not as far away from her this time. He leaned back against the tree behind it and spread his legs wide. His bulge was enough to make her salivate. "It's not easy, you know, for a woman like me, when there's men like you, Mr Morgan."

Arthur quriked an eyebrow in question. "You know me?"

"I know of you," she corrected, taking a big swig of the fluid, then handed it back to him for him to do the same.

He nodded silently, a sigh escaping under his breath. "All bad I hope." He took another swallow, not to bothered by her statement. Probably used to hearing it by now.

She shook her head, taking the bottle and another gulp. "Many of the ladies say you're handsome."

At this, he looked up at her, chuckling. "Well, I don't know 'bout that."

"It's true. . ." Antoher sip, followed by a hiccup. "They say you can be quite the gentleman too."

His eyes bore into hers, his tone serious but expression joking as he humored her. "Depends on the lady." He reached for the bottle, and she stood up to give it to him. Walking closer, she handed it over, fingers brushing against each other in the motion.

His eyes met hers, and she brushed her hand under his chin. "You know what else they say, Mr Morgan?"

"No . . . What do they say about me, sweetheart?" A smirk made its way onto his lips. The liquor seamingly starting to affect the pair of them.

"That you're good in bed. . ." he stepped between his thighs, her hand falling from his chin to his neck, scratching at the nape gently.

He hummed appreciatively, then took another sip of the bourbon and set the bottle aside. His hands reached for her, coming to a rest on either side of her thighs, pulling her closer to him, squeezing them at his pleasure. "They're only rumours girl." He tilted his head backward, resting it against the tree to get a better look at her, eyes fastening on her lips.

With her other hand, she hiked her skirt up, revealing her thighs as she stepped over his legs. One at a time, then slowly sank down on his lap, while his hands automatically slid to her hips.

She placed herself on top of his bulge. He grunted from the pressure. The pulse within her began strumming at her nerves, turning them jittery.

"See, I doubt that, Mr Morgan." She whispered. "Women do not lie to eachother of such things." His bulge beneath her grew harder, luring a hidden smile from her. It took strength to will it from her lips and only reach her eyes. "They say you're rough, or gentle. Dependin' on your mood." As she said that, she could've sworn she detected the faintest red creep up his cheeks. Arthur Morgan, blushing? Now, she couldnt help herself and the smile reached her lips.

The man cleared his throat, acting as if it had never happened. "That's told of me in everythin' I do." He smirked, the grip on her hips hardening, knuckles turning white.

"But you're always sweet 'n caring." She continued, her own words were building the lust within her, making the pulse ever stronger. It grew harder to focus. She needed to release some of the pressure building inside her. Evaluating the consequences, and deaming them minor in conparison to her needs, she rocked her hips downward–grinding into his bulge.

Simultaneously, she whimpered and he hissed. She leaned against him, her lips brushing against his ear as shenuzzled his cheek. "Apparently, It's also true what they say 'bout ridin' cowboys-"

"Girl," he interrupted with a chuckle. "Dont think I dont know what you're doin'. . ." He breathed. "Seducin' me." With the tight grip on her hips, he rocked her hips against him, the rough fabric of his pants grinding against her core.

With a gasp, one of her hands shot out to burry itself in his hair. She leaned into him, the other hand grabbing his shirt for support as she rested her head against his shoulder. He nuzzled his cheek against hers, returning the gesture and muttered. "You use your sweet talkin', then get me drunk 'n run off, that your plan?"

Her eyebrows furrowed, hips grinding down harder, her ruts becoming more frantic, needy. She screwed her eyes shut from the copious amounts of pleasure washing over her. All she could do to answer him was hum in admittal as she strained hard to focus.

He chuckled. "Easy girl. . ." His voice commanding, low and raspy as he slowed her hips, but keeps the pace hard. "Use your words." He ordered, loving the way she fell apart for him.

She nodded hastily, hoping it'd be enough satisfy his request. But he pinched her hip through the fabric of her skirt, and her eyebrows furrowed in pain. However, not having the energy to even make a sound. Her thoughts were a blur, she couldn't tell what to keep hidden anymore. "Yes– yes. . ." She moaned, the coil inside her tightening impossibly hard.

"Thought so," he breathed, the words curt on his tongue, but lust evident in his voice. Suddenly, his hands left her hips, snd one arm snaked around her waist, his hand placing itself at the small of her back to push her against him.

Then he stood, drawing a whine from her. She did not quite understand what was going on as the loss of movement gradually undid all the progress she'd made. "Mr Morgan?" She inquired, hesitantly wrapping her legs around his hips.

He walked them toward the tent. "Arthur," he corrected, carrying her with ease. Pushing the tent flap to the side, he kneeled, bending over her as he placed her on the ground.

"Arthur," she smiled, worry seeping out of her as she realised he was making them more comfortable.

His knees slid apart, hooking her legs upon them as they spread. Her hands shot up in response, grabbing onto the collar of his shirt to pull him closer, close enough for his lips to hover over hers. Their eyes met. "Please. . ." She whimpered, one hand sliding downward. ". . .Please." She said again, fingertips trailing down his abdomen, suddenly grabbing hold of his bulge with a firm hand, his member rock hard. "Outlaw or gentleman?" She asked, smiling a wicked smile.

A grutn escaped him while his lips brushed over hers. "Neither." And grabs her wrist, pulling her hand away from his crotch and catching the other in the same motion. His free hand reached over her head, and the hauntingly familiar groaning of strong rope sounded above her. She shook her head, "Arthur, please. . ." Panic moved into her voice, the repeated words carrying a completely different meaning this time.

He held both wrists with one hand and tied them together with the other, the rope stinging her skin. She cried out unhappily.

But he chuckled, in a matter of factly kind of way. Stroking the burn gently as ge corrected her, "Should've behaved." And when done, he sat back. Observing her as she laid tied up, legs spread in front of him, and circled around his hips. Much to his dismay, he wouldn't be enjoying the sight as much as he wanted to. "It's late."

"Arthur. . ." She pleads, attempting to appeal to him, one last time.

He turns his head just enough to see her in his peripheral. "Get some sleep. You got a long day ahead of you tomorrow." He flashed his eyebrows smugly. "Night, sweetheart." Then exited the tent without another word.

She huffed, unbelievable.

Sweetheart. . . But how could she be annoyed when he called her such a thing. She dreamed herself away, with imagines of a shirtless Arthur Morgan and the feeling of him inside her. But she'd not given up, make no mistake, he would fall asleep and she would leave. . .

The night carried on and the temperature finally began dropping, a shiver shook her pleasantly. It was a welcome change. Her body strained as she raised her neck to get a look of the outside. Through the flap she saw Arthur, sitting, snoring, hat covering his face as he leaned back against the tree he'd previously been sitting on.

Now, she needed to get rid of her restraints. Rolling over, she crawled toward the opening, her eyes never leaving Mr Morgans sheathed knife.

The fire had been reduced to embers at this point. Crackling and sizzling lowly as the cool moisture in the air riddled the grass with dewdrops, dampening her hands and skirt as she approached her goal. She sat on her knees, then moved to grab the knife carefully, gnelty sliding it out. The sound of it unlatching nearly had her yelp.

No movement in Arthur.

Shallow breaths, she exhales. Relief flooding through her begoee she began working the knife against her entangled wrists with her fingertips. Carefully regarding the vicious man for any signs of waking. But her thoughts slid, perhaps, if he caught her, he would be kind. Or would he be angry? She could truly not decide werther which reaction she'd most prefer–

The rope snapped, and exhilaration filled her. Gaze snapping between her free hands and the hunter, imagining her prospects. She stood quietly, holding her skirt tightly around her to keep the fabrics from rustling. Slowly, knife still in hand, she backed away. On careful tiptoed steps she faded into the night, the fire dwindling in the distance.

The darkness made it hard for her to see much of anything, at its height the tree-crowns silhouette were visible against the blue summer sky. Branches moved, leaves swished in the gentle wind. She grew paranoid, head snapping in every direction, reacting to every little noise around–

A branch broke behind her, she jumped, turning around so fast she almost ripped– a Buck. She froze, a god damned buck? She had expected it ro be Arthur, but she seemed to have ogtten the better of him. The animal looked at her, ears twitching as it chewed on grass– suddenly hopping away. She sighed and turned back.

Only to collide with something hard. Her thoughts raced, she knew, she knew. She looked up, eyes tracing along his body until they met his, half hidden under his hat. Reflexes prepared her to run, but before she had as much as taken a step back, a hand grabbed her wrist and yanked her back to him. Again, she thumped into his strong chest. Held against him with the familiar iron grip, she fought, as usual; but to no avail, as usual. He snaked an arm around her waist to hinder her from breaking free, yet she kicked and punched violently with her free limbs. But it made no dent in the man. He couldn't even spare her a reaction as he half carried, half dragged her back into the low light of the burnt out fire. He spun her around and pushed her up against the cliff wall, grabbing the wrist closest to him and pinning it above her head. "I warned you, girl." He snarled, the look in his eyes doing just as good a of job pinning her to the wall as his hands. He reaches for the second–

When something sharp digs into the soft flesh of his throat, he froze. His chest was the only thing moving between the two of them, heaving breaths of annoyance.

"Thrid times the charm." She smirked.

He raised his eyebrows and chuckled, "That so?" His voice mocking, and before she could comprehend what had happened, he'd captured both wrists with one hand and slammed them above her head and into the wall. And the knife had appeared in his free hand, she noticed this because it was now held against her own throat. "Repeat that for me girl."

Her lips struck a thin line as she attempted a neutral expression, although fuming on the inside. She shrugged her shoulders, "No." Was all she said, but stubborn in tone.

He nodded, looking her up and down, studying the buttons on her blouse. "Ought to teach you a lesson sweetheart."

She cleared her throat, deciding that to act nonchalant was her best option. "Yeah? What ya' gunna do, huh? Ravage me?" She asked half joking, but still hoping there'd be some truth to it.

At this, the corner of his mouth turned up, a wicked grin developing on his lips. "I just might." He breathed, tracing the tip of the knife downward, along her collarbone and then along the front of her blouse, coming to a stop at the first button. She gulped, feeling the knife poke through the thin fabric against her chest, making goosebumps run amock in reaction and the pulse reheating in her core. He leaned forward, pushing his body against hers until there was no room left between them, his head hovering just above the crook of her neck. "May I do with you as I please?"

This was it, the sweet balance between a hardened outlaw and a tender gentleman. "Yes– yes, Arthur please." Her voice near a cry, it took everything in her to control her tone–

Her blouse ripped, from top to bottom he cut it open, and she wasn't wearing a brasier. Her chest laid bare before him, and he groaned happily at the sight.

With her go-ahead he wasted no time, he let go of her hands and cut her skirt too. Cutting a slit as far as he reached with the knife then threw it to the side, and the tore the rest. She gasped, every nerve in her body on edge. In an instant, his lips were upon hers. Hungry, hungry lips devouvered her as hands roamed her body, groping and grabbing wherever they got purchase. Her own hands greedily searching for a steady hold in his hair, she grabbed a fistful and pulled gently. He moaned at the feeling, such a beautiful sound. His hands slid over her breasts, squeezing them, then pushed the remains of her blouse off of her shoulders.

Except for her undergarments, she stood completley exposed for him. She could practically feel him salivating when he cupped her clothed mound, and finding her clit with expertise and rub it through the fabric.

She tore herself free from his kisses, she had to breathe. A deep gasp brought oxygen to ger lungs once again, allowing her to whimperand moan in equal measure as he worked her clit. The pressure made her knees week, she wriggled, attempting to rut against his hand. But she was too unsteady to make progress. Noticing her difficulties, his other hand slid behind her back and held her steady. Allowing her to chase her pleasure. And left with no lips to kiss, he latched onto her neck instead, to suck at her sweet spot.

She hummed appreciatively, unable to keep a big smile from her lips as pulses of pleasure washed through her. She slid her hands from his hair and unbuttoned his shirt, running her fingers along his strong chest and abdomen, gingerly feeling all of him as her hands worked themselves lower. Finally unbuttoning his pants. She did no longer have to wonder were his happy trail dissapeared too, she bit her lip. He was huge. She stuck her hand into his pants and stroked him eagerly. "Need ya' Arthur, please." She panted.

He let out a strained grunt against her shoulder, and his hand left her clit. She whined, but didn't have to stay displeased for long.

Both his hands slid down her sides, and she tried to breathe steadily, but it proved hard. The feeling of his calloused hands on her skin was too heavenly. Suddenly, he lifted her. Pinning her against the cliff wall with his arms and the weight of his body, allowing her to wrap her arms and legs around him. She hadn't known, but he had wordlessly obided her request. He pulled her garments to the side, and line himself up with her entrance. "Sure about this?" He asked, a final reassurance.

"Yes." She purred, no hesitation in her answer.

And so he pushed inside her, the sheer size of him was making her want to scream–

"Good girl." He moaned, and directed his eyes to hers. She repressed a moan, biting her lip hard to hinder it as heat flashed through her. It was two words, yet she could've come undone from them alone, when said by him alone.

He gazed upon her softly, one of his hands left her thigh to gently stroke a strand of hair from her face. She smiled, and so did he. He was just giving her time to adjust, but her heart soared at the simple gesture.

God how could she feel so strongly for a stranger?

Her hands retangled in his hair as Arthur slid out of her, she furrowed her brows– but in a rough, quick thrust. He shoved himself back inside of her, filling her to the brim. He set a cruelly pleasurable, unrelenting pace. Any trace of gentleness gone.

She felt the pressure tightening within her, building snd building until she was on the verge of coming once again. Her hands sunk to his back, clawing and scratching because she did not know what else to do, he was too much, too good, too big. He overstimulated her with his mere prescence. And he knew when her walls tightened around him, adding extra pressure onto his already throbbing member. "You close girl?" He grunted, his gruff voice breathed against her ear and his hand squeezing her thigh roughly beneath her. God it was sublime.

"Mhm. . . So- close.'" She murmurs, her words coming out jagged as her body rocks with Arthurs thrusts. Pushed closer to her release with each thrust, once again, she shut her eyes and spots speckled her eyelids. Breathing turns frantic, she could no longer tell who was who as they mixed, moans and curses spilling from them both.

With a flash of pleasure, searing hot it soured through her, making her whimper uncontrollably. His thrusts slow, holding her securely, caressing her face and kissing her lips as she rides out her high. "You're alright girl." He breathes reassuringly, "Well done Sweetheart."

Overstimulated tears roll from her eyes, "Oh Arthur, you sweet, sweet man." She sighs happily, and he comes a mere second later. His seed filling her and oozing out.

They'd clean themselves tomorrow, since tiredness plagued them currently. He backed away from the wall and she clung to him, desperatley not wanting to part with him.

He carried her back to the tent, this time not bothering to tie her up as they laid down facing eachother. Arthur, grabbed her chin between his index and forefinger. Studying her thuroughly before they finally succumbed to sleep. She could escape if she wanted to, he wouldn't stop her this time. Her plan had worked, they both knew it. But they felt something else too, and they both knew it.

Hooded eyes blinked, blushing at Arthurs intent eyes and searching gaze. Her eyelids weighed down by exhaustion, It'd been a long few days, and before she knew it–

The light dawns, rays of dusty sunlight shone through the flap of their tent as the morning wakes. Bringing warmer tempratures and calm birdsong.

He opens his eyes, and immediately meet hers. She'd just been admiring him. "Surprised?" She asked, biting her lip and stopping herself from reaching out to touch him.

He smiles, "Naw, I was hopin' I'd wake up to you girl."

[s-brant]

The Calm Before the Storm

With the family coming from Dragonstone to visit after the birth of Y/N’s first child, Aemond must control his impulses and be civil with the Velaryon boys for the sake of his wife. (or judas part five).

9k (18+)

Warnings: smut, lactation kink, oral sex (male receiving), facefucking, switch aemond, strong language, hints of yandere (so basically canon) aemond, death, and referenced violence.

-

Their footsteps echo in the hallway as they make their way to the private rooms her mother and father are staying in for the next few days. Her husband's shoulders are squared, his posture straight, the entire way there. Ever since he woke up this morning with the knowledge that Daemon, Rhaenyra, Jace, and Lucerys are here, he hasn't allowed himself a moment to relax. If it weren't for the three-week-old babe clutched against her chest, she'd reach out to take his hand or rub up and down his back.

Without turning her head to look at him, she says, "You need not worry. My brothers simply wish to meet their niece."

The doors to their chambers come closer and closer—

"I am not worried," he says. "Your half-brothers pose no threat to me."

The long conversation they shared last night as the babe suckled at her mother's breast proved otherwise. It was late enough that their servants had gone to sleep, so neither of them felt the need to speak in the language of their ancestors to keep anyone from overhearing. They spoke quietly in the common tongue to not wake their daughter from her milk-drunk trance.

He confided in her that he didn't feel comfortable having his daughter around her half-brothers without him present in the room. At first, she had been offended. She looked at him like he had struck her and bit her tongue as she fought the urge to say the first nasty thing that came to mind. It had to do with his brother. It was a snarky comment regarding her reluctance to allow their daughter to be alone in his presence, but she stopped herself before she could say it. No matter how much she loved them, he had reason to be wary of them after what they did.

The guards hold the doors open for them and announce their presence as the couple enters the room. The first thing Y/N sees is her mother and father standing together, the former with a hand cradled on the underside of her heavily pregnant belly. Then, it's her half-brothers sitting on the couch behind them. And, finally, her youngest brothers, Viserys and Aegon, play together on the carpet-covered floor.

"My sweet girl," Rhaenyra says in greeting with a bright smile and holds out her arms.

Aemond, ever the attentive husband contrary to the assumptions from her side of the family, is already reaching to take the babe from her arms to allow her the chance to embrace her mother. A quiet, "Thank you, my love," is muttered under her breath as she passes their daughter off to him, trying not to ogle him in the presence of her family. Seeing him with Daenaera, cradling their small child against the body she knows so intimately, never fails to make her stomach flutter.

What she doesn't notice due to her preoccupation with her mother is that her brothers are staring daggers at Aemond from where they lounge on the couch. As always, he doesn't miss a thing.

Jacaerys in particular has the more sour expression between the two of them, seeing that he is older and more knowledgeable about the ins and outs of marriage, but it does little to intimidate her husband. Aemond simply stares back with a blank face, daring him to say or do anything to provoke him in the presence of his wife and child.

Next, he turns his attention to Lucerys while Y/N is greeting her parents. The younger of the two is less angry and more frightened. Ever since what happened between them at Driftmark, they've never been able to let their guards down around one another. And now that the young boy he maimed has grown into a man, one who rides the largest dragon alive and has bested Criston Cole with a sword, Lucerys has often anticipated retaliation of some sort whenever they meet again.

But he made a vow to his wife. He swore that he would not harm either of her brothers, and it was not something he took lightly. It wasn't a means to end their argument, it was real. For her, he would leave them be...unless they swung first. In that circumstance, he cannot deny that he would revel in the opportunity to get revenge. His vow to her did not mean that he would befriend her brothers, or that he cared about them. It only means that he cares more for her and their daughter.

Aemond never breaks his eye contact with Lucerys as he stands by in silence. The mischievous glint in his remaining eye seems to say, "I won." The tiny, shifting weight of the newborn cooing in his arms is proof of that.

Before anything can be said between the two of them, Y/N pulls away from the embrace shared with her parents and turns to him to say sweetly, "Māzigon, valzȳrys. Ivestragī zirȳ rhaenagon zirȳla." Come, husband. Let them meet her.

The little girl fusses in his grasp when he walks over to the three of them without speaking a word, and this causes Y/N's brows to pinch together in concern. Her hand comes up to stroke the top of her head, fuzzy with wisps of silver hair, to soothe her as Aemond hands the babe off to her grandsire. Although he does not cry, his eyes become glassy at the sight of his daughter's child.

Daemon says, allowing her little fingers to curl around his pinky, "Gevie." Beautiful. His eyes shift to look back and forth between Y/N and Aemond before finally settling on the former. "She has your lips and nose." A pause, and then he looks at Aemond. His tender expression hardens a little, but he keeps it contained. "I see you in her as well."

He hums in appreciation of the comment—a rare compliment, perhaps—but is quick to correct him.

"She is the image of her mother," he says softly and valiantly fights a smile when his eye abandons his uncle to look upon her little face.

The harshness that is always present in Daemon's gaze when Aemond is near softens at this as though he has been presented with a new side of him. Throughout their marriage, Daemon has made no secret of his distaste for her husband. Not only because of his scheming grandsire but because of his history with her half-brothers. With every raven sent to King's Landing from Dragonstone, he made a point to ask her how he had been treating her, promising that he would be there on Caraxes with haste should he mistreat her. But this...Even though she has told him countless times that she is happy with her marriage, this is the first time he has truly seen it.

Next, Rhaenyra holds her. It's almost effortless how she falls back into the motherly role once a babe is placed in her arms. Having birthed five children that survived beyond the womb, it is second nature to her, and it won't be long before the sixth comes along.

"What is her name?" her mother asks.

This brings a smile to Y/N's face.

"Daenaera."

-

Dinner with the entire family, both the Green and Black sides, is never a dull event.

She sits with Aemond to her right and Daemon to her left, little Daenaera sleeping with her head on her shoulder. Both Alicent and Rhaenyra advised her to give the babe to a servant to allow herself to enjoy the night, but she politely refused. Her little girl often had trouble if neither she nor Aemond was near, so she is held to her chest with one arm while the other reaches for the fork beside her plate.

The last time they had a dinner all together was before she married him. It's a little different tonight seeing that Viserys is not well enough to attend, but there's a new member of the family to bind both sides together this time, so the night has progressed without issue thus far. How could anyone be compelled to argue or incite violence with an infant present at the dinner table.

It was a calculated decision on her part, which Aemond clocked instantly. His lips fought the urge to turn up at the ends in a slight smirk when she insisted upon keeping the babe with her. She knew that he would refrain from any impulsive behavior regarding her brothers with her at the table. His cunning, devoted lady.

Aemond watches her as she struggles to hold their daughter up with one arm while she reaches for her cup of wine. He's readying to scoot back from the table and take Daenaera from her arms, but he's halted by the sound of her brother's voice.

"Sister, if you won't let the servants help, please allow me to hold her while you eat."

His one eye shifts its focus away from her to find the source of the offer.

Rhaenyra says, "How kind of you, Jacaerys." She then turns to look at her daughter past Daemon, leaning forward into the table. "You should take him up on the offer, my love, you must be tired."

The younger princess hesitates for a second and glances at her husband as though to tell him to keep his composure, then nods.

"Here, let me bring her to you," she says to her brother who was already prepared to walk around the table to their side. "If she wakes, she will not be easily soothed by anyone but her father."

It is true. For some reason, only the Gods may know, she is most comfortable being held and talked to by him when she's crying in the dead of night. Y/N is a close second, but no one makes her feel quite as safe as her kepa does. Even now, when she's too little to speak or walk or show a hint of personality, she knows that he will cross any line imaginable to safeguard her and her mother's lives.

The comment brings him pride, and it's difficult to refrain from smiling to himself when he hears it. Despite all their attempts to frame him in their minds as an uncaring husband—he didn't pretend not to see the comments Daemon made in letters she left out in the open for him to find—he has proven otherwise. He knows it must pain them, especially her father, that there are no excuses for them to look down upon him.

"You must support the back of her head with your hand or your arm," she says softly to her younger brother as she transfers the babe into his possession. "There—like that."

It takes little time for her to circle back around to their side of the table and take her seat beside her husband. From a glance, she can tell that his body has tenses from the sight of Jacaerys holding Daenaera. It isn't as though he's deluded enough to think her brother would wish to harm their child or act in an unbecoming way in her presence, despite his grudge he knows his nephew well enough to know that. Yet, it makes him squirm in discomfort all the same.

What if he accidentally hurts her? What if she wakes from her nap to see a new, strange man holding her and is frightened? Would anything be able to stop him from taking his child from his arms and glaring at him for inadvertently upsetting her?

It isn't until Aemond feels his wife's right hand settle atop his clothed thigh under the table that he is snapped out of his thoughts. Gods, he feels so unlike himself when he takes a step back and analyzes his thoughts at the present moment.

He always swore to himself that he would not care this deeply when the time came for him to take a wife and sow his seed, but, as he has been forced to realize again and again, he does care. In fact, he cares so deeply that he doesn't know what to do with himself when anyone is close to either one of them. It's possible that his vow to remain detached from his feelings, to focus solely on his duty as a husband and father without complicating things, was another defense mechanism unknowingly put in place to protect the part of him that always cared too much.

As the others talk amongst themselves and pick at their food, she leans in to say softly, opting for the native language of their family over the common tongue to keep it as private as can be, "Nyke gīmigon bisa iksis qopsa syt ao." I know this is hard for you. Her eyes soften, and she can feel the hard muscle of his thigh relax a little when she strokes it gently with her thumb. "Yn emā gaomagon sȳz." But you have done well. There's a pause, and then she mutters quietly enough that no one else can hear, "Perhaps I may express my gratitude after dinner."

This makes his body go still.

Since it is his blind eye that is closest to her, he cranes his neck a little to allow him to see her face. The expression he wears is virtually unreadable to everyone else in the room, but she can see the fire she lit within his body from gazing at him alone. Seeing that their lives have been consumed with doting on Daenaera in the time since she gave birth, only opting to hand her off to servants for the night to allow them time to rest, they haven't had the energy or urge to engage in any sexual activities. Not that she can be on the receiving end of anything for two moons, but that doesn't mean she cannot satisfy him.

Aemond's brows furrow a little, then he mutters, chancing a glance around the table to ensure nobody is listening, "We cannot."

Her lips twitch up on both ends into a slight smile.

"There are other ways," she says softly, careful to keep her tone hushed and words ambiguous in meaning.

From the outside looking in, they appear to be a happy couple, so taken with one another that they are lost in a conversation that causes them to ignore their surroundings. In a way, that perception is true, but the topic being discussed isn't what anyone would guess.

He doesn't respond to this verbally.

Instead, he hums to himself and turns his focus back across the table to where her brother is cradling their daughter in his arms, but she knows she got under his skin. A second after he looks away, his hand finds the one she is resting on his thigh, and he weaves their fingers together. The sole reason he didn't say anything back to her was because he knew he wouldn't be able to control what would come out of his mouth if he let himself speak. As peacefully he and Daemon have managed to co-exist today, Aemond does not think he could say any of the things he says in the privacy of their bedchamber in his presence without causing a brawl.

Jace smiles down at the babe and says, not to anyone in particular, "She'll make a fine queen, will she not?"

Rhaenyra's head turns to look upon the two of them, and it's clear to see the warmth this brings to their mother's heart.

It's Alicent, however, who responds.

"Yes." She looks at Rhaenyra, saying, "We have had our share of difficulties, as all families do, but Daenaera is a blessing."

The effect it has on her mother is clear in her. Y/N's eyes linger on her for the better part of a moment before they find Otto sitting next to her, doing his best to mask the displeasure evident in his expression at the notion of Rhaenyra or her children ascending the throne. Aegon, on the other hand, seems as though he couldn't care less. Although they rarely dwell on the matter of succession to avoid fighting, she and Aemond have both agreed that he does not want the position or the duty it entails. He would be content to live the rest of his days as he does now, drinking himself into oblivion and fondling any servant girl left alone with him for too long.

The hand resting on Aemond's thigh squeezes at the rare sight of their mothers getting along.

Rhaenyra says earnestly, fighting off a smile, "It gladdens my heart to know that we are both grandmothers to this beautiful babe."

There's a distant flash of longing in her eyes in the second she takes to pause, then rise from her seat with her cup raised. The last time she toasted someone at dinner, it was to Alicent, but, this time, she turns toward where her daughter is sitting beside her husband.

"I raise my cup to you, brother," she begins. "For your devotion to my sweet girl. As the Queen said, we have had our difficulties as a family in years past. Yet, I find I can sleep soundly at Dragonstone knowing my only daughter and grandchild are undoubtedly safe and contented at your side." Her cup is raised higher. "To Prince Aemond. You have my gratitude."

At first, he is frozen in his seat and unsure of what he hears. How could this be the same woman who demanded he be "sharply questioned" after one of her bastard sons maimed him for life? Then, as he takes in what she says, he has to fight the urge to doubt them. His immediate assumption is that this is a facade being put on for the sake of bettering her appearance, but when has his half-sister ever cared for appearances? One glance across the table at Jace's dark brown hair answers the question for him. So, he thinks, if it isn't to make herself appear gracious, seeing that she is too confident in her position as heir to deem it threatened by anything she does, it must be genuine in some way.

It goes against everything he knows to admit to himself that Rhaenyra is being anything but ambivalent toward him or Aegon, and yet...He inclines his head to her in a gesture of acknowledgment and gratitude. It's all he can think to do until words find him, and they eventually do. A lengthy moment passes then—

"You have my gratitude as well, sister," he says, although strained, to Rhaenyra. It comes as a surprise to everyone watching after all that has transpired in the past. He then looks upon his wife with a tenderness few ever receive from him. "For having her."

-

As soon as the door shuts behind the servant who gently took Daenaera from her arms, Y/N has Aemond pushed up against it with her arms wrapped around his broad shoulders, and their lips connected in a kiss.

After they dined, Rhaenyra felt a sensation in her body that she knew all too well and apologized to her daughter for having to hurry back to Dragonstone on such short notice. She made certain to apologize to the Queen, asking her to pass along the message to the ailing, bedridden King Viserys if possible. This saddened Y/N, of course, but she cares for the comfort and health of her mother. She agreed it was better that they return to their ancestral home at the first sign of her impending labors. Seeing that this was a possibility, they brought her midwife along for the trip, so the Princess is soothed by the knowledge that her mother is to be well taken care of on the journey home.

Her mother is the last thing on her mind now, though. All she can seem to think about is the man she has trapped between her body and the door to their chambers.

Aemond kisses her hungrily, his hand cupping the back of her neck and head to keep her from pulling away as he delves his tongue into her mouth. He is careful when touching her, however. His hands slide down the sides of her hips to gently squeeze her bottom, but not too forcefully. She gave birth three and a half weeks ago, and the maesters were strict in their instructions to wait five at the very least to encourage healing.

Knowing this, he feels compelled to stop her despite the ache of his erection pushing at the fabric of his breeches.

He parts from her for a second to murmur, "I will not bed you in this condition," before lurching back in to kiss her again.

It almost makes her chuckle into his mouth, and she flattens her palm against his chest. It descends against the taut, muscled abdomen hidden beneath his clothes and continues until it reaches what she seeks. Beneath her palm, he pulses with need after three weeks of nothing but the comfort of his own hand.

"Mmm," she hums against his lips as her own tilt up at the ends in a grin, "I'm afraid your body does not know that, my love"—The tips of her fingers reach for his belt with a confidence she does not have to question—"and, as I said, there are other ways."

As if to punctuate her statement, she unclasps his belt in a matter of seconds and pulls from the buckle until the leather band comes free from the loops of his pants. The very same belt that he instructed her to bite down on the last time he fucked her. The sound of the buckle clattering on the floor echoes through the spacious room as she moves to sink to her knees, but he stops her.

Her brows raise in a silent question directed toward him. His answer is equally as silent.

Aemond begins to undress her, starting with the top layer of her dress and patiently working his way down to her underclothes until she is standing nude before him. She knows without having to ask that he does not intend to push the boundaries of their agreement with the maesters by taking her too soon after giving birth. He simply wishes to see her in her entirety. If he will be laid bare, so will she.

Once her clothes all lie in a pile on the floor, she returns the favor. Her gentle touch lights a fire in the pit of his abdomen, but he holds still and watches her undo the buttons of his doublet until the garment comes loose around his torso. It takes little time for the pile of clothes on the floor to grow, and she cannot help but stare at his nakedness with flushed cheeks as though she hasn't seen him like this countless times. Now that there are no more layers left to separate their bodies, he leans in to kiss her again. Slowly, drawing it out for the sake of savoring the moment.

To her surprise, he lays a sweet peck on her lips, then dips his face into the crook of her neck.

"Aemond—" she warns, not wanting to become too aroused without a way to satisfy herself, but he is too starved from not touching her for the past three weeks to care.

His teeth nip at the delicate skin of her neck, leaving a mark visible for everyone to see as he sucks at the sweet spot that never fails to draw a breathy moan from her. She can feel his mouth curling up into a smirk when she, as though on cue, lets a stifled sound of pleasure escape. It isn't the first time he's left a love bite somewhere that couldn't be hidden beneath her clothes. Every other time, she was quick to scold him once the blissful haze of post-orgasmic bliss receded, but she doesn't feel so angry this time.

It's been far too long since she's had the opportunity to get upset over something like this.

Those desperate kisses descend the length of her fragile neck and go down, down, down until he's crouching to take one of her nipples into his mouth.

"Wait," she says, whining in sensitivity, and braces a hand against his chest. "It's going to—"

His arms pull tightly around her waist to keep her from moving away before the first drops of it touch his lips. The relief of the milk letting down causes her to let out a sigh, but paired with the inherent eroticism of him doing this, she has to press her thighs together to quell the dull ache felt between them for the first time in weeks. Her hand had fallen to his chest with the intention of pushing him away out of embarrassment, but the sound of him groaning in approval gives her a reason to pause.

Does this...arouse him? He has always had a fixation with her breasts since before she was pregnant, but perhaps it's shifted into something stronger with the changes in her body after birthing a child. She cannot deny that it feels good—not only due to the relief it provides after going all day without feeding the babe but because of how perverse it feels.

The hand on his chest moves to slip her fingers beneath the leather strap of his eyepatch and toss it to the side. Then, she cradles the back of his head with it, playing with the soft strands of silver hair as he continues to suckle at her breast. It's a strangely thrilling sensation. Her lips part to allow her a shaky inhale, and she feels the hands gripping her waist squeeze hard enough to leave a bruise behind.

Ignited with a new sense of confidence from having a typically strong, dominant man in a position of vulnerability, she asks, "This is what the rider of the largest dragon in the world enjoys behind the comfort of closed doors? Feeding from his wife's teat like a helpless babe?" There's a second of pause, then—"Hmm."

He can hear a smugness in the tone of her soft "Hmm" he would often fuck out of her or swat his hand against her ass as punishment for, but he cannot bring himself to do anything about it at the present moment. No, he just lets her nipple slip from his mouth and moves on to the other. The sweet taste of her breastmilk on his tongue makes his cock twitch where it sits, heavy and hard, against her belly. While he is distracted, she reaches down to grasp it.

The sudden stimulation makes him suck harder at her breast in response, and she chuckles under her breath. Her thumb brushes over the tip of him a few times, just for the sake of teasing him, before she begins to pump him at a pace that never fails to send all of his blood rushing down. The hand cupping the back of his head pushes his face harshly into her chest in a desperate bid to bring them as close as possible without having him inside of her.

Another moment passes, yet the lust surging through her has yet to be sated by what they're doing. It matters little to her that she won't be getting anything in return. With how rare physical intimacy is for them as of late, she is eager to indulge in everything they've been kept away from.

"This isn't enough," she says through a sigh.

Her fingers slip into his hair to get a good grip, then tug to pull it taut from his scalp in a way he's done to her many times. This brings him far enough from her breast for their gazes to meet across the limited space between them, and his eye widens a little at her impertinence. As quickly as it widened, it narrows at her. Now that he isn't preoccupied with her breasts, which are no longer as heavy and full with milk as they had been before he worshipped them, he can think clearly enough to decide that she needs to be put in her rightful place.

All it takes is a pointed glare from him for her grip on his hair to release. With how quickly she retracts her hand, one would think he burned her, yet he just looked at her. He remains silent and straightens his spine to bring him back to his full height. This only intimidates her more. With him looming over her, his eye not blinking as he stares, she cannot resist the urge to look away from him.

To this, he makes a quiet "Tsk," sound at her.

Her chin is quickly snatched up by his callused hand, forcing her to meet his gaze and hear what he has to say next. Their faces inch closer until—

"Kneel."

Her knees are kissing the cold floor in a matter of seconds. His hand never leaves her chin, keeping it tilted up to prevent her from breaking eye contact.

He nods at her in encouragement, then drops the hand holding her chin back to his side.

"Go on," Aemond commands.

Not wanting to provoke him any more than she already has, Y/N wraps her fingers around his thick cock to help guide it past her lips. But, first, she takes a moment to stroke him, keeping the fire blazing within him burning in the time it takes her to let a string of spit drip from her mouth onto his tip. It makes the movement of her hand pumping up and down the length of him much smoother. The hand that fell back to his side reaches for the back of her head, though, so she keeps her hand firm around the base of his length and dips her head down to put her mouth on him before he grows impatient.

A muscle in his jaw clenches as he watches those pretty lips wrap around the tip, smeared with a mixture of his precome and her spit, and sucks just hard enough to elicit a quiet moan. Then, slowly, never looking away from him, she takes as much of him as she can fit into her mouth until she feels him in her throat.

When she first did this, she thought it quite awkward. Although he assured her he had enjoyed himself, she knew she wasn't keeping the correct rhythm the whole time, and she had to take a few breaks to breathe. After the first time, she decided to make it her mission to perfect the vulgar act. It only felt fair considering how skilled he was with his face between her thighs. So, she did it all of the time—waking him from sleep with her throat clenched around him, dropping to her knees in a secluded corner of the library, and, most often, when she dragged him back to their chambers after watching him train with Ser Criston.

Somehow, he had been foolish enough to admit to his older brother how frequently his insatiable wife does this. Aegon had goaded him into it, imploring him to accompany him to the Street of Silk night after night. He droned on about the things these low-born whores would do for the right sum of coin. At last, after hearing him comment on how they are more willing than their wives to partake in such "undignified" behavior, Aemond said under his breath, "Speak for yourself." Although he was pestered for more details, he refused to provide them. Naturally, Aegon made all sorts of teasing remarks for the next couple of days and hasn't been able to look at Y/N the same since.

The hand wrapped around him pumps what remains of him that she cannot fit in her mouth, her other hand gently cupping his stones and stroking them the way he likes. With ample experience under her belt since they were wed, she breathes calmly through her nostrils without having to pull away to allow herself to rest. This allows her to fully devote herself to his pleasure.

And while she is singlemindedly focused on what she is doing, Aemond is losing himself in the haze of warm, wet pleasure.

Targaryens have always been likened to Gods walking amongst men, and how could he deny such a claim with how he feels at this moment? Not only did Vhagar choose to bind herself to him but so did this beautiful creature kneeling before him. Most of the people inhabiting this keep pray on their knees to the Seven, but she prays to him, and with every caress of her mouth, he is pushed a touch closer to the heavens.

Her head bobs in a practiced rhythm, and when she pulls away, leaving just the tip between her lips, she hollows her cheeks to suck harder. If she could, she would smile in satisfaction at how his head tips back in a groan.

"Aōha relgos iksis bē hae sȳz hae aōha orvorta," he says. Your mouth is almost as good as your cunt. High praise as far as she's concerned. He has made it clear to her on many occasions that his favorite place to be at any given moment is inside of her. "Fuck..."

The last bit was muttered under his breath as he pushed her head further down his length until the tip of her nose grazed his stomach. He can feel her gagging, throat clenching and unclenching around his cock, and forces her to remain this way for another second before releasing her. Yet, even after this, she doesn't retreat to take a breath. She simply opens her eyes to look back up at him and relaxes her jaw to open her mouth to him as much as she can.

He knows without having to communicate verbally what she's urging him to do, and it's a wonder he doesn't spill into her mouth in a matter of seconds at the mere thought of it. There's a glint of mischief in her eyes—which he responds to with enthusiasm, taking hold of both sides of her head and guiding every fluid movement. It's more gentle at first. Rather than roughly fucking her mouth the second she gives him the go-ahead, he takes the time to enjoy it and commit every sensation to memory. There's something intoxicating about the power she allows him to hold over her.

Both of her hands slide up his thighs to seek stability, her fingertips digging into the muscular flesh hard enough for her nails to leave crescent-shaped indents in his pale skin. With each thrust, his pace picks up, and soon her spit is drooling out of her mouth onto his sack. Those once gentle thrusts turn rough and unforgiving the longer he spends trapped within the warm, wet channel of her throat. And though he is the one leading, she looks just as hungry for it as she had when she set the pace. If anything, having him hold her head in place to rut into her mouth like a wild beast makes the lust wreaking havoc on her healing body worse. What truly makes it insufferable, however, is knowing that she cannot have him after this. Not to the extent that she craves so badly.

Her lashes flutter with the effort it takes to keep looking up at him like he's a God while she gags on him and takes deep breaths in through her nostrils. Her spit is dripping from the corners of her mouth and onto the floor, his manhood entirely soaked in it too. All the while, Aemond is making noises unlike anything she has heard before. Due to his naturally reserved disposition, he often stifles the moans and grunts that try to leave his lips. But, sometimes, when he's too overwhelmed with pleasure to recall the world that exists beyond it, all of those lovely noises flow freely.

Right now, as she reaches up to give his stones a squeeze with her free hand, he's whimpering, gasping, and grunting all at once. Not only is he a feast for her eyes, he's a feast for her ears as well. Gods, she has never wanted anything as badly as she wants him right now, and the frustration of knowing she cannot do more than this drives her to work even harder. To perform for him as though she's getting paid.

The vibration of her soft moaning around his cock pushes him closer, dangerously closer, to the climax threatening to barrel into him at a moment's notice. Somehow, he hangs on. Not for anyone's sake but his. It has been too long since he has been allowed the privilege of being intimate with his wife, so he tries to stave it off for as long as possible. But, fuck, she's making it difficult—with those sultry eyes looking up at him through her lashes, cheeks hot to the touch under his palms, and mouth swallowing around him on the upstroke of every thrust. He cannot bring himself to look away from her, and that is what brings him to the edge.

"I'm—" he tries to give her a warning, but she doesn't need nor want it.

She continues at this pace for another ten or so seconds, intent on milking him dry, until his cock begins to twitch in her mouth with the onset of his climax.

Her lips remain closed around him, determined to catch every drop as his seed spurts into her mouth in pulses of warmth that trickle down her throat. As it always is, the taste is slightly salty, though not unpleasant enough that she can't swallow it all. It isn't until he is grabbing her by the shoulders and guiding her away that she removes herself from him, letting it slip out of her mouth as it softens, still shining in the dim light with her saliva.

When she looks up at him, it is clear to see that he is utterly spent. A job well done as far as she is concerned. Aemond tends to have an impressive amount of stamina when he fucks her, and sometimes they can continue round after round without him having to stop, but she managed to subdue him with her mouth alone tonight.

His chest rises and falls with the rapid pace of his breathing, and she can see by looking into his eyes that it'll take a moment for him to come back down from such a high. It's as though he's in a trance of some sort, staring down at her and panting for air. It only takes a second or so for the trance to break at the sound of her voice.

Her delicate hand slides up the length of his thigh and over his abdomen as she asks in a doting voice, "Do you feel better, my love?"

Without answering, he dips down to heft her into his arms, lifting her and holding her against his body with one hand on the small of her back and the other beneath her right thigh.

As he walks in the direction of their bed, she is giggling and asking him what he is doing, yet he offers no reply. Not until he has her laid down on the mattress. A second later, she feels the bed shift with his weight when he crawls in beside her and pulls the sheet up to their waists. The warmth of his body, solid with lean muscle against her soft, womanly figure, instantly keeps the breeze blowing in from the open windows at bay.

"Hold me," he says, already moving to lay his head atop her breast. "Kostilus." Please.

A second later, one of her arms is wrapping around him, keeping him cradled as close to her as physically possible, and she can feel him loose a heavy sigh of relief he's been holding onto all day. His head fits perfectly into the crook of her neck. Every few seconds, she lifts her hand to rake her fingers through his hair. The silver strands are silken beneath her touch, scented with a hint of lavender from the bath they shared before falling asleep last night. Noticing that it is still tied back in his typical, half-up fashion, on her next pass through, she pulls it free and combs gently until there are no tangled pieces left.

For a while, they lay together with nothing to fill the silence but the sound of their quiet breathing. His head rises with every inhale, her breast a soft cushion for his cheek to nuzzle up against. Neither of them wants to be the one to speak first for fear of ruining the peaceful moment, but, inevitably, she gives in.

His neck cranes to allow him a glimpse of her face before she starts speaking as though they share one mind, as though he knows what she'll say or do before she does it. When she thinks about it, they've always been that way.

"I'm proud of you...You have every right to feel slighted by them all for what happened at Driftmark, I will not deny that," she says, pausing for a beat afterward. The tip of her thumb brushes across his lower lip as she looks down at him with nothing but love in her eyes. "And you still didn't let it stop you from enjoying our time together as a family."

Hearing her lavish him with such praise brings a flush to his pale face, and he must resist the urge to avert his gaze sheepishly. He manages, though. After all, he's faced much more daunting challenges than looking at his wife as she tells him how proud she is of him. If these are the only challenges he has to endure in this new chapter of his life, he'll be eternally grateful. He has spent his whole life yearning to prove himself—as a son, a dragon rider, a prince, a swordsman, and now a father. Because of this, her approval and praise mean more to him than she'll ever know.

The thumb pressed to his lips is given a tender kiss before he moves on to her index finger, then the next, the next, and the next. His larger hand is clasped around her wrist with his thumb pressing into the center of her palm to allow him to maneuver her hand however he sees fit. Once the last kiss is placed against the small pad of her pinky finger, he releases her wrist from his grasp to lace their fingers together. Aemond holds on as though she is the anchor keeping him grounded to their world, always there to draw him back before he disappears too far into the darkness that has dwelled within him since the day he claimed Vhagar.

Unable to accept it without diverting some of the attention away from himself, he takes it as his turn to praise her.

"You were clever in keeping Daenaera at the table for dinner," he says. A half second later, he utters the next words into the soft skin of her breast. "You see right through me."

Although he can barely see it from the corner of his eye, her lips curve up at the ends in a soft smile.

"I always have, haven't I?"

To this, he responds with his usual hum of acknowledgment and brushes his nose against her peaked nipple. His lips press against the skin just beneath it in another kiss, but he's careful not to stimulate her. It would be cruel to arouse her even further with no way of sating her desires. The next two weeks will pass, albeit slowly, and then he can properly bed her the way he wishes to tonight.

His arms pull tightly around her waist. If she had any hopes of escaping his embrace tonight, it's now clear he has no intentions of entertaining them. No, he will hold her prisoner if he has to. He will do whatever he must do so long as it means he gets to keep her, and the thought of this brings a barely-there smile of relief to his face.

"Sleep," he murmurs, pulling the sheet further up to keep their bare, entangled bodies warm. "Tomorrow, when the babe is taken for her nap, I will take you to visit Vermithor. You cannot ride him yet, but he will be glad to see you. It's been too long. The dragonkeepers have told me he has grown restless."

This makes her smile too.

"I would quite enjoy that."

With that, she relaxes beneath the weight of her husband's body lying atop her and nuzzles her face into the pillow the way he had her breast a moment ago.

It takes little time for the pair to be pulled beneath the veil of consciousness, their breathing evening out into slow inhales and exhales that are hardly audible over the fire crackling in their hearth. For once, all is peaceful in the Keep. Their families dined together as one, the children have been put to sleep by their nursemaids, and the night has descended into a type of quiet so rarely found in a place like King's Landing.

As night descends upon them, the only people still awake within the walls of the Keep are the servants readying themselves for bed after a day of tireless work. While the royal family had been served platters of freshly cooked meats and goblets of the most expensive wine, the smallfolk working beneath them quiet the rumbling in their stomachs with whatever scraps remain if they are so lucky. If not, they eat a plain stew of some sort, accompanied by slightly stale bread and a cup of ale to wash it down. But even that is considered generous as far as lowborn citizens of King's Landing are concerned. Servants within the keep live comfortably compared to peasants living in the city beyond the walls.

Far from where the servants reside, in the stillness and silence of the night, King Viserys slips further into a state of delirium where he lays alone in his room in Maegor's Holdfast. Since his lady wife, Queen Alicent, left to retire to her chambers for the night, he has been muttering into the empty room and talking to ghosts. At last his frail, trembling hand lifts from his chest and toward the sky, reaching for what he could not have as long as he remained alive. With his last breath, he calls out for his love, Aemma, and his suffering is ended at long last as the Stranger comes to take him.

Despite this, the night remains quiet and peaceful. For no one can know that Viserys has passed in his sleep until the servants come to wake him in the early hours of the morning, but, once news breaks among the staff and Queen Alicent is informed of her husband's death, the calm before the storm comes to an end. Soon, dragons will dance, and she will not waste any time in securing her eldest son's birthright. Not after her husband spoke his name in his final hours.

It isn't until an hour after sunrise that Y/N is roused from a deep sleep by the light shining in through the windows that remained open all night.

She sighs and presses her cheek into the pillow in defiance of her current state of consciousness, wanting to steal another couple of moments of rest before she's ushered into the bath by her bright-eyed young handmaidens. But, after lying there for a second or so, her eyes flutter open. The sun has fully risen, she realizes with a sense of urgency. Her feet quickly kick the sheet from her body. Her hand reaches behind her to feel where her husband should be resting beside her only to find the mattress cold and empty.

How had she not felt or heard him leave?

"Aemond?" she calls out drowsily and pushes herself up into a sitting position, looking around the room in confusion.

No answer.

"Nyla?"

No answer.

Nyla is always the first to arrive and aid her in getting dressed for the day, intricately braiding her hair to her head in the fashion her mother wears, not that which Queen Alicent and Princess Helaena prefer. But the sun has already risen, she should have come in to wake her and Aemond already if they had not risen on their own accord...

Y/N abandons the bed and makes for the chair her robe, a rich shade of red embroidered with accents of gold and black, is draped over. Seeing that she is nude, it's the quickest way for her to cover herself and protect her modesty before leaving the room to inquire about why no one thought to wake her as they have every morning since her wedding. Something is wrong, that much she knows. She feels it in her gut and the very air surrounding her.

Rather than find Aemond, she'll first head to the nursery where Daenaera has been sleeping all night. Her husband is capable of taking care of himself, their daughter not so much. If something truly is amiss as her intuition is telling her, the babe comes before her husband—he made her come to that agreement the day she was born.

But when she tries to pull the doors to their chambers open, they do not budge. Thinking it a mistake of some kind, she tries again, and they refuse to open no matter how hard she pulls at them.

Her closed fist begins to knock at the door, soft at first, then harder and harder until she is forced to bang on it in hopes that someone will come.

"Hello?" she yells, pounding on the door with both fists. The thought that she is trapped, forced to stay away from her weeks-old child...It makes her efforts double in intensity. "Why have I been trapped in my room?"

No answer.

"I need to see my daughter! Let me out—"

The sound of Ser Erryk's voice interrupting her plea for freedom pulls a deep sigh of relief from her chest. Of all the men sworn to protect their family, he and his brother have proven the most loyal and kind. Surely Erryk will help her.

"My sincere apologies, Princess," he says, "We have been instructed to keep everyone confined to their rooms until further notice. One of your ladies will be up to bring you breakfast and dress you soon."

Her brows furrow at this.

"And under whose authority am I to be held prisoner in my own home?"

There's a long, drawn-out stretch of silence that follows, and it makes her stomach churn with dread. Something is wrong. This is not normal.

When he does not respond after a moment, she calls, "Ser Erryk?"

He clears his throat.

"Our lord hand is the one responsible, my lady. I am only doing as I've been told."

It takes her the better half of a moment to conjure a response. She is too shocked to put anything into words at first, but, then, her mind runs wild.

"What has happened? What could possibly warrant this?" she asks. After another dreadful stretch of silence, she resorts to shouting. "Tell me! That is an order from your Princess, an heir to the throne no less!"

Despite being strictly ordered not to divulge any critical information to anyone aside from the Hand, Queen Alicent, and her children, he cannot allow her to sit here and suffer in a prison of her making. He has watched her grow up and served her since he was first sworn into the kingsguard. She deserves the truth even if she cannot be freed from her room to do anything about it.

"The king has died. Princess Rhaenys is confined to her room as well by the orders of the Hand. I cannot say more. Forgive me, my lady."

Before she can even process what he has said, Erryk turns and walks away from her door, leaving her frozen in her place with her closed fists hanging at her sides. They have been anticipating this for the past five years, yet hearing it still shocks her.

The king has died, which warrants every lord and lady in his court to be kept out of the way as they make the necessary preparations before it is announced to the city...but it does not warrant the imprisonment of any members of the royal family. Surely, this is a mistake. Surely, there has been a miscommunication regarding who is to be kept from roaming the keep. If Aemond is not here, he must be permitted to go where he pleases, so why cannot she? Why cannot Rhaenys?

A cold chill runs down her spine when the realization of what's happening hits her.

Her feet are carrying her across the room before she can blink, bringing her to the opened windows that overlook the courtyard where people come in and out of the gates to the Keep. What she finds, she does not want to believe, but she's witnessing it with her own two eyes. Lord Caswell is being ripped from his horse by members of the Kingsguard and dragged like a dog through the dirt in the direction of the castle doors.

There is no other explanation for why Aemond is allowed to roam free while she and Rhaenys are held prisoner. There is no other explanation for Lord Caswell to be violently assaulted by the kingsguard for trying to leave the Keep on horseback. There is no other explanation for Ser Erryk apologizing to her. He wasn't just apologizing for locking her in her rooms...

They are usurping the throne.

-

Oh it’s about to get goooood. Let me know if you liked this chapter. I’ve had it in the works since before season two aired but I wanted to wait to finish/post it.

Tag List: @m-indkiller, @tinykryptonitewerewolf, @hopebaker, @bcon24, @eleganttravelercloud, @aemond-targaryenx, @the-blue-banshee, @saramayu, @merakiaes, @its-sam-allgood, @grungegrrrl, @singitoutgirl26, @scarlettmoon98, @cicaspair418, @itisjustwhatitis, @cl-0-vr, @d34d-4c1d, @hargrovehoe, @vainillasmil157, @leahjean, @captainweirdo42, @magnificantmermaid, @dark-night-sky-99, @kaicyl, @ladybug0095, @bellaisasleep, @blackravenart, @isaxbella749, @reneki, @heylosers06, @izzicle, @bucky-thorin-winchester, @hangmanscoming, @harrypotteranna23-blog, @fan-goddess, @glame, @muthafuckingstargirl, @barnes70stark, and @shintax-error.

[burntoutdaydreamer]

To Write Better Antagonists, Have Them Embody the Protagonist's Struggles

(Spoilers for The Devil Wears Prada, Avatar the Last Airbender, Kung Fu Panda 2, and The Hunger Games triology).

Writing antagonists and villains can be hard, especially if you don't know how to do so.

I think a lot of writers' first impulse is to start off with a placeholder antagonist, only to find that this character ends up falling flat. They finish their story only for readers to find the antagonist is not scary or threatening at all.

Often the default reaction to this is to focus on making the antagonist meaner, badder, or scarier in whatever way they can- or alternatively they introduce a Tragic Backstory to make them seem broken and sympathetic. Often, this ends up having the exact opposite effect. Instead of a compelling and genuinely terrifying villain, the writer ends up with a Big Bad Edge Lord who the reader just straight up does not care about, or actively rolls their eyes at (I'm looking at you, Marvel).

What makes an antagonist or villain intimidating is not the sheer power they hold, but the personal or existential threat they pose to the protagonist. Meaning, their strength as a character comes from how they tie into the themes of the story.

To show what I mean, here's four examples of the thematic roles an antagonist can serve:

1. A Dark Reflection of the Protagonist

The Devil Wears Prada

Miranda Priestly is initially presented as a terrible boss- which she is- but as the movie goes on, we get to see her in a new light. We see her as an bonafide expert in her field, and a professional woman who’s incredible at what she does. We even begin to see her personal struggles behind the scenes, where it’s clear her success has come at a huge personal cost. Her marriages fall apart, she spends every waking moment working, and because she’s a woman in the corporate world, people are constantly trying to tear her down.

The climax of the movie, and the moment that leaves the viewer most disturbed, does not feature Miranda abusing Andy worse than ever before, but praising her. Specifically, she praises her by saying “I see a great deal of myself in you.” Here, we realize that, like Miranda, Andy has put her job and her career before everything else that she cares about, and has been slowly sacrificing everything about herself just to keep it. While Andy's actions are still a far cry from Miranda's sadistic and abusive managerial style, it's similar enough to recognize that if she continues down her path, she will likely end up turning into Miranda.

In the movie's resolution, Andy does not defeat Miranda by impressing her or proving her wrong (she already did that around the half way mark). Instead, she rejects the values and ideals that her toxic workplace has been forcing on her, and chooses to leave it all behind.

2. An Obstacle to the Protagonist's Ideals

Avatar: The Last Airbender

Fire Lord Ozai is a Big Bad Baddie without much depth or redemptive qualities. Normally this makes for a bad antagonist (and it's probably the reason Ozai has very little screen time compared to his children), but in Avatar: The Last Airbender, it works.

Why?

Because his very existence is a threat to Aang's values of nonviolence and forgiveness.

Fire Lord Ozai cannot be reasoned with. He plans to conquer and burn down the world, and for most of the story, it seems that the only way to stop him is to kill him, which goes against everything Aang stands for. Whether or not Aang could beat the Fire Lord was never really in question, at least for any adults watching the show. The real tension of the final season came from whether Aang could defeat the Fire Lord without sacrificing the ideals he inherited from the nomads; i.e. whether he could fulfill the role of the Avatar while remaining true to himself and his culture.

In the end, he manages to find a way: he defeats the Fire Lord not by killing him, but by stripping him of his powers.

3. A Symbol of the Protagonist's Inner Struggle

Kung Fu Panda 2

Kung Fu Panda 2 is about Po's quest for inner peace, and the villain, Lord Shen, symbolizes everything that's standing in his way.

Po and Lord Shen have very different stories that share one thing in common: they both cannot let go of the past. Lord Shen is obsessed with proving his parents wrong and getting vengeance by conquering all of China. Po is struggling to come to terms with the fact that he is adopted and is desperate to figure out who he is and why he ended up left in a box of radishes as a baby.

Lord Shen symbolizes Po's inner struggle in two main ways: one, he was the source of the tragedy that separated him from his parents, and two, he reinforces Po's negative assumptions about himself. When Po realizes that Lord Shen knows about his past and confronts him, Lord Shen immediately tells Po exactly what he's afraid of hearing: that his parents abandoned him because they didn't love him. Po and the Furious Five struggle to beat Shen not because he's powerful, but because Po can't let go of the past, and this causes him to repeatedly freeze up in battle, which Shen uses to his advantage.

Po overcomes Shen when he does the one thing Shen is incapable of: he lets go of the past and finds inner peace. Po comes to terms with his tragic past and recognizes that it does not define him, while Shen holds on to his obsession of defying his fate, which ultimately leads to his downfall.

4. A Representative of a Harsh Reality or a Bigger System

The Hunger Games

We don't really see President Snow do all that much on his own. Most of the direct conflict that Katniss faces is not against him, but against his underlings and the larger Capitol government. The few interactions we see between her and President Snow are mainly the two of them talking, and this is where we see the kind of threat he poses.

President Snow never lies to Katniss, not even once, and this is the true genius behind his character. He doesn't have to lie to or deceive Katniss, because the truth is enough to keep her complicit.

Katniss knows that fighting Snow and the Capital will lead to total war and destruction- the kind where there are survivors, but no winners. Snow tells her to imagine thousands upon thousands of her people dead, and that's exactly what happens. The entirety of District 12 gets bombed to ashes, Peeta gets brainwashed and turned into a human weapon, and her sister Prim, the very person she set out to protect at the beginning of the story, dies just before the Capitol's surrender. The districts won, but at a devastating cost.

Even after President Snow is captured and put up for execution, he continues to hurt Katniss by telling her the truth. He tells her that the bombs that killed her sister Prim were not sent by him, but by the people on her side. He brings to her attention that the rebellion she's been fighting for might just implement a regime just as oppressive and brutal as the one they overthrew and he's right.

In the end, Katniss is not the one to kill President Snow. She passes up her one chance to kill him to take down President Coin instead.

[poisonedprose]

₊˚✧ she said fuck me like im famous — in which ellie 'teaches' you how to play the guitar.

rockstar!ellie williams x fem!reader

warnings: 0.6.k words, smutty, is this highly inaccurate? probs. do i care? no. pet names (baby, babe, filthy girl), hand kink, teasing, reader wears a skirt, temperature play?, fingering, finger sucking

masterlists - new account @pearlcigs

The hum of Ellie's fingers plucking at the strings of her beloved guitar filled the room. She was sat on the bed, various bracelets cluttering her wrist. Your eyes were locked on her hands, watching intently, focused on her veins rather than her skills. Her shirt was unbuttoned, lazily array on her shoulders, the grey of her sports bra matching the boxers peaking through the top of her pants. She looked so good and had no idea what she was doing to you. "Come sit on my lap." Or maybe she did?

"Hm?" You responded, watching as she moved the electric guitar away from her lap to make room for you to sit. "Gonna teach you how to play." She smiles devilishly. You obey her wishes, skittishly walking towards her and sitting on her lap. Truly, you had no desire to learn how to play, more than okay with watching her experienced hands do all the work. She placed the guitar on your lap, chin resting on your shoulder.

Ellie grabbed your hands, putting them in the correct positions. She guided your fingers, her touch doing everything right to your body. Yeah, she definitely knew what she was doing to you. She strummed your fingers over the strings, the vibration on your thighs faint but you were already worked up. "Ellie." You uttered, a smirk on her face as she kissed your shoulder. "Yes, baby? Somethin' wrong?" She asked in a cocky tone.

Everything about her turned you on. "Do you need help?" Ellie's tone was confident, she was getting exactly what she wanted and you both knew it. "Saw you staring at my hands." She admits, kissing from your shoulder to your neck. "They excite you or something?" She continues with her painful teasing, stroking the strings once again to let the vibration flow your your thighs. "Ellie." You whimpered, composure quickly disintegrating.

"Bet you wish I was playing with you and not the guitar, hm?" One of Ellie's hands slide down to your thigh, squeezing tightly, veins becoming more prominent. "Yes." You admitted, breathlessly. "Yeah? Like seeing my fingers? Was doin' it on purpose." She admits, she was absolutely bold. Unafraid of the empty threats you might try to scare her with from her antics.

She moves the guitar off your lap, moving it to the side for later. Cold finger tips tickling up your thigh to you panty covered cunt. "Soaking through your pants, babe." She chuckles applying just the tiniest bit of pressure to watch you squirm. "El..." You whine, hips arching off her lap slightly. "Gonna fuck you like a rockstar and then write a song about it. Everyone's gonna know what a freak you are." Her free hand fingers her way to your lips, intruding through them. You don't even wait for her command to suck on her nimble fingers.

"The lyrics'll be about how much you love my fingers. How much you love them in your mouth... in your pussy.." She teases but she was far from finished, pushing your skirt up and pushing your panties to the side. The coldness from her hands make your warm cunt flutter from the temperature difference. "Maybe I'll put your desperate moans in the background vocals? Hm? How does that sound?" She slowly strokes your clit.

You moan, proving her point that the noises she drew from you were desperate. She slides a finger into your weeping cunt, pushing her fingers further into your mouth. The thrusts both hands at the same time, finger your cunt and mouth at the same time. "Yeah, baby. Take my fingers, filthy girl."

requested / inspired by @thatgiraffefromtlou rockstar ellie makes me lose it this took forever because i couldn't figure out how to execute it - i was also debating vibrator synced to the guitar with bluetooth so lmk if i should write that

[rose24207]

Ooooo I have a request: Mafia Lando who is at his club and one of the bar maids that flirt with him (not that he pays attention) all the time kisses him but reader walks in and gets the wrong impression she dosnt say anything but she dose brake up with him. Lando is confused and a bit angry until he goes over some footage at the club after an incident (unrealted but on the same day) and sees the reader on the day the girl kissed him. He comforts her and reassures her she won't be a problem if you know what I mean

You matter more

Summary: After a misunderstanding involving an unwanted kiss, Lando proves his loyalty to the you by confronting you, clearing up the truth, and eliminating any threat to their relationship

Genre: Mafia!Lando, angst, fluff

TW: Mafia, breakup

A/N: Thank you for the request!! Let me know if you like it! English is not my first language. I hope you enjoy it though! Requests are open and welcome!

Masterlist

Lando Norris didn’t take betrayal lightly. In his world, loyalty was paramount, the foundation of his carefully constructed empire. But when you—his only constant, his sanctuary in a life of chaos—broke up with him out of the blue, it sent his mind spiraling.

You didn’t yell, cry, or accuse. You were eerily calm, like someone making a decision they’d been dreading for days. “This isn’t working, Lando. I’m sorry.”

He had stood there, frozen, his mind racing to piece together the cracks in the foundation of your relationship. “What the hell are you talking about?” His voice was sharp, disbelief cutting through his words.

You shook your head, your gaze avoiding his. “I just... I can’t do this anymore.”

And just like that, you walked away, leaving him confused, angry, and—though he wouldn’t admit it—heartbroken.

The breakup haunted Lando for days. He replayed every moment, every conversation, searching for what had gone wrong. But nothing made sense. You had been fine—at least, he thought you were. He wasn’t the type to miss details, especially when it came to you.

The answers came unexpectedly.

There had been a fight at his club, an unrelated altercation between two of his men that escalated into something violent. Lando, ever the meticulous boss, insisted on reviewing the surveillance footage himself to ensure nothing had been missed.

It was during this review that he saw you.

At first, it was a relief to see your familiar face on the screen, but then his stomach twisted. The timestamp placed you there on the same day one of the barmaids, a persistent flirt named Jasmine, had kissed him.

The footage revealed it all.

You had walked into the club and stopped in your tracks, eyes wide as Jasmine leaned over the bar and pressed her lips against Lando’s. His reaction was immediate—he pulled back sharply, irritation clear on his face as he barked something at her. He hadn’t even touched her, hadn’t leaned into the kiss. But you hadn’t stayed to see any of that.

Instead, the camera captured the heartbreak on your face as you turned and walked out, unnoticed by everyone—including him.

Rage coursed through Lando as he watched Jasmine smirk to herself, clearly satisfied despite his rejection. That woman had cost him something far more important than her job was worth.

That evening, Lando drove to your apartment, his mind made up. He wasn’t one to let misunderstandings fester, and he certainly wasn’t going to let you believe you meant so little to him.

You opened the door reluctantly, looking tired and wary. His sharp green eyes bore into yours, filled with a mix of anger and something softer—something you weren’t ready to face.

“You’re going to tell me why you left,” he said, his tone low and steady, though it carried the weight of a command.

You hesitated, looking down at the floor. “Lando, I already told you—”

“No, you didn’t,” he interrupted, stepping inside and closing the door behind him. “You gave me nothing. So either you tell me now, or I’ll stand here all night until you do.”

You sighed, wrapping your arms around yourself like a shield. “I saw her kiss you. At the club.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and painful.

Lando’s jaw tightened as he ran a hand through his dark hair. “And you didn’t think to stay and see what I did next?”

You glanced at him, confusion and frustration mixing on your face. “I didn’t need to. She kissed you, Lando. And you didn’t even stop her.”

His eyes flashed with something dangerous, but his voice stayed calm. “You’re wrong. I pushed her off the second she leaned in. And I told her if she ever tried anything like that again, she’d regret it.”

You blinked, his words catching you off guard. “What?”

“I don’t know what kind of man you think I am,” he said, stepping closer, his voice dropping lower. “But I’m not the kind to entertain someone like her. Do you think I’d waste my time with anyone else when I have you?”

Your chest tightened, emotions warring inside you. “It didn’t look like that from where I stood.”

His lips pressed into a thin line. “That’s because you left before you could see the whole picture.”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone, opening the footage he had saved from the club. Without a word, he pressed play and held it out to you.

You watched in silence as the events unfolded. The kiss you had seen. His immediate rejection. The harsh words he spoke to Jasmine as she backed away, looking less triumphant than you had assumed. And then you, walking away unnoticed.

When the video ended, Lando pocketed his phone and fixed his gaze on you. “You saw a moment and made a decision about us. You didn’t trust me enough to believe that I wouldn’t betray you like that.”

Tears stung your eyes, guilt settling heavily in your chest. “I didn’t know what to think, Lando. I was hurt. It looked... it looked bad.”

His expression softened, though his frustration remained. “It only looked bad because you didn’t give me the chance to explain. Do you really think I’d let anyone come between us?”

“I don’t know,” you admitted quietly. “You’re always surrounded by people who want something from you. I didn’t think I mattered enough to stand out.”

Lando’s eyes darkened, his hands cupping your face as he leaned in close. “You matter more than anything. And I don’t care who I have to get rid of to make sure you know that.”

His voice sent a shiver down your spine, a mixture of comfort and menace. You knew what he meant, and you didn’t doubt he’d follow through.

True to his word, Jasmine was gone by the next morning. No one dared ask questions, and Lando didn’t offer explanations.

From that day forward, his attention to you became more deliberate. He didn’t just tell you he cared; he showed it in every way he knew how. And while his methods were sometimes harsh, you couldn’t deny that he was willing to do anything to protect what was his—including you.

Because in Lando’s world, love wasn’t just a feeling. It was a promise, one he intended to keep at any cost.

Thank you for reading!

[arc-misadventures]

NNN Coco: With you writing so much about her and Jaune it seems like the right time to do this ask.

NNN: CO

Jaune: Haa... okay, Coco what is it you wanted me to see?

Coco: T-This.

Jaune: ...

Jaune: (Whistles~!)

Jaune: Wow... I knew you could pull off the bunny girl, but I didn't think you could pull it off that well!

Coco: Oh thanks, Jaune.

Jaune: So, what's with the outfit? Proving that you could pull it off, or is it for something else?

Coco: It's... It's November...

Jaune: Yeah, I know. I've been threating, Nora's life if she even thinks about bringing, Christmas items out before, November eleventh. The twelfth is fine, but not before the eleventh!

Coco: Oh, why is that?

Jaune: Because I don't like listening to, Christmas music. I think the transition from, Halloween to, Christmas is too fast, like a minute hasn't even passed, and we're already going from Jacko lanterns to snowmen decorations. Remembrance day is on the eleventh. Things such as those.

Coco: Oh, so it has to do with the timing, Christmas comes into play.

Jaune: Precisely. I don't mind Christmas, it just comes into play too soon in my opinion. But, I don't think that has anything to do with you in that bunny suit now does it?

Coco: N-No it doesn't...

Jaune: Oh what's this? Coco Adel, being all shy, and nervous? Pray tell, pray tell what is really going on with the bunny girl, Ms. Adel?

Coco: It's November... Meaning it's, No Nut November... a-and, I want you make sure you fail...

Jaune: Oh? OH?! Oh, Coco...

Jaune's placed his hand on, Coco's cheek turning her face to look at him.

Jaune: Why are you really doing this? I know you are not doing this to get me to fail some silly little game. You would have put any other girl in a bunny suit to get me to fail. But, why are you trying to get me to fail?

Coco: B-Because I thought it would be fun to make you lose, NNN...

Jaune: Coco... Just say the word...

Coco: The word...?

Jaune: The unspoken word. The word that could make, or break our relationship. The word that we are both too scared to say, but know in our hearts that we must say it. So say the word, Coco. And, I will be yours...

Coco: ...

Coco: J-Jaune...?

Jaune: Yes...?

Coco: I-I...

Jaune: ...

Coco: I love you...

Jaune: Ahh, there it is...

Jaune leaned forward, his lips crashing upon, Coco's causing her to swoon as their kiss deepened, before they broke apart.

Jaune: I love you too, Coco. I would have told you so sooner, but... Something told me that it wasn't me who needed to be the one to say it, it needed to be you. And, I must say... It was worth the wait...

Coco: You jerk~

Coco felt her body fall into, Jaune's as she embraced the feeling of his broad chest. She hummed softly as she felt, Jaune's tender embrace wrap around her.

Coco: So...

Coco: Can I still make you fail, NNN, or is now not the time for that?

Jaune: That depends...

Coco: On?

Jaune: You have any other sexy little numbers you want to try on for me?

Coco: Oh, I can think of one, or two~!

Jaune: Perfect.

~~~

Nora: YESSSSS!!!

Velvet: Fucking finally!

Weiss: (Sniff) That was beautiful...

Yang: Since when was, Jaune such a smooth talker?! He was shit with, Weiss, but god damn that was smooth?!

Pyrrha: Told you.

Ren: I never doubted it.

Blake: Took them long enough.

Fox: I don't think we'll be able to stay at our dorm room tonight.

Yatsuhashi: Not likely...

[bwat5-blog]

Spoilers For All of Arcane

Pivotal Moments For Vi

I am continuing to cope with the end of the show by doing some lists of what I feel are the most pivotal moments for some of the main characters, in terms of showing us who they are/just leaving a huge impression. Starting off with out favorite pink haired bad-ass.

Vi-

The Bridge of Progress:

This one is fairly self-explanatory, but the haunted look on Vi's face seeing her dead mother in the middle of this fiery hellscape, tells us what we need to know. The writers tell us Vi is 14-16 years old from beginning to end of season 1, act 1. So at 14 years old she is here, holding her little sisters hand seeing their entire world come undone surrounded by violence.. and still holding on to her sister.

2. Vander's lessons:

"When people look up to you, you don't get to be selfish". I know that's not the exact conversation at this moment but its essentially what Vander's lessons boil down to, and they become such a fundamental part of Vi's personality it is bordering on a character flaw. All that matters is doing right by those she feels responsible for. Damn the consequences to her body/mind/soul.

3. Trying to turn herself in:

*disclaimer I know this gif isn't that moment, couldn't find it*

As I said above. Vi is at most 16 years old here and that is per the writers. I have EXPOUNDED AT LENGTH on how the events of this story, especially in these early days are not Vi's fault. But at only sixteen, after speaking with Vander about responsibility Vi tries to turn herself in to the enforcers for the sake of her friends, her family, and her fellow Zaunites. Brave and selfless even then.

4. Loss of Family:

After already losing her birth parents when she was even younger, Vi and Powder are given a second chance in Vander, Milo and Clagger. That is until Vi is forced to watch her brothers die violently, and kneel in the street over her fathers body, all seemingly seconds from them succeeding in Vander's rescue. This coupled with the effect of her separation from Powder has such a powerful effect on Vi's life the effects cannot be overstated. That guilt and loss forming the guarded and guilt stricken young woman we meet in Act 2.

5. Meeting Caitlyn:

Vi meeting Caitlyn is the catalyst for Vi moving forward in her life. Obviously her story is much more involved than that. But when they meet, Vi has been in prison for years. Her whole life stolen from her and stalled by Marcus. Her sister is a different person, her family is gone, and she has had to survive seven years on her own without love, or kindness, or joy. Now along comes this nervous, kind of dorky naïve woman in the uniform embodying the oppression of Vi's childhood, and she breaks her out and shows her a way to live again.

Reuniting with Powder/Jinx:

By the time Vi finally achieves her dream and finds Powder, she is plenty aware her home has changed. But the entire time, she has held on to the hope and dream that her sister is still there. That they can go back to a semblance of who they were.. and In true-to-form heartbreaking fashion, we see Vi forced to confront the reality that while life has beaten her down and changed her, it did not spare her sister either. The thing of note for who Vi is though, is that even as Jinx is lamenting how she has changed, and the things she has done, Vi supports and loves her. She does not turn away from her at this point. She is taken from her.

Saving Caitlyn:

The time comes that Caitlyn and Echo are going into Piltover, in the hope of proving to the council that Silco and Jinx are responsible for what has occurred. It is quite clear by now Vi and Caitlyn have feelings for each other, but even still Vi is going to stay behind and keep looking for her sister. It is only when Caitlyn and Echo's lives are threatened that Vi runs back into the fray, even risking her life for Caitlyn when its clear that Jinx is the threat. This is one small step of Vi's evolution but an important one.

The Dinner Party:

This event is the breaking point of Vi's belief that she can save "Powder". Now we as the audience know that the sisters find peace with each-other by the end, with Vi seemingly accepting Jinx for who she has become, and Jinx finding her way out of her inner darkness. But this incident forces Vi to come face-to-face with the darkness that has consumed Powder, marking a notable shift in the sisters relationship and tearing away more of Vi's hope to restore her family. This whole incident is heartbreaking for many reasons but in terms of Vi, its like we are watching her hang from a cliffside and someone is slowly prying her fingers away from the ledge

Putting On The Uniform:

I and many others have discussed Vi putting on the uniform in great detail across various sources. I have seen many accuse Vi of betraying her people, betraying her parents. I believe that is far too simplistic. This is an act of desperation. Its important to remember the following:

At this point Vi is afraid her sister is too far gone

Caitlyn (the woman Vi loves) has confided in Vi that she is afraid if she hunts Jinx without Vi, that Cait or Jinx will kill the other.

Piltover retaliation against the undercity is happening with or without Vi's help.

By going, she has a chance to keep Caitlyn safe, and even though she is conflicted about how to handle her sister, she will at least be there for whatever happens.

Ultimately what does this all boil down to? "When people look up to you, you don't get to be selfish". Vi is literally putting on the symbol of her parents murder to be there for the people that count on her

The Doomed Promise:

Here we get one of the rare but much appreciated glimpses behind the curtain of Stoicism and determination Vi always keeps up. She tearfully admits to Caitlyn she thinks her sister is beyond help, and begs the woman she loves not to be lost to the darkness in her because Vi has literally lost everyone else. We all cheered when they kissed for the first time. But I think we all knew what was coming as well.

The Breakup (AKA THE GIANT MIDDLE FINGER TO OUR SOULS):

Just following this post alone I have detailed how Vi has every ounce of happiness taken from her a piece at a time, until Caitlyn. Caitlyn even as an enforcer is the bright spot in Vi's life. She brings love, and hope, and a tenderness Vi has never known. She is certainly the only enforcer to ever treat her with kindness. But this is a harsh and complicated world. Vi has fought and bled trying to save her sister and at this point, has failed. Her birth parents, her adoptive father and brothers are all dead and gone. So when Caitlyn, who only earlier the same day had kissed her for the first time, and promised her she wouldn't lose herself to her grief risks the life of a child, tells Vi she is no different than the woman WHO KILLED CAITLYN"S MOTHER, and hits Vi, its the straw that breaks the camel's back

Pitfighter:

Okay, putting aside how insanely attractive she is, this is actually HEARTBREAKING. Vi has lost everything, and everyone. We are seeing her leached of color and life. I re-blogged a post explaining in-depth how this is far more than "because of a woman" that i recommend reading as they did a great job covering it. So what I'll say here is that Caitlyn betraying Vi in that way broke her to such a degree that she has finally stopped fighting to live.. She is clearly on the path to self-destruct, and does not care anymore

Trusting Jinx/Finding Vander:

Needless to say Vi is not in a good place when Jinx comes knocking, asking her to believe that their long dead father has actually returned in the form of a wolf like monstrosity. Vi is aggressive, drinking heavily, fighting to the point she is losing (risking her own safety), and self-destructing. So it is not a shock that she responds badly when Jinx comes. But this whole episode (although like everything else this season it was rushed) shows us the Vi we know and love is still in there. She doesn't hesitate to throw herself in between Vander and Isha. and even though it would mean her certain death if Jinx is wrong, when Jinx begs her sister to believe her Vi lowers her gauntlets and the image you see above is the result. Even with all the anger, and guilt, and blame between them Vi immediately calls her sister into the hug. Even at her lowest point, Vi still believes in their family.

Reunited with Caitlyn:

First of all, #JusticeforVi! No way Cait takes her down when Vi is at her best haha. But this matters for obvious reasons. Vi is not who she was when Caitlyn broke her heart, neither is Caitlyn. But as I said previously, the Vi we know is still in there. That hope, that love, that unquenchable flame. There are OBVIOUSLY still issues to work out between them. But Vi trust Caitlyn with the truth.. and calls her cupcake.

Loss of Vander/Protecting Jinx:

My god this episode.. Only a short time after getting him back, Vi has to watch Vander lose himself to the beast inside. And in spectacularly horrifying fashion, watching him erupt in lava?blood? while being speared and attacked by Noxian soldiers. The look of horror on Vi's face is heartbreaking when we were treated to one of her rare smiles only seconds before. This just adds to the long list of trauma/pain she has gone through and is important to remember for the conclusion of the story. But the other part of this, is that even in the midst of that crushing pain. Vi still sacrifices herself to protect her little sister. Thankfully, she lives. But she had no way to know she would when she throws herself over Jinx on the ground.

Never Give up:

Vi wakes up. She has barely recovered from a bad injury saving her sister and finds out Jinx has been imprisoned. Recognizing all the changes Jinx has been through, Vi defends her. Insisting she has changed. And even says "Who decides who gets a second chance" to Caitlyn in defense of her sister. Vi then goes and tries to break jinx out. She still believes in her. Still fights for her. Still loves her. Now there are a few more nuanced important things to keep in mind here-

Jinx says "your really never gonna give up on me". I mentioned earlier Vi's willingness to sacrifice herself for her loved ones, to put herself in bad situations and disregard her own happiness can go beyond selfless and into a disregard for herself completely. Jinx leaving Vi in the cell is a huge moment. its the moment Vi realizes that no matter how badly she wants to help her sister, YOU CANT SAVE EVERYONE. I had a lovely discussion with another user recently about this. For anyone who has ever had an addict in your life. You can't force them to get better. No matter how much you love them, how much you beg and plead and fight and scream, sometimes you just aren't the one to get it done. And that's a really hard thing to accept.

Accepting Love:

So obviously this was a HUGE moment for all kinds of reasons but sticking with Vi's character, I'm focusing on two specific ones:

"I choose wrong every time and because of it, I have lost everyone"- First of all, Caitlyn's want of Vi and love and and affection is on a very basic level proof she hasn't lost everyone. But it's more than that. Caitlyn is validating V,i and Vi's choices. She knew Vi was going to come for Jinx and is not only okay with it, she cleared the way. Vi feels seen, and loved, and accepted by the woman she loves. The importance of that cannot be overstated for a character who feels like she has no one left in her corner

2. Vi chooses happiness: I have seen commentary to the tune of "Jinx was clearly in crisis Vi should have gone after her" or "Really in the cell her sister was rotting in?!" To that, I would say this. Say Vi chased after her, why? To what purpose? As i said earlier, one of the hardest things to learn is that you can't save everyone no matter how much you love them. There is every likelihood Vi and Caitlyn will die tomorrow. So she could spend what could be her last night alive hunting Jinx in the undercity ,and if she finds her trying to coax her back. But we are shown clearly that that is not what Jinx or Vi need. Jinx tells Vi to be happy, to be with Caitlyn and stop feeling guilty.

This show maintains strong thematic continuity through parallels, with Its closest characters often learning similar lessons. Both Vi and Jinx have to learn to stop "Running in Circles". So that being said, what are we left with when Jinx is gone?:

Vi is face to face with the woman she loves. The woman who despite hurting her, immediately signed on to save Vander even knowing what betraying Ambessa would mean. Who was angry but didn't move to hurt Jinx at the commune, who saved Vi when she was hurt, who didn't arrest Jinx, and who cleared the way for jinx to go free since that's what Vi really wanted. So Vi lets herself have this. She lets herself be happy with the woman she loves. its beautiful and intimate and a culmination of these two characters relationship long in the making, no matter where they are

Loss of Vander/Jinx:

To those who continue to suggest Vi is guilty for Jinx's death (not dead), I encourage you to search your humanity. I have discussed it in this post as well as several others now, but lets run down the barebones trauma checklist one more time:

Vi is in her early twenties

Watches her birth parents die

Watches her brothers die

Watches Vander die the first time, during an incident Vi barely survived herself

Thrown in a cold and dark prison for seven years to be abused and terrorized and assaulted

Stabbed, beaten and hunted in the mission to save her little sister who has become dangerous and unstable

Little sister almost kills her

Little sisters kills her girlfriend's (i know they weren't really dating yet just keeps things simpler) mother

Willingly dons enforcer uniform to protect Caitlyn only to be assaulted and abandoned

Lives at least a few months in a self-destructive spiral being beaten and drinking heavily

Gets her dad and sister back even if dad is in a monstrous wolf body

Has to say goodbye to Dad as he seemingly dies in a horrifying manner

Survives the horror of that last battle

Watches Dad die again

Simply put. She had enough. The best I ever heard trauma described was that your mind is a cup, and eventually your cup runs over. Its cliché and used in movies and tv shows all the time but that's because its simple and its clear. Vi just cannot take any more.. and we see it.. she is seeing vander die all over again that very first time, crying and cradling his head. And when he attacks her Vi, who hasn't backed down from a fight since the first time we see her is left crawling back pleading with him to stop. She just shuts down. So yes, if you go out of your way to aggressively ignore nuance/context/story telling you can simply say its Vi's fault.. I hope you do not. You are cheating yourself out of the full weight of this heartbreaking and inspiring story.

The Dirt Under Your Nails:

This is quite possibly the last time we will see Vi outside of the game if Riot is to be believed. I hope not, but I would understand it. Vi is the warrior who has found peace. She is not untouched. She has lost so much, been wounded many times over in ways that will likely never fully heal. She has the love of her life but even she is permanently altered from all they have been through. And at the end of it all, even though Jinx's sacrifice for Vi was beautiful, and heroic, and a stunning moment for Jinx's character, it hurts to know that is more guilt Vi doesn't deserve but will likely carry forever, if she never learns Jinx is alive. For the people saying Vi seems too happy or she doesn't care, she is sitting alone drinking when we find her singing Powder's song. I have said it in several posts and stand by it. This is not happily ever after for Vi, not quite yet. But because of her unending strength, loyalty and love. And because of the people who have loved and respected her and helped her become the woman she is today, I think Vi has found the path to Happily ever after.

To those who read this I appreciate you. I know I have gone on-and-on about Vi. I want to do this with Jinx and Caitlyn as well. As i have said, interacting with this fan-base and sharing our love for this incredible work has been a real positive force for me as a person and I appreciate each of you.

[she-walks-on-starlight]

Negotiations

a/n: This is Day 2! So sorry it's late, I was hospitalised over the weekend which put me behind! I'm working hard to catch up hehe

Pairing: Ambessa Medarda x Fem!Reader

Prompt: Write a scene without any dialogue

Warnings: smut, vaginal fingering, public sex, alcohol drinking, slight dom-sub vibes, mentions of violence, mention of blood

Summary: Ambessa hates negotiating, no matter how important it is for her rule. Perhaps she will make herself some entertainment to find it more enjoyable...

Word Count: 1.1k

18+ | MEN AND MINORS DNI | 18+

You know Ambessa finds these meetings the most tedious part of ruling over Noxus. She finds little meaning or use in negotiations, far more used to greeting political rivals and ambitious warlords with her sword at their throat than breaking bread with them. It is a preposterous notion to her, attempting to appease her perceived enemies. As she presides over the emissaries and nobles at the head of the table, you know she is listening keenly, identifying weakness, and sniffing out any hidden agendas. Noxian custom is steeped in violence, and there was a time that Ambessa would be demanding fealty or these peoples’ heads.

But things are different for her now. Now, her daughter Mel has agreed to remain in contact with her and visit Noxus more often with her consort, Jayce. Ambessa can breathe easier knowing that rebuilding the bridge between herself, and her daughter will secure her legacy and ensure that a Medarda inherits the throne upon Ambessa’s death.

She has you now. Seated to her right, close by so she can always see you. Her consort, the love she never thought she’d find again. You’ve dressed yourself in a scarlet red ensemble tonight, complete with a gold medallion belt accentuating your hips. Red and gold, her favourite colours. The colours of war and victory. Conquest. You’ve already caught her more than once tonight, her eyes raking down your figure, her eyes hungry and her tongue darting out to wet her lips. When your eyes meet, she flashes you a fanged smile, no doubt envisioning the many ways she will take you when this insufferable night is over.

You’re drawn to one of the visiting emissaries booming laughter as he gulps down wine and flirts boisterously with the serving girls as they refill his plate and his cup. You try to suppress your smile as you take in Ambessa’s disgust, knowing she’d want nothing more than to pick up the lout like a ragdoll and smash him into the ornate mahogany dining table, likely shattering it in the process.

The image sends an unexpected but not entirely unwelcome rush of heat between your legs. You squeeze your thighs as you imagine her leering down at the man, twitching as blood leaks from his head and then turns to you with her signature smirk. The very same smirk that ushered you into her bed three years ago, at another function where Ambessa was more interested in the wine selection than the purpose of the gathering. The scandal had rocked the court of Noxus, their esteemed leader engaging in an ill-advised relationship with a younger woman, and the daughter of an insignificant noble. She had silenced their doubts in her usual way, with threats of broken bones and removed tongues.

At first, you were convinced that she wanted only for your body, the way she tasted and marked your flesh during your visits bruising you with carnal possession. She was a tornado of fire, and you were blessed to be at the heart of the inferno. Countless nights you found yourself in awe of her, in awe of your luck. Nights spent with shaking legs, dripping with sweat and your own release as she made you scream her name for her over and over again. She was never satisfied with hearing your desperate pleas and devoted prayers to her only once. You never feared her, and knew she would never hurt you, not unless you asked her to.

But she soon proved to you that she wanted more, much more, than what your body could give her. She wanted you by her side always, listening to her stories of long-forgotten battles on distant shores, showing off your new dresses, massaging away her troubles in the bathhouse. She had fallen hard for you, an unexpected light leading her out of the darkness.

You’re startled out of your reminiscing by a hand creeping up your dress, invited in by the high riding slit at the thigh. You gulp as Ambessa’s face remains completely impassive as she sips at her wine, but you don’t miss the quick glance she sends your way, and you know exactly what she’s trying to say.

Be quiet. Don’t move. And enjoy.

Her hand climbs higher, and you hear her try in vain to supress the deep rumbling groan that threatens to emanate from her throat when she finds no underwear to stop her advance. You’re already wet from your earlier fantasising, and your clit is throbbing, begging for her attention. As she drags calloused fingers through your folds, you grit your teeth and grip the table tightly. You’re in for a ride, and regardless of the social setting, Ambessa will expect you to take what she gives you.

She wastes no time in gathering the slick pooling from you, coating her fingers before she pushes one inside. Her fingers are thick, and no matter how used to the stretch you’ve become, you relish in the burn as your pussy eagerly welcomes her inside. Your knuckles are white with how hard you’re holding on and you’re fighting to keep your breathing even, lest one of your guests suspect something’s wrong. Ambessa would hate to be interrupted.

She’s adding a second finger, smirking into her wine as she can feel you tighten around her. You can feel the pressure mounting in your belly, your entire body aching for release. You shoot her a pleading look and feel her curl her fingers in response. You start to see spots at the edge of your vision as she brings you closer and closer, all while engaging in dull conversation. Gods, you were going to make her pay for this later. Her thumb is pressing roughly against your clit in swift, calculated circles, you can feel her determination to send you tumbling over the edge. Soon enough, you are doing just that, but you’re hurtling not simply falling. Your orgasm hits you like a searing meteorite, burning through you with force and it takes all of your self-control not to cry out, biting down on your lip so hard you draw blood. You cover it up quickly by taking a sip of wine, dabbing at your mouth with your napkin and glaring at Ambessa reproachfully. She takes no notice, leaning back in her chair with a self-satisfied grin.

Shaking your head, you try to reintegrate yourself into the conversation, though none of it holds your interest. Instead, you find yourself consumed by thoughts of your handsome warrior, trailing over each scar you can see and thinking fondly of all the ones you cannot but know intimately. You will reward her mischief with a soothing massage and relaxing oils tonight, it’s been far too long since you’ve caressed her bulging muscles. But you will deny her the taste of your flesh until she begs, a fitting punishment for tonight’s shenanigans. After all, no matter what the nobles of Noxus or the visiting emissaries of foreign lands may think, no matter how imposing Ambessa may appear, you know that there is only person she will fall to her knees for. Tonight, you will make her remember why.  

[queenimmadolla]

a little something from the vault. enjoy a little dad!eddie munson x mom!reader and their baby who knows her parents aren’t slick. from the pennyverse, of course. hope you like it :) ♡

You’re peaking your head out of the small kitchen, watching with a fond smile and a full heart as Eddie stretches out on the couch. In his arms, resting on his chest, is your angel of a baby girl. A few months old and developing a funny little personality. That personality does not enjoy napping. 

Penny’s got an extreme case of FOMO; can’t shut those big beautiful, brown eyes of hers if anyone else is awake or existing without her. Hence why your husband is pretending to sleep, though his hand maintains a steady patting rhythm on the baby’s back.

You can tell Penny is tired, rubbing her face with her balled up hands and into Eddie’s shirt out of frustration. Her curls all mussed up from the displays of agitation and from her dad’s fingers combing through the soft tufts over and over again (he can’t help himself, she’s much too cute and her hair is ridiculously soft). After every single little wiggle she does to fight off sleep, she goes real still and cranes her head up to stare at Eddie, who immediately drops his head back onto the pillow, eyelids flying shut. 

Eddie even adds in a few loud, cartoon snores and memememes which have you fighting to control your giggles.

Penny’s stare is unwavering though and you can’t prove it, but you’re positive that even as a baby—she does not trust either you or Eddie to actually be sleeping while putting her down for her naps (you’ve caved a few times—it wasn’t your fault though, whenever you tried the fake sleeping bit, she’d cry to purposely ‘wake’ you up).

Her stare lasts a few moments longer and you can see the twitch of Eddie’s lips, he’s fighting not to smile. Luck is on his side, Penny’s head lulls and then shakes as she once more tries to keep sleep at bay, rubbing her cute little face and those chubby cheeks into her daddy’s shirt.

Eddie makes the mistake of peaking an eye open too early—Penny stills and her head snaps up to catch him and you don’t bother to hide your laugh at his groan as she begins to whimper, having caught on to her daddy’s trick.

“Shhh, sweet pea, please. Close those pretty eyes.” He begs, fingers gently stroking over Penny’s eyelids to close them, and Eddie holds his fingers in place, hoping when he retracts them, her lids will stay closed.

Her eyes snap open the moment he pulls his fingers away and Eddie repeats the gesture, gently dragging her eyelids closed again as she whimpers, “No, you keep those watery eyes closed and to yourself, young lady.”

It’s an empty threat, Eddie’s already readjusting her as he sits up, shooting you a playful glare as he spots you. His next sentence is still directed at the baby in his arms, “You can’t keep getting away with this.”

Penny just whimpers and whines louder as she becomes more fussy, wiggling in her dad’s arms.

“Oh, yeah. You’re not getting out of this one, you are in desperate need of a na-AAHHH! AHHH! HELP! HELP!” Eddie yelps as Penny grasps onto his hair, pulling it with all her might. She can’t even crawl yet, and somehow, she’s got the strength of Hercules in that chunky, dimpled little fist. Eddie’s head is yanked to the side and he’s positive some of his hair will remain in her fist after he gets her to release him.

“Ow, ow—little help here, baby!” He calls out to you and you’re laughing the entire time as you pad over, taking her wrist into one hand as you gently pry her little fingers open. It’s a bit of a challenge, you get one little piggy to release its ironhold, and the moment you move onto the next, she clenches it back into place. 

When you’re down to her pinky, Penny immediately lunges for the curls dangling over Eddie’s other shoulder, and he doesn't grab her other wrist quick enough to stop her, “OH MY GOD, YOU CUTE LITTLE DEMON! Stop it! Release me at once!”

“Hey—she was part of your sperm count.” You can’t stop giggling and Eddie doesn’t look all that amused as he winces when Penny gives a particularly harsh tug on the hair in her other fist, still whimpering.

“I’m acutely aware—ow—that’s why I called her a cute demon—ahah, get it?—OW. Insider knowledge—ow! Okay, that’s it. You are taking this nap whether you like it or not now, you’ve just made this personal.”

[persevereforahappyending]

A Legacies Secret |8|

Pairing: Tara Carpenter x Reader

Summary: You just wanted a happy life with your girlfriend but then Ghostface attacks, revealing long thought to be buried family secrets.

Warnings: None?

Word Count: 6.7k+

Main Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15

Sam wiped away her tears as she left Tara’s hospital room. She jumped as the door slammed closed behind her. Tara didn’t need her, she had you now, maybe Tara never needed her. She left, she didn’t have a right to tell Tara what to do or judge the decisions she made. Sam left and her little sister grew up without her, she was an adult who had no need for her big sister anymore.

Sam once again jumped back when she turned away from the door and right into Richie. “Hey, hey, hey, it’s me,” Richie said softly, holding up his hands to show he wasn’t a threat. “It’s okay.”

“Were you listening at the door?” Sam asked, staring at Richie. It was kind of obvious he was listening at the door, just as you probably were, given how quickly you ran into the room. She needed to hear Richie confirm it himself though.

“No, no, of course not,” Richie tried to wave it off. “Okay, yeah, I was listening at the door,” he just as quickly caved, admitting he in fact was eavesdropping.

“It doesn’t freak you out, that my real father was a serial killer?”

Sam searched his face, wondering why he hadn’t run the second he learned the truth. Sam hated her birth father, she hated herself, she hated being related to him, as much as she loved her sister, she couldn’t blame Tara for hating her now as well, she fully expected the same from Richie. You already weren’t a fan of hers, learning this would probably make you officially hate her even more. Sam couldn’t see how anyone could like her, let alone love her, knowing who her father was and what he did. 

“I mean, yeah,” Richie nodded, giving her an awkward smile. “A great deal.” 

“Okay, go, I get it,” Sam shook her head, trying to keep control of her breathing and not breakdown. She had met an awesome guy, a nice guy, and now she had ruined that relationship, just like every other relationship in her life, all because of who her father was. “I just got to stay and figure it out.” Sam didn’t care if Tara hated her, she didn’t care if her sister never wanted to see her again, this was all her fault and she wasn’t leaving until she learned who attacked her sister, she wouldn’t rest until she knew her sister was safe. 

“I’m not leaving you here Sam.” He said it so simply, as if leaving her there alone never even crossed his mind. Sam couldn’t see how that was a possibility, if Richie were smart, he’d leave her, anyone else would have. 

“If you were smart, you’d get the fuck out.” 

“Well, then maybe I’m not smart,” Richie said softly, stepping forward and taking Sam’s hands in his own. “Because I’m staying.” Sam looked up at him in disbelief, she truly couldn’t believe the words she was hearing, she couldn’t fathom why any sane person would stay when all this was going on, why anyone would stay with her knowing how messed up she was. 

Richie looked down, opening a closing his mouth slightly as if he were nervous to say what he wanted to say before looking back up, looking Sam directly in the eye. “I love you,” he said, his voice shaking with each word. Sam’s eyes darted around, searching his face, she truly couldn’t believe he said that. It was the first time Richie had ever said those words to her, she wasn’t sure if him choosing this moment proved how much he loved her or proved how crazy he was for being willing to stay during this insanity. 

“You’re a dumbass,” Sam said. She wasn’t ready to say those words back yet, she wasn’t sure what was keeping her from it, she had known Richie for six months and they had gotten along right away, becoming friends long before they started dating. Sam just couldn’t bring herself to say ‘I love you’ back. 

“So, your sister won’t talk to you,” Richie caressed Sam’s face, then began running his hands through her hair. “The police aren’t going to help, what’s our next move?” 

Sam’s eyes widened slightly as she realized what Richie said was true. She knew Judy had an officer on Tara’s room and others in the hospital, but they still weren’t anywhere close to actually figuring out who Ghostface was, so they were truly on their own in trying to catch this psycho. “We go talk to an expert.” 

Sam approached the trailer of Dewey Riley, with Richie right behind her, one of the perks of living in a small town was it was pretty easy to find someone, it took her less than a minute to get Dewey’s address. She didn’t know what to do, the only thing that made sense was talking to someone who was there at the beginning, who had survived this kind of stuff before. Technically Sheriff Hicks also survived but she didn’t like Sam and she barely counted as being apart of the whole thing. Therefore, it left Dewey, he was also the only one still in town, everyone else was either dead or had some sense and got out of town. 

Dewey was still sheriff before she left town, he was sheriff during all the trouble she caused. She had remembered seeing Dewey around the station, but she had never interacted with him. It was always deputy Hicks she had the displeasure of interacting with. Sam was also never officially arrested, Judy usually brought her home, occasionally when she was feeling petty, she’d cuff Sam, throw her in the back of the cruiser, and bring her down to the station until her mom could pick her up. No, the only person Sam saw Dewey regularly interact with was you. 

“Go away!” a voice shouted from inside the trailer as soon as Sam knocked on the door. 

“Sorry to bother you Mr. Riley,” she yelled back. “We just want to ask you a few questions.” She really needed Dewey to open the door, if he didn’t talk to them, she wasn’t sure what she would do, she had no idea how to prepare for a psycho coming after her and her sister. 

“I don’t give interviews.” Dewey sounded more irritated. Sam couldn’t blame him, she couldn’t imagine what his life has been like, surviving all those attacks and being good friends with Sidney Prescott. Dewey’s life was probably filled with nonstop questions, people and reports asking him to describe what happened to himself and to his friends. It couldn’t have been easy being constantly asked to relive probably some of the worst days of your life. 

“We’re not looking for an interview.” 

Dewey’s face suddenly appeared in the little window of the door to his trailer. “Give me one good reason I should talk to you.” 

“I’m Billy Loomis’s daughter,” Sam said, staring Dewey right in the eyes. This was the first time she said she was Billy’s daughter and didn’t hesitate, she didn’t question the words leaving her mouth. 

The next thing she knew Dewey was opening the door. “That’s a terrible reason for me to talk to you.” Dewey was no longer yelling, Sam wasn’t sure if that was a plus though, he just seemed exhausted now. 

“My name is Samantha Carpenter,” Sam continued, Dewey at least opened the door, and she didn’t intend to back down now. “I was attacked last night at the hospital. The night before that my sister was stabbed seven times. I know you know what that’s like,” she said the last part softly. She might have wanted Dewey’s help, but she didn’t want to seem unsympathetic. “I’m just trying to protect my family,” Sam sighed. “Five minutes, that’s all I’m asking.” 

“I’ll give you two minutes,” Dewey agreed, though he sounded firm in only giving them two minutes. Sam wished it had been more, but she wasn’t going to pass up the opportunity, this could be the only chance to get some advice from someone who survived not one attack but multiple. “I’m missing a show I like.” Dewey went back into his trailer, leaving the door open for Sam and Richie to enter. 

“Gale Weathers,” Richie said as he and Sam walked into the trailer. Dewey had her morning show on but quickly turned it off as the three of them sat down. “Weren’t you two…” Sam held in a sigh; she was starting to regret bringing Richie along with her. 

“Yeah,” Dewey said in a tone that made it clear he didn’t want to talk about it. Dewey took an aggressive sip of his coffee, flicking a glare at Richie before focusing his attention on Sam. “Who’s he?” he nodded to Richie. 

“This is Richie,” Sam said. “My boyfriend.” 

Richie smiled, readjusting in his seat as if he were about to offer his hand to Dewey and introduce himself. “How long have you known him?” Dewey never gave him a chance to introduce himself, he never even looked at him again, he just got right down to business. 

Sam was a little taken aback by the question. “Six months,” she answered anyway, though she was a little confused as to why Dewey was asking. 

“Did he know who your dad was when you met? Express any interest in Woodsboro or the Ghostface killings?” 

Sam gave an awkward smile, turning to look at Richie, she wasn’t sure if Dewey was actually serious. She came to him for advice not to be questioned about her relationship. 

“What the hell are you talking about?” Richie asked awkwardly. He kept glancing at Sam as if wanting her to confirm if Dewey was serious. 

“Your killer is obsessed with the Stab movies, right?” Dewey asked, leaning back in his chair. Sam nodded, hesitant but curious as to where he was going with this. “Well, there’s certain rules to surviving a Stab movie. Believe me, I know.” Dewey looked off to the side, looking out the window as if his mind went to another place for a second. “Rule number one, never trust the love interest,” he shook his head, looking right at Richie. “They seem sweet, caring, supportive, but then welcome to act three, where they’re trying to rip your head off.” 

“I was with Sam in Modesto when Tara was attacked,” Richie said, instantly defending himself. Sam was looking at Richie, nodding her head to confirm what he was saying. They were together that whole night, she didn’t even get the call about Tara until the next morning. 

“And let me guess,” Dewey continued, sounding more cynical as he went on. “You were just in the other room, conveniently unaccounted for when she was attacked at the hospital.” 

“Okay, do I have to take this from shitty Sam Elliot over here, or what?” 

“Rule number two.” Sam slowly looked from Richie back to Dewey. “The killer’s motive,” he was still glaring at Richie as he spoke. “Is always connected to something in the past.” 

“I’m related to Billy,” Sam said. She already knew Tara was most likely attacked because of her; she knew even before Ghostface said he knew her secret; she knew the moment Wes said Tara was attacked by someone in a Ghostface mask. Hearing Dewey practically confirm it though wasn’t easy, Tara was basically attacked all because Sam was the daughter of a serial killer. 

“Right,” Richie said, nodding along. “But then why kill that random Vince guy?” 

Sam nodded at that; Vince seemed like a random victim. Tara was the first victim, then she herself was attacked at the hospital but it didn’t seem like Ghostface actually wanted to kill her, more like just scare her. You and Tara’s friends were all at that bar, you worked at the bar, you had been outside seconds after Vince was attacked, meaning Ghostface wanted Vince for some reason, no one else. 

“That’s for you to figure out,” Dewey said. “And rule number three, and this is the most important rule.” Sam turned in her seat so she could give Dewey her full attention. “The first victim always has a friend group, that the killer is apart of.” Sam nodded along, she remembered that being a theme in all the movies from the one time she saw them, and hearing about the real-life stories. “Does your sister have a closeknit group of friends?” 

“Yeah,” Sam said, nodding, Tara had exactly that. “She does.” 

“Then look for the killer there.” 

She knew Dewey’s logic; she knew from his experience that this was always how it went down. Sam couldn’t imagine it though; she couldn’t picture any of Tara’s friends attacking her. Tara knew all of her friends since she was a little kid, Sam baby sat all of them, they literally grew up together, Sam watched them grow up. The only person who was new to the group, or she guessed more so, new to Tara’s life, was you. 

“If you can find out why they’re doing this,” Dewey continued. “You can figure out who’s next.” That made sense as well; despite never understanding why someone would dress up and kill all their friends, the killer always had some sort of twisted motive and that motive tended to explain who their victims were and would be. 

“So, help us,” Sam tried pleading. She knew it was a long shot. Dewey hadn’t even wanted to let them in his trailer to talk, the odds of him agreeing to get involved were zero to none. “Help us figure out who’s behind this.” 

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me,” Dewey sighed, sounding more exhausted than he had since opening the door. “I’ve been stabbed nine times, I’ve got permanent nerve damage, and a fun little limp. You think I want to do that again?” he let out a humorless chuckle. 

“You just said it always goes back to the past.” Sam still intended to try her hardest to convince Dewey to help, she didn’t think she could figure this out on her own, she needed help. “Right?” Dewey reluctantly nodded, seeming to know where she was about to go with this. “So, if I’m in danger, that means you’re in danger.” Dewey seemed to take in her words as he was suddenly unable to meet her gaze. “Come on, let’s do this, together.” 

There was a split second that it almost seemed like Dewey was going to agree to help them. “Your time’s up,” he said instead. He quickly stood up, walking to his door and holding it open for them. 

Sam rolled her eyes as she pushed herself off the couch and stomped out of the trailer, Richie following close behind her. As soon as they were out the door Dewey slammed the door closed. Sam couldn’t blame him for not wanting to get involved, it was insane for someone to willingly get involved in this mess, she had just told Richie that before coming to see Dewey. That didn’t mean she wasn’t still annoyed that Dewey wouldn’t help them. She figured out of everyone else in the world the person most likely to help would be someone who had survived what they’re going through now, Dewey knew quite literally what they were going through, and he still refused to help. 

“Okay, what’s next?” Richie asked as they made their way back to the car. 

“The friends,” Sam said, easily catching the keys as Richie tossed them to her. She didn’t want to suspect Tara’s friends, but they were the only ones that made sense. 

Before starting the car, she shot a quick text to Wes, asking him to gather the others. Wes quickly texted back saying he’d do it. Sam sat there for a few minutes when another text from Wes came through. Wes had said the others all agreed to meet at Mindy and Chad’s, since they were the niece and nephew of one of the victims of the second killings it made sense to meet at their house. Sam started the car and quickly pulled out of the trailer park, not carrying if she was speeding on her way to Mindy and Chad’s. 

Sam pulled into Mindy and Chad’s driveway, seeing a few more cars there as well. As they were walking up to the door Sam heard another car door closing. She turned around and couldn’t help but smile when she saw Dewey walking up to them. 

“You came,” she said when he was close enough. She truly thought he wasn’t going to help them, that she was completely on her own in trying to figure this out. 

“Let’s get this over with,” Dewey sighed, leading the way to the door. 

Mindy opened the door, leading them to the family room and telling them the others were already there. Sam had only been in the Meeks-Martin household a handful of times when babysitting the twins, but it hadn’t seemed to change much over the years. 

Sam stood in front of the others, she had just opened her mouth, ready to tell them that she was the daughter of Billy Loomis, when there was a knock at the door. Martha Meeks quickly ran to the door, happily greeting whoever it was. Sam glanced back and had to do a double take when she saw you walking into the room. 

“What are you doing here?” she asked. She asked them to gather everyone, she didn’t realize that meant you as well. She was honestly surprised you left Tara’s side for something like this, considering you refused to go to work until Tara basically ordered you to. 

“Tara asked me to come,” you said. Sam let out a hum, now that made sense. She wondered how much convincing it took to get you to leave Tara’s side. “You all have exactly one hour,” you pulled out your phone, quickly typing off a text to someone. “So, let’s get this over with.” You pushed past Sam and took a seat on the far end of the couch, putting yourself as far away from everyone else as you could get. 

“Why are you here?” Dewey asked. He squinted his eyes, watching you carefully even though you hadn’t so much as glanced at him. 

“Tara’s my girlfriend,” you said. “Going to arrest me for that? Sheriff,” you made sure to say that last part with all the sarcasm. 

Dewey narrowed his eyes at you. “How long have you been together?” 

You rolled your eyes, clearly not enjoying yet another person questioning your relationship. Sam would bet money that it also didn’t help that the one questioning your relationship is the cop who used to always deal with you. 

“It will be two years in December,” you sighed, obviously getting more irritated. “Can we move this along, please,” you looked up, meeting Sam’s eyes. “I would like to get back to Tara.” 

Sam nodded, she didn’t want to shift the attention back to herself but you and Dewey arguing wouldn’t get them anywhere, especially if you ended up storming out before they even got started. “Alright,” Sam said nervously. She glanced back to see Richie giving her an encouraging smile. “I’m the daughter of Billy Loomis.” 

Everyone’s mouths fell open. Sam could practically see their brains trying to process the information. Sam quickly ran to take her seat on the couch, not wanting to be the center of attention anymore. She spared a glance at you, seeing you weren’t shocked, she figured you overheard her conversation with Tara or Tara told you herself. Your jaw was clenched as you stared off across the room, your hands balled into fists, and you refused to look at Sam. 

Mindy was the first to break out of her shock by instantly jumping to her feet and running to the closet they had filled with movies. Sam furrowed her brow as she watched Mindy shuffle around the movies, until finally finding what she was looking for and popping it into the DVD player. Sam suppressed a sigh when she saw it wasn’t Stab Mindy had put on but Stab: The True Story. It was basically a documentary of the true story, though no one who actually survived what happened was involved in the making of it or was interviewed. Sam was pretty sure Gale Weathers was involved in some way, but the documentary was mostly made up of pictures and found footage, with a ‘expert’ who had done their research and talked about what happened. 

“So, you’re saying that you’re the daughter of Billy Loomis,” Chad said, being the first to break the silence. “And that, what, one of us is the killer?” he gestured at himself and his friends. 

“The killer told me he knew my secret,” Sam said. It was clear Chad didn’t appreciate him and his friends being accused of being a killer but based on the history, it was always someone in the friend group. “He attacked Tara to lure me back here.” Sam caught you clenching your fists tighter as her words, she assumed you had already figured that part out as well. 

“But then why immediately go and murder some douche-nozzle that was stalking Liv?” 

“And why does it have to be one of us?” Wes asked. “What about deputy Dewey here? Maybe he’s the killer.” Wes shrugged. “No offense.” 

“None taken,” Dewey said. “But what’s my motive?” 

“You got stabbed a billion times, got dumped by your famous wife, and crawled into a bottle,” Wes listed off. “I think it’s safe to say you’re on the suspect list.” 

Sam let out a small sigh, she had gone to Dewey for help but what Wes said made sense. As hard for her as it was to admit it still seemed one of the friends was more likely involved than Dewey. Wes’s argument was good but Dewey suddenly snapping after all these years and going after some random kids didn’t make much sense. 

“Well, maybe you’re the killer,” Dewey said. “Cause that cut deep.” 

“That douche-nozzle is connected,” Amber said. “I googled him. His mom is Leslie Macher. Stu Macher’s sister.” 

“Who’s Stu Macher?” Liv asked. 

“He’s Billy Loomis’s accomplice,” Dewey answered, leaning forward in his seat again. 

“Okay, okay,” Sam said, nodding along, everything was finally starting to make sense. “So, the first three attacks are all on people related to the original killers.” 

“Oh my god,” Mindy said, shooting up from her seat. “He’s making a requel.” 

Everyone looked at Mindy like she had grown two head. “A what?” Sam decided to be the one to ask. 

“Like a sequel, fans are confused or torn on the terminology.” 

“God,” Chad sighed. “Please speak English.” Sam couldn’t help but agree, she understood what a sequel was, but she had no idea what the hell a requel was or what the hell Mindy was talking about. 

“Okay,” Mindy sighed, sitting up straight as she got serious about this topic. “Do you remember the Stab movie that came out last year?” 

“Oh, yeah, the one the Knives Out guy directed,” Liv said, seeming to know exactly what Mindy was talking about. Sam was still lost but decided to just wait and see where they were going with this. “You know, I actually really liked that one.” 

“Of course you did, you have terrible taste.” Sam rolled her eyes as Liv and Mindy had their little argument, even when she was a kid Mindy the habit of being a bit of a movie snob. “The point is the hardcore Stab fans hated it.” 

Sam sighed, beginning to tune Mindy out as she rambled on and on about why the fans hated the movie. She didn’t really care about a shitty sequel to a relatively basic franchise. She was hoping Mindy actually had a point to all this and her random movie knowledge about Stab would actually be useful. 

“What’s wrong with elevated horror?” Amber asked, joining in on the conversation. 

Mindy then went on to rant about how elevated horror was great, but it wasn’t Stab. The only reason Sam had some semblance of an idea as to what elevated horror was because even as a kid Tara loved that stuff. As Mindy said, Stab was a typical slasher whodunit type of movie, Stab wasn’t elevated horror. 

“Come on, it’s just a movie,” Sam sighed, rolling her eyes. She had to speak up, she couldn’t stand listening to them argue about movies and their deeper meaning, they were just movies, they were in the real world where her sister was really attacked. 

“No, it’s not,” Mindy said instantly. “To some people the original is their favorite thing in the world.” Sam couldn’t wrap her head around that, she got liking movies, but not loving one so much someone would begin to blur a movie with real life. “The movie that made them love horror. The movie that mom or dad showed them when they were ten and bonded them together.” Once again, Sam got that, she understood bonding with someone over a movie and both enjoying that. “And god help anyone who fucks with that special memory, who makes a movie that disrespects it.” 

Sam could sort of understand that as well. She truly understood loving a movie growing up and then a few years later someone deciding to cash in on that love by making a sequel or spin-off or something involving those characters and that world. It rarely worked out, it was usually made as a cash grab and not for the fans, then the new fans had a habit of hating it. Being pissed about a bunch of shitty sequel movies to your childhood favorite didn’t give someone the right to go around dressed up like the killer from the movies. That’s where Mindy was losing Sam. Sam didn’t get how someone could take a simple movie so far. 

“It sounds like,” Mindy continued, getting up from her seat before Sam could even think about interrupting her again. “Our killer is writing his own version of Stab Eight but doing it as a requel.” Mindy raised her hands, nodding to herself, clearly proud of her theory. 

Sam would admit, it was a good theory, that didn’t answer her original question though. “Which is?” Dewey asked. Sam was glad he still didn’t get it; she didn’t want to ask Mindy again. 

Mindy sighed, clapping her hands together as she tried to contain her clear irritation at them not getting it. “See, you can’t just reboot a franchise from scratch anymore, the fans won’t stand for it. Black Christmas, Childs Play, Flatliners,” she began gesturing around the room at her friends. “That shit doesn’t work! But you can’t just do a straight sequel either. You got to build something new but not too new or the internet goes bug fucking nuts,” she rolled her eyes. 

“It’s got to be a part of an ongoing storyline, even if the storyline shouldn’t have been ongoing in the first place. New main characters, yes,” she gestured around the room as if all of them were the new main characters. “But supported by and related to legacy characters,” she pointed at Dewey. “Not quite a reboot, not quite a sequel. Like, the new Halloween, Saw, Terminator, Jurassic Park, Ghostbusters, fuck, even Star Wars! It always, always, goes back to the original,” she picked up the first Stab movie to help emphasize what she meant. 

Sam was beginning to fully understand what Mindy was trying to say. “Are you telling me,” Sam started. “That I’m caught in the middle of fan fucking fiction?” she couldn’t believe this, it was even more insane than she ever imagined. She figured someone was pissed because she was Billy’s daughter not because they were hurt that the sequel to their favorite movie was total garbage. 

“Not just in the middle Sam,” Mindy said, a lot calmer than she had been than when she was rambling about the movies. “You’re the star.” Sam could only stare at Mindy, her mouth slightly agape. She knew she was the reason Tara was attacked but she didn’t think she was the reason all this was happening. 

“So, not to put like to fine a point on it,” Liv said. “But according to requel rules, who’s next?” Sam looked at Liv, her eyes coasting across everyone else. She wanted to figure out who the killer was but knowing who the next victim might be was just as important. 

“Going by the pattern,” Mindy said slowly. “Whoever it is has to be connected to someone that came before.” 

They all slowly turned to look at Dewey, he was the only one connected to the original killings. “I’m starting to regret coming,” Dewey said. Sam knew she told Dewey he was probably a target as well, but she didn’t realize how true her words might have been. 

“Jesus, my mom is a character in one of them,” Wes said, sitting up a little straighter. 

“No one cares about the shitty inferior sequels Wes,” Minday said with an eyeroll. “You’re safe.” She turned her attention to her brother. “With Randy as our uncle though, you and I are probably screwed. 

“Wait, what?” Chad asked. Despite literally being Mindy’s twin, he didn’t share the same passion for horror and movies that she did. It seemed as though he didn’t realize that being the nephew of one of the only survivors of the original attacks put a target on his back. 

“Or you’re the killer,” Richie began, laughing Mindy’s theories off. “And this whole elaborate monologue is just to cover your tracks. 

“I think it’s pretty clear who the killer is at this point,” Mindy said, laughing off Richie’s accusation. 

“Who?” Sam asked.  She was staring at Mindy, she had no idea who the killer could be, she didn’t know how Mindy could figure it out so quickly. 

“Isn’t it obvious?” Amber said, interrupting whatever Mindy was about to say. Everyone looked at Amber, but her glare was solely focused on you. 

You let out a humorless chuckle, shaking your head. You didn’t seem happy that you were being accused but you certainly didn’t seem surprised. “Are you serious? What’s my motive?” you shrugged. 

Amber shrugged nonchalantly. “You’re dating Tara.” 

“Never trust the love interest,” Mindy mumbled. 

You snapped your gaze from Amber to Mindy, you actually seemed hurt that she was agreeing with Amber. “You’ve got to be kidding me!” you gestured, looking around the room. Sam did the same, seeing everyone staying silent, all of them either looking at the floor or at you like you were the prime suspect, the only one who looked the slightest bit guilty was Liv, she refused to look at you, opting to keep her eyes on the floor. 

“If I can’t have her, no one will,” Amber said. “Classic motive.” 

“The thing is,” you leaned forward, glaring back at Amber just as intently. “I already have her.” Despite Sam’s feelings on you she had to side with you there, you were already dating Tara, had been for a while now. There was no reason for you to attack Tara, there was no one for you to be jealous of and this wasn’t some twisted version of unrequited love. 

“Maybe you’re threatened.” 

“By who? You?” you scoffed, literally laughing at the idea of being threatened by Amber “Please! As if.” 

“Tara knows you’re not good enough.” Amber smirked, her eyes taking on a dangerous look. Sam had no idea what happened to warrant the animosity between you and Amber, but it was very clear where Amber stood regarding you. 

“That’s not true.” You shook your head, but Sam could swear she caught a glimmer of doubt in your eye. She didn’t think you necessarily believe Amber’s words but there was probably a part of you that truly didn’t think you were good enough for Tara, that she deserved better than anything you could offer her. 

“What could you possibly offer her?” 

“You’re trying to get me to doubt my relationship,” you kept your voice low as you pointed at Amber. “I don’t know why,” you shook your head. “It won’t work though. Tara’s love is the one thing I have never doubted.” Sam hated to admit it, but she admired your devotion to Tara and your commitment to each other. 

“Why are you still here?” Amber continued to poke. “You always talk about how much you hate this place, you literally despise this town.” Amber leaned forward, staring right into your eyes. So why are you still here?” 

“For Tara!” you shot to your feet. “I stayed for her,” your voice cracked. Everyone got silent, all of them dropping their eyes to the floor, except for Amber; Sam seemed to be the only other one willing to still look at you. 

“I was actually going to say Sam was the prime suspect,” Mindy was the first to speak up. Sam’s eyes widened; her mouth dropped open as she stared at Mindy. “Daughter of the original mastermind,” Mindy looked up, meeting Sam’s eyes. “It makes sense,” she shrugged.  

“But you,” she shifted her gaze to you. “You have nothing and no one, your parents abandoned you, you were a troubled teen, hated this small town, until magically you got your shit together, turning your life around, then began dating Tara, who just happens to be Sam’s sister. You knew Sam before, no?” you only acknowledged her with a glare. “The perfect suspect, one that’s seemingly unsuspecting.” 

You let out a humorless chuckle. Sam watched as you looked around the room, seeing how no one argued with Amber’s accusation or Mindy’s logic. “Fuck you,” you spit out before storming out of the house, making sure to slam the door behind you. 

“Yeah, because that doesn’t scream guilty,” Amber mumbled under her breath. “Well, this has been fun.” Amber stood up from her seat. 

“Where are you going?” Sam asked. 

Amber rolled her eyes. “Home. Unless you want to accuse anymore of us?” Amber gestured around before making her way out of the house without a goodbye. 

Wes was the next to go but unlike Amber he actually gave a short goodbye to everyone before quickly running out the door. Last was Liv, she gave Chas a quick kiss, saying something about having to go to work and then she left as well. 

Sam sighed, figuring it was time they left as well, she didn’t want to overstay her welcome after basically accusing the entire friend group of murder and after sort of being accused by Mindy. “Well, that went well,” Sam said, as she, Richie, and Dewey stepped outside. 

Dewey gave a small shrug. “Now, what’s your plan?” Dewey asked. 

“Hopefully food,” Richie mumbled. 

Sam ran a hand through her hair. Gathering everyone together had been simultaneously useful and not. They now had a theory on what the killer was doing, they knew his victims were those related to legacy characters, but they still weren’t any closer to knowing who the killer was. 

“I need to get back to the hospital,” Sam sighed. Even if Tara didn’t want to talk to her, she needed to try. She didn’t like the idea of leaving Tara alone in the hospital too long, especially overnight, even if that meant sleeping in a chair outside her room or in the waiting room. 

“I was hoping for something besides hospital food,” Richie groaned. 

Sam sighed, she really didn’t want to waste time going to get food. “I can give you a ride to the hospital,” Dewey offered. 

“Are you sure?” Sam asked. 

Dewey nodded. “Yeah, it’ll give me the chance to ask some questions anyway.” 

Sam tossed her keys to Richie. Richie didn’t waste time, giving Sam a quick kiss on the cheek before taking off towards the car. Richie had started and pulled away before Sam and Dewey had even started walking to Dewey’s truck. 

“A text!” someone yelled, stopping Dewey in his tracks as he started to walk towards his truck. Dewey turned around and Sam peered over his shoulder seeing a woman in a colorful business suit approaching him. “You let me know in a text!” she continued, walking right up to Dewey and slapping him. 

“You were on air,” Dewey weakly defended. That’s when Sam realized who this was, Gale Weathers. 

“How do you know that?” 

Dewey opened his mouth, then suddenly paused. It seemed like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to admit he still watched his ex-wife’s morning show. Sam couldn’t fault him for that it was either really sweet or really depressing, she was starting to think maybe a bit of both. 

“How did you find me?” Dewey settled on, crossing his arms. 

“I tracked your phone,” Gale said without shame. 

“You tracked my-are you insane?” 

Gale rolled her eyes. “I needed to find you and it was the quickest way,” she shrugged. “Who’s this?” Gale turned to Sam, seeming to finally notice her for the first time. 

“Sam Carpenter,” Sam introduced herself. “My sister was attacked. 

Gale tilted her head, her eyes instantly softening with sympathy. “I’m sorry. Do we know anything yet? What about the second victim?” 

“Vince Schnieder,” Dewey said. “He’s Stu Macher’s nephew.” 

“He attacked my sister because I’m Billy Loomis’s daughter,” Sam added. Gale’s eyes looked like they were about to pop out of her head at hearing this information. Sam hated the fact that she was getting used to revealing that information. “Somehow the killer knows and now he’s going after those related to the original killings.” 

“What did you just say?” Gale whispered, her eyes taking on what Sam could only describe as a look of fear. 

Sam couldn’t blame her for being scared, Gale probably didn’t come back to town and expect to be even more in danger. “This psycho seems to be obsessed with the original movie and so disappointed in the ones that have followed, he’s decided to make his own,” Sam rolled her eyes. She still thought it was ridiculous someone was doing all this because of a movie. 

“She’s related to Billy,” Dewey said, pointing at Sam. “So, he went after her sister. Then Stu’s nephew,” he shook his head. “He’s going after anyone related to the legacy characters, anyone related to us.” 

Sam watched curiously as Gale pulled out her phone, furrowing her brow at whoever was calling her. Sam couldn’t make out who it was before Gale declined the call. Not a second later her phone buzzing again. Gale once again declined the call, rolling her eyes. 

Gale let out a frustrated sigh when her phone vibrated again, but this time it didn’t seem to be a phone call. Gale furrowed her brow as she tapped her phone. She furrowed her brow as she stared down at the screen, then her eyes quickly widened as if she realized something. “Oh, god,” Gale whispered. 

“What is it?” Dewey asked. 

“Oh god, oh god,” Gale continued to whisper under her breath. She quickly typed on her phone, dialing a number. Sam furrowed her brow; she had a feeling she didn’t want to know who had been trying to call Gale and what they sent her. “Dammit!” Gale screamed at her phone when whoever she was calling didn’t answer. 

“What? What’s going on?” 

“We need to go.” 

“What? Where?” 

Gale ignored Dewey’s questions as she dialed 911. Sam’s eyes widened; she didn’t know what was happening but clearly it wasn’t good. Gale began speaking quickly, rattling off an address Sam didn’t recognize it seemed as soon as someone answered. “Yes, it’s an emergency!” Gale yelled into the phone. “Tell the sheriff it’s about Ghostface! The next victim is Y/N Y/L/N.” 

Sam’s eyes widened at hearing your name. “We need to go,” Gale said. “Now!” Dewey seemed just as confused as Sam felt but he didn’t question it as he took off towards his truck, Gale right behind him. Sam followed their lead, running off after them. She jumped in the backseat, just barely getting the door closed before Dewey took off, his wheels squealing against the pavement. Sam gripped the sides of the front seat, staring out the windshield, silently hoping they’d get to you in time. 

[sherewrytes]

Love and Gunshots, Eren x Black Reader

Gang member Eren x Introvert black reader

Summary: In a dangerous urban landscape, y/n, an introverted Criminal Law student, finds herself drawn into the violent world of the Sixx Gang through her protective cousin, Onyankopon. When she locks eyes with Eren Yeager, a hot-headed gang member, a twisted game of desire and danger begins.

As Eren becomes obsessed with y/n, he threatens to unravel the fragile balance Ony has maintained to shield her from their brutal lifestyle. With loyalty tested and violence lurking at every turn, the lines between love and danger blur, leading to a dark climax where the heart proves just as lethal as a gun.

Genre: Dark Romance/Crime Modern au

Warnings: Graphic violence, drug use, smut, obsession

I’ll re edit this when I’m better, in the mean time happy reading

Taglist: @topshotdivaa @prettypink-princesss @burpzz @niaizzy1623 @jcoleisbetter @msjaeger @hidd3nbimbo @vampimilikis @nova2kss honeydrzzldpeaches

Chapter 4: After Dark

The room was dead silent except for the faint hum of the city outside. My leg throbbed with every beat of my heart, and the sharp, searing pain made it impossible to sit still. I was gripping the couch cushion like my life depended on it, trying to focus on anything but the bullet lodged in my thigh.

Ony sat across from me, his face cold, unreadable. His AR-15 rested against his leg, but it was his eyes that held the real threat. He was always calculated, but tonight? He was on a different level.

I scoffed, leaning back against the couch despite the pain. 

“You really shot me, huh? All this over a girl?” 

I laughed bitterly, shaking my head. 

“Guess I must’ve hit a nerve.”

Ony didn’t say a word. Instead, he stood, walked over, and leaned down. For a second, I thought he might say something, maybe even offer some twisted apology.

But then his hand shot out, and his fingers pressed into the wound in my thigh.

“FUCK!” 

I screamed, the pain ripping through me like fire. My hands flew up, trying to shove him off, but Ony was solid, unmoving.

He didn’t let up, his face inches from mine, his eyes dead and cold.

 “You think this is a game, huh?” 

he said, his voice low, almost a whisper. 

“You think you’re untouchable?”

I clenched my teeth, my breath coming in ragged gasps. The room swam in and out of focus, and the only thing I could see was Ony’s face, calm and collected, like he wasn’t driving me to the brink.

Finally, he pulled his hand back, wiping the blood off his fingers onto my face.

“There. Now you look the part,” he said, straightening up and walking back to his chair. He sat down, his AR-15 resting on his lap like a king on his throne.

The door burst open, and Hange strolled in, a large duffel bag slung over their shoulder. They took one look at the scene and sighed. “The hell did I walk into this time?”

Connie, still perched on the edge of the counter, shrugged. “Bad mission.”

Hange narrowed their eyes, setting the bag down and pulling out supplies. “Yeah? Looks more like bad decisions.”

They knelt in front of me, pulling out a pair of scissors and cutting through the fabric around the wound. I hissed as the cold air hit the exposed skin, but Hange was already in work mode, muttering to themselves as they cleaned the area.

“You idiots better keep this under wraps,” they said, glancing up briefly. “You know Levi’s a crash-out. He finds out about this, and he’s lighting the block upland then some, no questions asked.”

Connie chuckled, taking another drag from his joint. “Levi lives for that shit. Ain’t no way we’re letting him in on this.”

Hange sighed, focusing back on my leg. “Good. Now sit still, Jaeger. This is gonna suck.”

Jean, who had been sitting silently on the other side of the room, finally spoke up. “Yo, Connie, play that track you were on about the other day.”

Connie grinned, pulling out his phone and connecting it to the Bluetooth speaker. Within moments, the heavy, dark beat of Black Rain by Kman 6ixx filled the room, the bass vibrating through the walls.

The music set the tone, dark and brooding, fitting for the blood-stained floor and the tension still lingering in the air.

As Hange worked, I leaned back, letting the music drown out the pain and the anger bubbling under the surface. Ony sat across from me, his gaze never leaving mine, his gun still in his lap.

The heavy bass of Black Rain pulsed through the room, and despite the searing pain in my thigh, I found myself nodding to the beat. It was gritty, raw—exactly the kind of energy that matched the night.

“Yo, Connie,” I said, tilting my head toward him, “who’s this?”

Connie grinned, tapping ash from his joint into a tray. “Some TriniBad artist,” he said. “Kman 6ixx. Got that underground heat.”

Ony, still lounging in his chair with his AR-15 resting across his lap, chuckled darkly. “Man’s got some heat, alright. But he ain’t just some artist.” His tone carried weight, like he knew something the rest of us didn’t.

I pulled out my phone, opened Shazam, and tagged the track. The app gave me the info, and I quickly added it to my Spotify playlist. This was the kind of music that hit when you were deep in it, when the life you lived wasn’t just survival but a statement.

Hange wiped the blood off their gloves as they packed up their tools, the sharp smell of antiseptic lingering in the air. They stood, stretching their back before turning to Ony, their face tight with irritation.

“So,” Hange said, hands on their hips, “is there a reason you shot him, or are we just playing ‘spin the bullet’ for fun now?”

Ony didn’t even blink. He leaned forward slightly, his eyes locked on mine. “Oops,” he said simply, his voice cold and detached.

Hange sighed, muttering something under their breath. “Oops, my ass. Y’all need therapy.”

Connie laughed, passing the blunt to Jean, who had been leaning against the wall, watching everything unfold. “Therapy don’t pay the bills,” Connie said, his tone light, but his eyes carried that knowing look. “Besides, who’s got time for a therapist when you’re dodging bullets?”

Jean smirked but stayed quiet, taking a slow drag and blowing the smoke toward the ceiling.

As Hange packed up their supplies, I stared at Ony, the weight of his earlier actions still sitting heavy in the room. He had made his point clear without saying much. This wasn’t just about me stepping out of line. It was about power, control, and the constant reminder that in this world, loyalty was everything—and mistakes were paid for in blood.

“We good now?” I asked, my voice low, but there was no mistaking the edge in my tone.

Ony leaned back, his gun still in his lap, and gave a small, almost imperceptible nod. “For now.”

That was Ony for you—always leaving things open-ended. Always keeping you guessing.

I leaned back, feeling the throbbing ache in my thigh as the room buzzed with tension. Ony’s calm demeanor pissed me off more than the pain. I had to know why he kept trying to keep me away from Y/N, like he had some moral high ground.

“So, Ony,” I said, my voice low, laced with sarcasm, “is there a real reason you don’t want me around your cousin? Or is this just about you flexing?”

Ony didn’t even look up from his gun, calmly checking the chamber. “Rest my case, please,” he said smoothly, like that was supposed to explain everything.

Jean, who had been nursing his blunt in the corner, snorted. “What the fuck kinda English is that?”

Without missing a beat, Ony and I answered in unison, “It’s Trini slang.”

Jean threw his hands up, shaking his head. “Man, y’all always talking in riddles. Can’t keep up.”

Ony finally looked up, his eyes narrowing slightly. “I’m a second-gen immigrant. Picked it up from my parents. You wouldn’t get it.”

The conversation shifted, but my mind was elsewhere. My thoughts circled back to Y/N, her quiet voice, the way she always avoided eye contact when she was nervous. Ony might think he’s protecting her, but he didn’t see what I did. She didn’t need saving—from me, at least.

I pulled out my phone, ignoring the dull ache in my leg as I opened our chat.

“You good?” I typed, staring at the screen for a second before hitting send.

The message went through, and I waited. The seconds dragged on as I watched the little "read" notification pop up. She’d seen it. But no reply.

My jaw clenched, and I felt that familiar surge of frustration. She left me on read.

I stared at our text thread for a long moment, my mind racing. She wasn’t going to ignore me forever. I’d make sure of that.

Ony might think he could warn me off, but he didn’t understand. Y/N was mine. She didn’t know it yet, but she would. I’d make her see.

The longer I stared at my phone, the tighter my grip got, my knuckles turning white. The thought of Y/N sitting in her room, probably thinking about Ony’s bullshit warnings, made my blood boil. She was letting him get in her head.

I shoved the phone back in my pocket and ran a hand through my hair, trying to push down the rising possessiveness threatening to spill over. But it wasn’t going anywhere. I could feel it crawling under my skin, coiling in my chest like a snake ready to strike.

Ony thought he was protecting her, but all he was doing was pissing me off. Y/N needed someone who understood her, someone who saw past her shy, introverted walls. That was me. Not Ony. Not anyone else.

I glanced at Ony, who was now cleaning his gun like nothing had happened, and a dark smirk crept onto my face. “You think ignoring me is gonna work?” I muttered under my breath. “You don’t know me, Y/N.”

Jean’s voice cut through my thoughts. “Yo, Eren, you good? You look like you’re about to murder someone.”

I snapped out of it and gave him a half-smirk. “Nah, just thinking.”

Jean raised an eyebrow but didn’t press. Connie passed him the blunt, and the room filled with smoke and the low thrum of bass from the speakers. But my mind was far from here.

I pulled out my phone again, this time scrolling through my contacts until I landed on Y/N’s number. My thumb hovered over the call button. I knew she wouldn’t pick up, not after leaving me on read. But that didn’t matter.

I hit the button anyway, letting it ring once before hanging up. I wasn’t trying to get her to answer. I just wanted her to know I was thinking about her, that I wasn’t going anywhere.

Because if she thought she could ghost me, she had another thing coming. Y/N was mine, and I wasn’t about to let Ony or anyone else get in the way of that.

I leaned back, letting the music wash over me as I plotted my next move. Y/N could run, she could hide behind Ony’s warnings, but she’d learn soon enough—when it came to me, there was no escaping.

Three days. Three long, agonizing days since Y/N left me on read. My patience was wearing thin, and I was itching to see her. But instead of dragging her out of her house like I wanted, I was stuck in this freezing warehouse, listening to Levi drone on about territory and some gang we were clashing with.

His voice was sharp, cutting through the cold air as he paced back and forth. “They’ve been moving product on our block. That’s a problem. We need to send a message.”

I wasn’t paying attention, though. My mind kept circling back to Y/N. What was she doing? Was she thinking about me? Probably sitting in her room, replaying Ony’s words. That thought made my chest tighten. Ony didn’t get to control her life—or mine.

I shifted my weight, leaning against a rusted metal beam, trying to focus, but it wasn’t working. All I could think about was pulling her into my arms, making her look me in the eyes, and telling her exactly how this was going to go.

Before I could sink any deeper into my thoughts, a sharp blow landed on my calf, and my leg buckled. “Fuck!” I hissed, hitting the cold concrete floor.

Levi stood over me, his usual deadpan expression tinged with irritation. “Daydreaming again, Jaeger? You think this is a fucking joke?”

I glared up at him, my teeth clenched. Big mistake. His boot connected with my jaw in a flash, and my head snapped to the side. Pain exploded in my skull, and for a moment, everything blurred. I saw stars, bright and mocking.

Levi crouched down next to me, his voice calm but laced with menace. “You’re lucky you’re good at your shit, Jaeger. Otherwise, I’d put a bullet in your head and piss on your grave.”

I spit out a bit of blood, my jaw throbbing. My pride was wounded, but I didn’t dare say a word. Levi didn’t need much of a reason to end someone, and I wasn’t stupid enough to push him further.

He stood and turned back to the group, continuing like nothing had happened. “Now, as I was saying, we need to send a message. Eren, you’re with Jean and Reiner on this one. No screw-ups.”

I nodded, wiping the blood from my mouth as I slowly got back to my feet. My jaw ached, and my head was spinning, but I didn’t care. All I could think about was Y/N.

Levi could beat the hell out of me for all I cared, but he couldn’t stop me from getting what I wanted. And what I wanted was her.

As soon as this mission was over, I was going to make sure Y/N understood that she couldn’t ignore me. Not anymore.

I reluctantly dragged myself off the cold concrete floor, wincing at the dull ache in my jaw. The last thing I wanted to do right now was focus on Levi’s bullshit, but the mission wasn’t going to sort itself out. So, I swallowed my pride and strolled over to Jean and Reiner, the two of them already chatting about the job ahead. “Let’s go sort shit out,” I muttered, my voice low.

Reiner couldn’t resist, his stupid laugh echoing in the warehouse as he looked at me. “Yo, Levi really rocked your shit, huh?” He grinned, clearly amused. I wanted to smack the taste out of his mouth, but he was part of the crew. For now.

Jean shot me a quick glance, his face serious. “You good, man? You look like you’ve been through hell.”

“I’m fine,” I said through gritted teeth, forcing the pain back. My mind was still on Y/N. I couldn’t afford to focus on the bruising in my mouth when I had a more important mission in mind.

I made my way to my Hellcat, the rumble of the engine filling the air as I popped the trunk. I stared at the freshly customized Bushmaster I had just acquired, my fingers tracing over the cold metal. The gun wasn’t just a tool—it was a statement.

As I carefully examined the engraving on the barrel, my eyes locked onto the words carved into the side. Y/N. I had her name etched there, just so I could see it every time I held it. Every time I committed, every time I did my job. I wanted her with me, even when she didn’t understand why.

I closed the trunk with a satisfying thud and slid into the driver’s seat. Reiner and Jean piled into the Jeep Wrangler behind me, their faces already set in that grim expression we all wore when we were heading into a mission.

I gripped the steering wheel, my thoughts still tangled with Y/N. I knew she was playing hard to get, probably listening to Ony and the rest of the people who didn’t know the first thing about us. But she didn’t know how far I was willing to go for her. And tonight, after this job, I’d remind her.

“Let’s go handle this,” I muttered, revving the engine.

Reiner leaned forward from the backseat. “You good to drive?”

I barely spared him a glance, my focus sharp now. “I’m fine. Just keep your head in the game.”

The city lights flashed by as I accelerated down the street, the adrenaline of the mission kicking in, but that nagging thought of Y/N never left. I had to remind her that she was mine—and no one, not even Ony, could tell me otherwise.

The streets blurred past me as I gripped the steering wheel, my mind focused on the mission, but it was hard to ignore the rage simmering beneath the surface. The feeling of blood pumping through my veins, the adrenaline coursing through me as I prepared for another round of chaos. Levi’s orders echoed in my ears, but honestly, I didn’t need much pushing. I loved these moments—this was where I thrived. This is where I could be the unhinged, cold-blooded monster I needed to be to survive in this world.

We were headed into enemy territory now, a rival gang that had the audacity to step onto turf we controlled. Their mistake. Their stupid, reckless mistake. They took what wasn’t theirs. Now we’re going to remind them why they should’ve stayed in their own fucking lane.

As we arrived, the weight of the situation hit me. The area had the usual gritty feel of a war zone. Graffiti-covered walls, abandoned buildings, and cars stripped down to their frames scattered the streets. But this time, there was something different in the air—something thick with tension. We were deep in their turf now.

I pulled up near an alley, the engine of the Hellcat purring as I shifted the car into park. “Alright, we move fast,” I said, my voice low but commanding.

Jean and Reiner both nodded, already reaching for their weapons. But me? I wasn’t grabbing just any weapon. I reached into the compartment under the seat, pulling out my twin Berettas. I called them The Butchers, because that’s what they did—they sliced through whatever stood in front of them. I’m about to put these fuckers to work.

Jean raised an eyebrow at me. “You really gotta name them?”

I didn’t answer him. I just cocked the guns with a satisfying click. “Let’s make sure they know who runs this fucking city.”

We moved in silence, slipping through the shadows like predators hunting their prey. We were on their turf now, and I could already feel the heat rising in me. This is where I was at my best—dark, savage, unhinged. This is when I could show out, remind them all what happens when you cross the wrong people.

“You ready for this?” Reiner asked, his voice tense, but his eyes betraying the calm confidence of someone who had been in this situation countless times before.

I turned to him, my eyes cold and calculating, “You better believe it.”

We crept up to their hideout, a run-down building that had clearly been repurposed into their base of operations. I could hear voices coming from inside—low murmurs of gang members who thought they were untouchable. They didn’t even know we were here yet.

I signaled to Jean and Reiner. “On my count. We go in.”

I kicked open the door with a violent force, the wood splintering under my boot. The Butchers were already in my hands, the weight of them perfect in my palms.

“Hey! What the fuck—” The words were barely out of the guy’s mouth when I slammed the first Beretta into his chest, dropping him instantly with a spray of blood. The second one followed in quick succession, hitting another guy who tried to pull his piece on me. He didn’t even get a chance to fire.

“No talking, no mercy,” I muttered to myself, my blood pumping harder, the heat in me rising to a fever pitch.

Jean and Reiner were behind me, both handling their own targets, but I was lost in the moment. I loved this feeling—the chaos, the violence, the rush of power that came with knowing I controlled everything in this space. These men, these weaklings, they didn’t matter. They were just bodies in my way, obstacles to be removed.

“Fuckin’ pussies.” The words slipped from my lips like a growl as I moved deeper into the building, clearing rooms with brutal efficiency.

I rounded a corner, slamming into a guy who tried to tackle me, but I was too fast. I twisted his arm behind his back and shoved my knee into his spine, hearing a satisfying crack as I slammed his face into the concrete floor. “You think you own this block? You don’t own shit.”

Reiner came up behind me, clearing out the last of the goons, while Jean kicked open the final door. “Eren, we’re done here. The place is clear.”

But I wasn’t done. Not yet.

I stormed into the room, seeing the head honcho of this little operation trying to scramble for his gun. “You’re gonna regret this,” he spat, but his fear was evident. He knew exactly what was coming.

I grabbed him by the throat, lifting him off the ground with ease. “You’re the one who’s gonna regret this.” I slammed his back into the wall, pinning him there. The Butchers were still in my hands, and this guy’s fate was sealed.

Jean called out, “Eren, don’t waste time. Let’s get out of here.”

But I couldn’t resist. I pressed the barrel of my Beretta into the guy’s forehead, a sick smile pulling at the corners of my lips. “You wanted to take our turf, huh? Here’s your message.”

I squeezed the trigger. His body went limp, a final breath escaping his lips as his blood splattered across the walls.

“Done.” I turned to Jean and Reiner, the rush still surging through me.

Reiner gave me a smirk. “You’re fucking crazy, man.”

I chuckled darkly, wiping the blood from my face with the back of my hand. “Maybe. But that’s why they respect me.”

As another body hit the floor, I didn’t feel the usual rush of satisfaction. Not yet. There was one more thing to take care of. I was done with the shooting for now, but I needed answers—needed to send a message to anyone else who might think they could just step on our turf without consequences.

I walked over to the head honcho, who was still gasping for air, trying to lift his hands in defense but failing miserably. He was weak. Pathetic. A useless leader. A foolish man who had the audacity to think he could challenge us.

I grabbed him by the collar, dragging him across the floor and tossing him into a chair. His head snapped back against the wood with a sickening thud, but I didn’t care. I pulled a set of zip ties from my pocket, expertly securing his wrists to the arms of the chair, making sure he couldn’t move, couldn’t run. His fear was palpable as he stared at me, eyes wide, probably wondering if I was about to end him right here.

“What’s your name?” I asked, my voice low and dangerous.

He swallowed hard, looking at me like I was a monster. “You think you’re gonna get away with this?”

I leaned in close, my breath hot against his ear as I whispered, “I think you’re the one who’s about to answer some questions.”

His eyes flickered to the Beretta in my hand, and I couldn’t help but smirk. It was just a reminder of who was in control. The guy’s breath was shaky now, sweat trickling down his forehead. He opened his mouth to say something, but I cut him off with a sharp command. “Name. Now.”

His mouth tightened, and for a moment, I thought he might not speak at all. But after a few tense seconds, he relented. “Leon. My name’s Leon.”

“Good,” I muttered. Then, I straightened up, taking a step back and giving him some space to think—though I wasn’t about to make this easy on him. “Now, Leon, I have a few questions for you. You listen, and you answer. Real simple. First one—who’s running your shit now?”

He swallowed again, his throat visibly tightening. “I—We’re not with the Vipers anymore. We’re under new leadership. Darius... He’s the one you should be talking to.”

I grinned, a dark, twisted smile stretching across my face. “Darius, huh? That’s funny, because I thought your guys were the Vipers.”

He hesitated, but I could see the fear in his eyes now, knowing he was digging a deeper hole for himself with every word he spoke. “We were. But not anymore. Darius—he made some moves, took out the old crew, and now he runs the whole east side.”

I laughed softly, the sound cold and menacing. “Darius, huh? So this is how it’s going down now, huh? You think you’re gonna come onto my block, run it like it’s some new kingdom, huh? Darius doesn’t control shit. This is still my city, Leon. My fucking city.”

His gaze darted around the room, like he was trying to find a way out—some way to escape the reality that he was caught in a trap. But there was no escape. Not for him. Not for any of them.

“Darius thinks he can just come in here and take over, huh?” I said, mostly to myself, as I paced in front of him, my fingers trailing over the grip of the Beretta.

I knelt down in front of him, leaning in close again, so close I could feel the heat from his breath on my skin. “I’m gonna give you a choice, Leon,” I said softly, my voice dripping with menace. “You’re gonna tell me everything about Darius’s operation. Where he’s hiding, who’s with him, all of it. Or I’ll make sure you never get a chance to run that mouth of yours again.”

He shook his head, trying to plead. “I don’t know! I swear, I—”

I cut him off, pressing the barrel of the Beretta to his kneecap. He yelped in pain, his body tensing in terror. “You don’t know? You better know, because if you don’t, I’ll start with the fingers. Let’s see if you remember where you put all that information then.”

He blanched, his eyes going wide as he realized the kind of hell he was about to endure. “Alright! Alright! I’ll tell you everything! Just don’t—don’t hurt me, please.”

I smiled again, pulling the gun away from his knee and setting it down on the table in front of him, giving him just enough space to breathe. But not enough to get comfortable. “Good. That’s what I like to hear.”

“Darius... He’s got a stash house just outside the city, up by the old docks. He’s been dealing with some... some big names. He’s working with other gangs and shit man. It’s not just the Eastside anymore. He’s got muscle from all over.”

I nodded slowly, taking in everything he said. This was exactly what I needed. Darius had moved in fast, taking advantage of the gap in the market left by the Vipers. But he wasn’t going to keep it for long. “You know, Leon,” I said, my voice cold as I leaned in close to his ear, “You just made a real smart decision. You gave me everything I need. But that doesn’t mean you’re gonna walk away from this clean.”

His eyes widened in fear again, but I didn’t give him a chance to speak. I stood up, pulling a knife from my belt and flipping it open. “You think we’re done here? Nah.”

The blade flashed, and in one swift motion, I slashed through the zip ties holding his wrists. “I don’t want you to forget who did this to you. And the next time someone from your crew comes sniffing around here, you tell them to keep their hands off my turf.”

I turned my back on him, walking toward the exit. I was done with him.

“And Leon?” I called over my shoulder, stopping in the doorway.

He looked up, terrified. “W-what?”

“Tell Darius I’m coming for him. And when I find him, I’m taking his head. Don’t make me look for him.”

As I was walking to leave the room, a flicker of movement caught my eye. Leon, desperate and panicked, was trying to crawl away, dragging his broken body toward the door. He thought he could escape—thought maybe I’d let him run off with his life. Big mistake.

I didn’t even hesitate. I pulled the Beretta from my waistband, aiming at his back. BANG! The shot rang out, the bullet piercing his spine, sending him crashing to the floor with a scream. Blood pooled beneath him, his body twitching from the shock of the impact.

I laughed. It was a dark, twisted laugh, one that felt almost alive inside me. I skipped over to him, my footsteps light and fast, like a predator closing in on its prey.

“Opps,” I mocked, bending down next to him. His face was contorted in pain, eyes wide, tears mixing with the blood on his face. I could see the fear in his eyes as he tried to drag himself forward, but his body refused to cooperate.

I leaned in close, my voice dropping to a sickening whisper. “That was for your ankle.”

Without another word, I aimed the Beretta at his ankle and pulled the trigger again.

BANG!

This time, the shot was so precise, the bullet shattered through the joint, and I watched with twisted satisfaction as his body jerked violently on the floor, unable to move much. The scream he let out was the final cry of a man who knew he wasn’t getting out of this alive.

He was done. There was no more begging, no more running. Just a broken body on the floor, his life fading away with every second.

I stood there for a moment, savoring the sound of his labored breathing, feeling the adrenaline pumping through my veins.

“Don’t forget who runs this,” I muttered, a dark grin spreading across my face as I turned and walked out, leaving him to bleed out in that empty room.

Jean and Reiner were looking at me crazy but who the fuck really cares. then Jean said "I see why Ony wants you away from his cousin.."

Jean’s words hit me like a slap, and the moment he said her name, my mind went dark. "I see why Ony wants you away from his cousin..."

That was all it took. Every ounce of control I’d been holding onto snapped. I wasn’t thinking anymore—I was reacting, my body moving before my brain could catch up. I was on him in an instant, fingers wrapping around his collar, yanking him toward me as my fist swung.

But Jean, quick as ever, dodged. Just barely.

He smirked, but I could see the flicker of caution in his eyes as he backed away, positioning himself defensively.

"Yo, chill, Eren," Reiner’s voice came from behind, but I wasn’t hearing him. My mind was only on one thing: her. Jean had spoken her name like it was nothing, like he could just throw it around without consequences. That shit was unforgivable.

“Don't fucking talk about her,” I growled through gritted teeth, my knuckles tight on Jean’s shirt, ready to drag him into the dirt if he even dared to finish his sentence.

Jean's smirk faltered as he raised his hands in mock surrender, though his eyes were still full of challenge. He wasn’t scared of me, not like some of the others. But that’s why I hated him—he had a way of getting under my skin, like he was always poking the beast, daring me to lash out.

"Relax, man," he said, trying to step back, but I wasn’t about to let him get away that easily. I wanted him to understand that there were lines you didn’t cross.

But before I could move again, Reiner stepped between us, pushing me back with his arm. "That's enough, Eren. Don't make us deal with your shit again."

I gritted my teeth, but he had a point. If I went any further, I’d make everything worse—not just for myself, but for the crew. And I hated when Jean was right, but in this moment, he was right. I needed to focus.

Still, the words were there, gnawing at the back of my mind—her name, and the thought of anyone disrespecting her, anyone mentioning her like that, made my blood boil.

I took a deep breath, trying to calm myself. "Next time, don’t mention her name," I spat, voice low but dripping with menace. "Or I’ll make sure you don’t walk straight for a week."

Jean just rolled his eyes, but I could see the flicker of uncertainty in his face as he glanced at Reiner. He knew I wasn’t joking.

Reiner shook his head and muttered, "You’re too damn impulsive."

I didn’t care. Jean needed to learn. Everyone needed to learn. She was mine.

And I would kill anyone who thought they could touch what was mine.

I sat in my car parked across the street, the low rumble of the engine barely audible in the quiet night. The darkness cloaked me, but my eyes were locked on her house. Her house. The only place that felt like a beacon in this fucked-up world. I was supposed to be back at the warehouse, standing in front of Levi, giving him the rundown with Jean and Reiner. But screw that. I didn’t care about Levi’s glares or his threats.

This? This was more important.

The window was cracked just enough for me to hear their voices drifting out. Ony’s deep, pissed-off tone echoed into the night, laced with frustration and anger. He was arguing with her, and I knew exactly what it was about.

Me.

I leaned back in my seat, lighting a cigarette, the flame briefly illuminating my face before darkness swallowed me again. I smirked as I took a long drag. Fucking idiot. He thought he could keep me away. Thought he could scare her into staying clear of me.

He didn’t know her like I did. Doesn’t know how much she needed someone like me.

The argument grew louder, Ony’s voice sharp and commanding. “I’m serious, Y/N! Stay away from him. He’s dangerous. He’ll ruin you.”

I chuckled under my breath, blowing out a cloud of smoke. Dangerous? Yeah, maybe. But ruin her? Not a chance. I’d protect her from everyone else, even if I had to be the monster in the shadows to do it. She didn’t need protection from me; she needed protection from them. From people who didn’t understand her. People like Ony.

Her voice rose next, defiant and fierce, cutting through the night air. “I don’t need you to tell me what to do! You think you’re any better? You’ve been in that life longer than him!”

I felt a strange mix of pride and amusement bubble up. That’s my girl. Standing her ground even against someone like Ony. She wasn’t as fragile as everyone thought. She had fire, and that fire burned for me, even if she didn’t fully realize it yet.

Ony’s reply was muffled, but his frustration was clear. The argument continued, and I couldn’t help but relish the chaos. He was losing control, and he knew it.

I ashed the cigarette out on the side of the car, flicking the butt onto the pavement. My patience was wearing thin. Hearing her defend me, knowing she was willing to fight for me—it made my blood hum.

I glanced at my phone, her name glowing on the screen in my messages. Still on read. My jaw clenched. She was trying to make me sweat, but two could play that game. If she thought ignoring me would keep me away, she was wrong.

I tapped my fingers on the steering wheel, debating whether to text her again or just walk up to her door. Make Ony regret ever thinking he could keep me at arm’s length.

But for now, I waited. Watched. Because soon enough, she’d come to me. They always did.

Ony’s footsteps were heavy, his expression stormy as he slammed the front door behind him. He spotted my car immediately, his eyes narrowing like a predator locking onto its prey. His hand went to his waistband, and I caught the glint of steel under the streetlight as he stormed across the street.

I rolled my eyes but kept my cool, letting my hand rest lazily on the wheel. I knew what was coming. Sure enough, Ony stalked right up to the driver’s side, his gun already cocked, and pointed it directly at my head.

I didn’t flinch.

Rolling down the window, I came face-to-face with the barrel, a calm smirk tugging at my lips. "The fuck you doing outside my crib, E?" Ony growled, his voice low and dangerous. His finger twitched on the trigger, but I could see the restraint in his eyes. He wasn’t ready to pull it—not yet.

I leaned back slightly, resting my arm on the open window, completely unfazed. “Relax, big guy,” I drawled, my tone smooth, almost mocking. “Just enjoying the night air. Didn’t know I needed an invite to park on a public street.”

Ony’s jaw tightened, his grip on the gun firm. “Don’t play games with me. You’re here for her, aren’t you? You don’t know when to quit.”

I chuckled softly, my eyes never leaving his. “Quit? Nah. I don’t do that. Especially not when it comes to Y/N.”

His expression darkened further, and I could feel the tension rolling off him in waves. “You’re a sick bastard, Eren,” he spat. “You’re gonna drag her down with you, and you don’t even care.”

I shrugged, still grinning. “Maybe. But you and I both know she doesn’t want out. She’s got a taste for this now, and you can’t scare her away. You’re just pissed you can’t control her anymore.”

That hit a nerve. Ony pressed the barrel harder against my forehead, his eyes blazing with fury. “You don’t get it, do you? I’ll put you in the ground before I let you ruin her life.”

I tilted my head slightly, my smirk never wavering. “Go ahead,” I taunted, my voice a low murmur. “Pull the trigger, Ony. Let’s see how that plays out. But we both know you won’t. ‘Cause if you do, you’ll lose her for good. And you can’t handle that, can you?”

For a moment, the world seemed to stand still. His finger hovered over the trigger, his breathing heavy. But then, slowly, he pulled the gun back, his hands trembling slightly. He was furious, but he wasn’t stupid.

“You’re a dead man walking, Eren,” Ony muttered, shoving the gun back into his waistband. “Stay the hell away from my cousin.”

I leaned forward slightly, my smirk widening. “Can’t promise that, Ony,” I said quietly, my tone dripping with defiance. “She’s already mine.”

Ony stared at me for a long moment, his fists clenched at his sides. Then, without another word, he turned and stormed off down the street, leaving me sitting there, my heart pounding with adrenaline.

I watched Ony storm off toward the house, his shoulders tense, his fists clenched. I let out a low chuckle, thinking the storm had passed. But then he stopped, just a few steps from his front door, and turned back around. His face was a mask of rage, and before I could even register what was happening—

BANG.

The sharp crack of the gun echoed through the quiet street, followed almost immediately by another. BANG.

I didn’t flinch, but my heart raced for a split second, instinctively bracing for the searing burn of a bullet. Except it didn’t come. Instead, the sound of glass shattering and metal crunching reached my ears.

I glanced to my side and saw the spiderweb cracks spreading across my passenger-side window. The second shot had ripped right through the rear quarter panel. Ony had shot my car.

“Crazy bastard,” I muttered under my breath, half-impressed, half-pissed.

The neighborhood stayed eerily silent; no one dared peek through their curtains. Everyone knew better than to get involved. That’s the kind of respect Ony commanded around here. But me? I wasn’t scared. This was a game we’d been playing for a while now, and I wasn’t about to back down.

I leaned out the window slightly, my voice carrying across the empty street. “Nice aim, Ony! You miss me already?”

He stood there for a second longer, his gun still raised as if he was contemplating whether to send a third bullet my way. Finally, he lowered it, shaking his head before disappearing into the house without another word.

I exhaled slowly, a smirk creeping back onto my face. “Cute,” I muttered, running a hand through my hair. My car was a mess, but I didn’t care. This wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.

Pulling my phone out again, I shot Y/N another text. Me: You’re not answering me, baby. I don’t like being ignored.Then, after a pause, I added: Me: See you soon.

I tossed the phone onto the passenger seat, my eyes flicking back to the house. Ony thought this was a warning. But all he did was fuel the fire.

I watched him go, then glanced back at the house. My smirk faded slightly as I pulled my phone out, my thumb hovering over Y/N’s contact. She hadn’t responded yet, but that didn’t matter. I’d see her soon enough.

I watched Ony who was glaring at me with a smile and it pissed me off he shot up my fucking green hellcat…he smirked then started walking back to his house again…. Fucking psycho.

My fingers itched, the weight of my Glock sitting snug in my lap. I let him get a few more steps ahead, then— BANG.

The shot rang out, slicing through the quiet night. Ony stumbled forward, his hand clutching at his arm as blood began to seep through his shirt.

“Ah, shit!” he growled, spinning around to face me, murder in his eyes.

I leaned out the window, my laugh echoing down the block like it was the punchline to some sick joke. “Missed your heart,” I called out, my grin wide and unrepentant. “Next time, maybe?”

Before Ony could say a word, the front door slammed open, and Y/N came storming out, her eyes blazing with fury. She was still in her house slippers, her arms crossed over her chest, but the fire in her eyes made me sit up a little straighter.

“Eren!” she snapped, her voice cutting through the night. “What the hell is wrong with you?! You’re insane!”

I shrugged, still grinning. “Only for you, baby.”

“Don’t call me that,” she shot back, her glare sharp enough to cut glass. She turned to Ony, who was still clutching his arm. “And you,” she pointed, her voice softer but still filled with irritation, “get in the house before you bleed out on the porch.”

Ony shook his head, his jaw clenched as he locked eyes with me one more time. “This ain’t over,” he growled, backing toward the door.

“It never is,” I called after him, watching as he disappeared inside.

Y/N was still standing on the porch, arms crossed, staring daggers at me. “Go home, Eren,” she said firmly. “You’re not helping anything.”

I chuckled, resting my arm on the window. “You really think I’m just gonna walk away after that?”

Her glare didn’t waver. “If you have even a shred of decency left, you will.”

I leaned back in my seat, giving her a long, slow once-over. “You know I can’t stay away from you,” I said, my voice low. “Not now, not ever.”

She rolled her eyes, spinning on her heel. “You’re impossible,” she muttered, slamming the door behind her.

I smirked, starting the car. “Yeah, but you love it.”

Your POV. 

I slammed the door shut behind us, locking it as Ony staggered toward the couch. His hand was still pressed against his arm, blood seeping through his fingers. My heart was pounding so loud it felt like it might burst out of my chest.

“I can’t believe you and Eren were shooting at each other!” I snapped, grabbing a towel from the kitchen and tossing it to him. “Isn’t that against some gang code or something? Like I’d even know.”

Ony grimaced as he pressed the towel to his arm. “Ain’t about codes right now,” he muttered. “Just text Hange and give them the house address.”

I hesitated for a second. “Hange? Who’s Hange?”

“Just do it, Y/N,” he said through gritted teeth. “They’re the crew’s medic.”

I grabbed his phone off the coffee table, my fingers fumbling slightly as I unlocked it and scrolled through his contacts. Hange’s name popped up immediately. I typed out a quick text, adding the house address before hitting send.

“They’ll be here in a few,” I said, dropping the phone onto the table.

Ony leaned back, his face twisted in pain. “That idiot,” he muttered. “Eren doesn’t think. He acts.”

I folded my arms, pacing back and forth. “You’re not exactly the poster boy for rational behavior either. You both could’ve killed each other out there!”

Ony shot me a look, his expression dark. “And you think he wouldn’t kill for you? That man’s already got one foot in hell, Y/N. Don’t let him drag you in with him.”

I stopped pacing, my stomach churning. “I didn’t ask for this, Ony. You’re both acting like I’m some prize to be fought over.”

He scoffed, shaking his head. “It’s not about that. Eren… he’s dangerous. You think you’ve seen the worst of him, but you haven’t. Not even close.”

I swallowed hard, my mind flashing back to Eren’s wild grin, the gleam in his eyes when he shot at Ony. “He wouldn’t hurt me,” I said quietly, more to convince myself than anything.

Ony gave a bitter laugh. “He wouldn’t mean to, but that’s the thing about men like him. The chaos follows, and sooner or later, it’ll swallow you whole.”

Before I could respond, there was a sharp knock at the door. I rushed to open it, and there stood Hange, a medical bag slung over their shoulder, their eyes scanning the room with a mix of amusement and exasperation.

“Well,” Hange said, stepping inside, “looks like someone’s been busy tonight.”