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

[not-sorcerer-supreme]

Doctor Strange stood still at the center of the chaos, his presence an unmoving pillar amidst the storm of magic unraveling around him. The sky above Central Park flickered with energy, twisting in response to the raw, untamed force that pulsed from Molly like a heartbeat too fast, too wild. The ground rumbled beneath them, buildings moaning under the pressure, glass shattering, alarms wailing in protest. It was a symphony of destruction, and she was the conductor.

"Molly."

His voice wasn’t loud, but it didn’t need to be. It cut through the noise with the precision of a scalpel, the weight of it enough to part the veil of unchecked magic stretching across the city. His crimson Cloak billowed behind him, as if it, too, could sense the gravity of what was unfolding. With each slow, deliberate step he took toward her, golden sigils flared to life in the air around them, intricate weaves of control designed to counteract the havoc she was unleashing.

"I told you to push your limits. I encouraged it. But there is a difference between pushing and breaking."

His tone was edged with authority, but there was something else beneath it—understanding, maybe even a fraction of concern.

"And right now, you are breaking."

The air between them pulsed as Molly hovered, the glow of her magic warping the space around her. She was breathtaking—an untamed celestial force barely contained in human form, gold and red weaving through her hair, the glow of her eyes casting long shadows across the ruined street below. But Strange didn’t marvel. He didn’t flinch. He had seen too many like her before.

"This isn’t control, Molly. This is power unchained, and power unchained does not serve you—it owns you."

He lifted a hand, fingers curling as his own magic wove into the space between them, a soft but insistent tether. Not to restrain. Not yet. But to ground.

"I know how intoxicating it feels. The rush. The sense that, for once, you are the one shaping the world instead of being shaped by it."

He took another step forward, voice steady, unwavering.

"But let me tell you something about power—it does not make you free. Not like this. Not when you let it consume you instead of guiding it with a steady hand."

The ground beneath them trembled again, cracks spiderwebbing outward. A few buildings groaned, and Strange’s fingers twitched as another sigil burned into existence, stabilizing the structures before they could collapse entirely. The city would not withstand much more of this. And neither would Molly.

His expression shifted, just slightly. The hardened lines around his mouth eased—not much, but enough that his next words came softer.

"You are not a monster."

A pause. The weight of those words settled between them.

"But you will be if you let them turn you into one."

He gestured, subtly, to the growing crowd of onlookers at the edges of the destruction. Some gawked in awe. Others trembled, already backing away, reaching for their phones, capturing the image of what, in their eyes, could only be another story of a mutant losing control.

Strange sighed, his shoulders shifting with the weight of it.

"I know what it’s like to be feared for what you can do. To know, deep down, that no matter how much good you try to do, there will always be those who see you as a threat. But that does not give you permission to prove them right."

Golden light flickered at his fingertips, weaving through the air like threads of silk. He lifted his hand—palm up, fingers open, a silent offering rather than an order.

"So I’m going to ask you one more time, and then I will not ask again."

His voice was steady, final. "

Pull it back, Molly. Before it pulls you under. Before I have to be the one to stop you."

Open RP post

Molly had recently been getting lessons from Strange about sorcery and, let's just say, it went better than expected. Yet there was one thing that Molly wanted to test. Strnge had commented on her not using her full potential of magic in his house. But only in his house. No one said about anywhere other than that.

Molly wondered around central NYC, gazing at the tall buildings that towered and loomed over her in sucha glamorous way. People rushed past her as they made their ways back home from work. About 30 minutes later, the whole city had a silent moment. A peaceful, tranquil silent moment.

As she embraced the moment, Molly looked down at the ground, feeling for that tingling sensation she felt at first when she started off with learning how to summon magic. She could sense it lingering somewhere near her chest. Slowly, she guided it along her arms and across to her hands. The small air particles swirled in the same direction her hand spiralled in.

Slowly the etched out colours of red and gold outlined her form delicately once again asher eyes changed to the gold and red rimmed circles they once were. The small spiral of sparks grows to look exactly like her eyes without the pupil. She practically looks ethereal. Like a pure goddess.

After a while, a couple of heads started to twist and turn to look in her direction. Some looked upon her in pure admiration and beauty. Others, on the other hand, looked upon her in fear and terror, wary with what would come next.

As the magic cursed through her veins and out her body, strands of once chocolate brown hair, now swiftly changed to red and gold threads of magic that cursed through her. Her feet once again leave the ground as she starts to levitate high into the air.

The sound of the ground started to rumble and growl. Slowly, it started to move in waysit wasn't supposed to. Buildings now at serious threat, the magiccontinues to leave her body and out into the wider world around her. Multiple buildings were starting to crack. Car alarms were going off left, right and centre. Hundreds of people fled the scene, yet getting a slight glimpse at what was causing this horrifying mess.

Molly wasn't Molly anymore. No, far from that. No one knew what she was, but certainly it was far from being just Molly. She had become something far more terrifying. Like a monster. A freak. Not a normal being. A mutant.

And it was clear that this would probably fuel the newspapers drama on the mutants being bad. But what did Molly care? She had been through enough trauma. What would a bit more do? And anyways.

The street was a mess and no one was there to stop her.

Tags:

@official-buckybarnes @the1-and-only-peggycarter @under0-0s @over-bi-the-wayside @thund3randrain

@lunamarvels @eponastory @serenastark-official @itscrazycasey @multifandomer537

@goddess-of-birds @thescarleteevee @the-superoriginal @rev-o-lution-media-official @its-nate-the-sharpshot and anyone else

[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."

[grughoul]

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."

[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.

[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, targcest, 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.

[ang3ltine]

"𝐌𝐢𝐬𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠" - Ellie Williams x Jealous freader MDNI!! 18+

𝖲𝗒𝗉𝗇𝗈𝗌𝗂𝗌: Having a crush on Ellie wasn't easy, especially when she had her eyes set on Dina. Does that make you jealous? Very much, but Ellie was determined to prove you wrong. Even if it means fucking the truth into you.

𝖶𝖺𝗋𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌: slight angst and adult themes, so please scroll if you're a minor!

Despite the Tipsy Bison being pretty full tonight, you couldn't help but feel lonely.

Your eyes were following a certain brunette in the middle of the dance floor, Dina. As much as your heart ached from seeing her flaunt around with Ellie with that sickingly sweet smile on her face, you couldn't stop staring.

Much to your disappointment, you weren't Ellie's type. Dina on the other hand, seemed like the perfect girl for her. You wanted to reject the idea of them being a couple so bad but that was the ugly truth. You didn't look like Dina but the way that Ellie looks at her made you wish that you did.

Stirring the drink in your hand, you hastily chugged it down your throat before slamming it down on the counter in front of you. You were at the bar, already getting drunk after a few rounds.

"Hey, you good?", you snapped out of your trance and turned to face Jesse. He stepped away from your sudden movement with his hands up in the air, chuckling slightly. "Woah! Not a threat, calm down." You gave him a forced smile and told him you were OK.

"I'm fine... just not feeling the party vibes right now."

Looking down at your hands, you saw dark crescent wounds appear on your palms from how hard you were clenching your fists.

"Doesnt sound like your ok. Your smile gave it away bubba," you snorted at the nickname and gave him a 'are you kidding me' look. He started calling you bubba after your obsession with bubbles as a kid and hasn't stopped teasing you since. You were the same age as Ellie, just a few months older. But that didn't stop you two from being close.

That was until she started talking to Dina. After her and Jesse broke up, it seemed like the pair started getting closer than usual. Up to the point that Ellie barely came by your place anymore.

Taking a deep breath then slowly turned your head back to the couple in the corner of the room.

"I was that obvious huh?" You sighed while you turned around fully to face away from the counter and leaned on it instead.

"Kind of yeah," Jesse laughed as he grabs your glass before you could take another sip. "By the way, your girlfriend over there hasn't stopped staring at you the whole night. I'm guessing from how much you've been drinking you haven't noticed yet."

You furrowed your eyebrows as Jesse nods towards the table where Dina and Ellie were sitting on.

Just like Jesse had said, a pair of dark green eyes locked with yours. Suddenly you felt exposed under her intense stare.

She was eyeing your outfit, which was a simple white cami dress with a lace trim paired with your usual leather brown jacket.

Considering that there were kids in the party too , you wore something appropriate but pretty nonetheless.

Ellie gave you a small smile before looking back to Dina to carry on their conversation.

"She's not my 'girlfriend' ", you sighed while rubbing your temples with your fingers. "Besides she looks like she has her eyes set on Dina..." you rambled on while walking with Jesse to a free table near the entrance of the bar.

A small frown was apparent on your face, catching the eye of a certain brunette just a few tables away. She noticed how you didn't smile back at her. Walking beside Jesse like you never even acknowledged Ellie's presence.

"Dina does have a way with words," Jesse grimaced as he poured you another drink. Realising there was no stopping you and saw how upset you were.

"Nah she's not for me, you on the other hand. You have a chance with Ellie, she clearly likes you -" before he could say another word he catches something that he thought he'd never see.

You noticed how Jesse froze with the beer bottle in his hand and followed his nervous gaze towards the couple behind you.

Dina... was kissing Ellie??

Suddenly the room started to spin and a painful throb formed in your throat. Jesse's voice became muffled as he tried calming you down, feeling your heart quicken and your palms becoming sweaty.

You had to get out of there. Fast.

That's exactly what you did, despite being pretty tipsy from the drinks. You found the strength to make it towards the door and a frantic Jesse followed after to make sure you got home safely.

After dropping you off he muttered an apology and a long hug before leaving. Knowing you had a rough night and wanted some alone time.

Half an hour had gone by before you heard knocks on the front door. You had fallen asleep on the couch in the living room and quite frankly, didn't want to get up to answer.

But after another set of frantic knocks, you got up with heavy steps and opened the door lazily. Lucky for you, you sober up quite quickly, but it didn't mean the throbbing on your head had gone away yet.

A pair of strong arms wrapped around you, pulling you into a warm embrace. Ellie felt you tense up but soon relax under her touch as her hands slide to your waist, looking down at you with worried eyes.

"Hey... I'm sorry you had to see that. Dina, she uh - wanted us to be thing, but I turned her down. Are you ok though?"

"I'm fine just...I dunno honestly-" you internationally groaned from how pathetic you must look right now.

"You're jealous of me and Dina?"

"You've been with her all night." You sighed while messing with the band of her jeans, sticking your finger through one of the belt holes.

"Hey" her finger slipped under your chin, tilting your head up slightly to meet her eyes. "Why didn't you come over?"

"I didn't want to bother you. You were having fun -" before you could say more, Ellie cut you off.

"Yeah, well I would've had more fun with you and not seeing you sulk with Jesse." She snickered as she sees the flicker of a smile on your face.

"So you were watching me the whole time and you didn't think to come over yourself?" You pried with a smug look on your face.

"With the dress you're wearing? Who wouldn't stare? Plus I didn't want to ruin your conversation with Jesse."

You felt the heat rise to your cheeks at her comment with a dopey smile on your face.

"So we're just both idiots?"

"Yup" she stated, emphasising the p. You moved towards the mirror that was in the hallway to see how bad you looked after a rough nap on the couch. In your eyes you looked like an absolute mess.

Your dress was all ruffled from you constantly moving in hour sleep, the same with your hair. The makeup you wore was starting to fade , making the outer rims of your eyes dark.

Ellie then wrapped her around your waist, meeting your eyes in the mirror, her breath fanning your neck.

"I know what you're thinking. But you still look gorgeous in my eyes ," you wanted to say something back but your breath got caught in your throat. Her hands had snuck down to your torso. Rubbing slow but comforting circles into your hips.

"What are we Ellie?" You finally breathed out.

"Hm I thought it was obvious," she drawled as her fingers made their way down to the band of your denim shorts.

"Last time I checked, you and I had a pretty good time last night. Guess I have to prove it to you again, huh , princess?"

Your face warmed up again, memories flicking back to last night. A faint ache pulsated in your shorts as you finally caught her hand messing with the button on the flap. "You're very confident tonight."

"Had a few drinks, oh and trust me. You being jealous is just fueling my desire."

It was then that you could smell her favourite liquor on her breath. Hastily unzipping the small zipper between her much larger fingers as she started to kiss your neck then your jaw.

"I just - I feel bad...let me make it up to you." She says in-between kisses.

Knowing you couldn't really talk her out of it, you let her do her thing. Turning your head to press a soft kiss on her cheek as she left sloppy kisses down your neck.

Her heart rate had increased as you turn around fully and looked up to see that her eyes had begun to dliate.

"See this? This is how you're making me feel right now. Absolutely crazy," Ellie pointed out as her voice goes on octave deeper. Leaning down, she lightly grazes your lips with hers as your breath hitches. She glances into your eyes, silently asking for your permission.

Seeing as there was no way out of this, you gave in. Pressing your lips against hers with fervent as you reach up to entangle you fingers into her hair. You tug at it gently, pulling out a low groan from Ellie as she deepens the kiss.

Her lips were slightly chapped but it didn't bother you as much, they were still soft. Tasting the liquor on her tongue as she slowly backs you up to the couch behind you.

Yelping as soon as she picks you up behind your legs and plops you down onto the soft cushions. It was slightly messy but that wasn't really on your mind right now. Ellie had crawled ontop of you to pull you in for another heated kiss. Whispering sweet nothings againgst your lips while you let out soft moans. Bucking up mindlessly against her hips.

She carefully removes your shorts and hiked up your dress revealing your dainty pink underwear.

"Oh? What do we have here..?", she drawls as her slender fingers crept over your throbbing cunt.

You're not sure when it happened but you only grew more wet just by her painfully hot touch.

Quickly stripping you, she left you in just your underwear. Burying her face into your neck to leave harsh kisses and bites all along your supple skin. She rips off your bra before attaching her lips onto your erected nipples, sucking and swirling around both buds carefully.

Her hand reaches down towards your heat, already feeling a wet spot on your underwear. "Huh.. that wet for me already? Just from a few kisses?" She chuckles darkly as she removes the dainty piece of clothing onto the floor beside you.

You feel her push in her index finger into you, slowly, making sure you would feel every inch of her girthy finger. The feeling of her fingers stretching you oh so deliciously got you drooling - fuck even Ellie seemed to be enjoying this more than you. Picking up the pace, she was practically fucking you with her rough fingers. Abusing your sopping wet cunt while mindlessly sucking your boob's, taking turns on each one.

Her pace never once faltered, not when you looked so good when throwing your head back in pleasure and moaning out her name. Ellie, sucked and bit each and every inch of skin she could reach, while her fingers remained curled inside you. You were so close.

"Shit Ellie! Gonna cum - please I'm gonna..-"

"Do it. Cum all over my fingers baby" she hissed as she looks down at you through her lashes. Admiring your ruined form with a lazy smirk.

Still drunk from the alcohol and the buzz from being horny.

You grab the hem of her shirt and pull her into a seering hot kiss. You couldn't let her have all the fun.

Tugging at the ends you asked for permission to take it off. She tuts and guides your hand towards the nape of your neck.

"Uh I don't think so. I'm in charge right now so you just lay back like the poised princess that you are ..", her voice going an octave deeper as she only became more amused at your reaction.

God you hated her.

An hour into the session, she has you in her lap as you lay your head on her shoulder. Already becoming exhausted from the constant thrusting from Ellie's slender fingers.

"Fuck", Ellie hissed as the grip on your hip tightened. Almost certainly leaving a bruise mark on your supple skin.

You keen, long and guttural as she continues hitting at your g-spot. Your pelvis unkowngly bucks into her hand, wanting more than you could take.

Ellie nuzzles into the crook of your neck, leaving a series of dark hickeys all over down your bare chest. Your nipples perked as she has one mound in her mouth and the other between her unoccupied fingers.

After a while she let's go with a pop and grabs your ass making you rise up and slam back down on her fingers. You cried out and instinctively reach for her shoulders for balance.

"I" slam "Still hate you", you sneer slightly despite being in a euphoric state.

"Oh, rude aren't we?" She snickered as your breath caught in your throat, you would've retorted had she not stuck another finger in. Twisting and going deeper than before to make you more dumbed out.

A dirty cheater for sure.

"Ugh...!! I-- did you have to ruin my dress too-?", you managed to hiss out while you peered down at the smug women beneath you.

You were an absolute mess, mascara stained tears ran down your cheeks. The curls of your hair unravelled and cascaded down your shoulders and your perfect pink lips, swollen and slightly bleeding.

"Don't worry babe, I'll get you a new one", she cooes while she moves a stray strand of hair away from your face.

It was one thing to fuck a pretty girl, but another thing to have a partner so smart yet bossy as you, being desperate for her to ruin your cunt.

"Shit babe!! Right there--!"

She had you fucking on her fingers for so long you couldn't even check the time on the clock, your vision blurred from your tears. At last you finally burst, unleashing a wave.

Helping you ride through your orgasm until the only thing heard in the room was lewd , wet noises coming from your sopping cunt.

Ellie, was stuffing your own juices back into you at this point, you couldn't really tell if it was that, or her fingers were just too filling.

You both were panting, one more than the other as you reach up to caress her cheeks. Nuzzling your nose against hers and whispered "I love you."

"I love me too," you scoffed and tried scrambling out of her grasp. She was laughing while trying to get you back on the couch.

"I'm fucking with you ok? I love you too dummy."

With that, Ellie lifted you up, carrying you bridal style. She softly placed a kiss on your damp forehead as she makes her way down the corridor, heading for the washroom to give you a nice warm bath.

"Still think I like Dina?"

You lightly hit her arm playfully and rolled your eyes.

"Shuttup and just take me to the bathroom already."

[queen-of-deans-booty]

Apple Pie Life

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~2.6k

Warnings: angst, threat of divorce, tired of coming in second

Summary: While Dean is out there saving the world, you’re back at home with your daughter wondering if you’re ever going to see him again or if he’s alive. There comes a point where you just can’t do it anymore so you bring up the one thing that will definitely destroy your relationship. Will Dean accept it or change who he is for you?

Square Filled: “So you think I’m broken? Fix me. ‘Cause I’m no quitter.” (2021) for @spnquotebingo

Author’s Note: any and all comments are greatly appreciated <3

x

Alyssa crawls under the covers and hides her face, and you go tickling her to see where she’s at. Her giggles bring a smile to your face but you’re still so sad about your whole situation. You remove the covers from her head and smooth back her frizzy hair.

“Are you going to go to sleep this time?” you ask.

“Maaaybe,” she sings.

“Go to sleep and maybe I’ll make chocolate chip pancakes in the morning.” You kiss her head. “I love you, snugbug.”

“I love you too,” she grins. Her two front teeth are missing, but you can see the adult teeth peeking out from her gums. You get up to leave but her next words stop you. “Where’s Daddy?”

Just like that, the happiness is gone. Your heart cracks at her questions because you truly don’t know where he is. You don’t even know if he’s alive. Still, you can’t tell that to your six-year-old, so you tell her something that will bring her comfort.

“He’s with Uncle Sam right now.”

Good. Keep it vague.

“When is he gonna be back?”

“Soon. If you go to sleep, he might be here when you wake up.”

Alyssa snuggles in her blanket, eyes already closed. You turn off the light but keep the night light on before closing the door behind you. The tears want to come but you will them not to fall. You can’t cry right now. You have to pretend to be strong even if it’s killing you. You walk downstairs to the kitchen and pour yourself a big glass of wine. You take that glass to the couch in the living room, and you pull your phone out to call Dean.

Like always, he doesn’t answer. He sends you straight to voicemail, and a piece of your heart breaks off and turns to ash. You’re not sure how long you can do this for. Soon, there won’t be enough of your heart to give to him. You should be sleeping. You should be tucked under the covers and in a dreamless sleep, but you can’t sleep not knowing if Dean is alive or where he is.

So, you drink and when that glass is done, you pour another and continue drinking. You’re halfway through your third glass when the front door opens. Dean walks through and tries to be quiet for your sake, but you’re already jumping off the couch.

“Thank God. Where the hell were you? I called you, like twenty times.”

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. There was this pack of werewolves that refused to die. They broke my phone.” He proves this by pulling it out of his pocket. It’s true. It’s smashed to pieces. “Plus, we were in the mountains where the reception wasn’t that great, anyway.”

“Alyssa was asking about you.”

Dean sighs and runs a hand through his short hair. “What did you say?”

“What I always tell her. That you’ll be here in the morning.” You let silence befall between you two. “Will you?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Mmm.” You walk toward the kitchen and put your lass into the sink. Now that you know he’s safe and alive, you can sleep. “Maybe stay more than a week this time, okay?”

“Y/N…”

“I’m going to bed.”

You leave him standing in the kitchen all alone, and he curses to himself once the bedroom door closes. The next morning, you wake to the sound of pots and pans clanging in the kitchen, Alyssa knows better than to not mess with those on her own so Dean must have been telling the truth. He’s here. You really shouldn’t have had that extra glass of wine. You have a small headache but knowing Dean is here makes the pain worth it.

You brush your teeth before going downstairs, and you see Alyssa on a step stool as she helps Dean mix the batter in a bowl. She’s the first one to see you standing in the doorway.

“Mommy! Daddy and I made pancakes!”

You smile at her enthusiasm. “It smells good, baby. Good job.” Dean pushes a plate of two pancakes to you, and you grab a fork. “Thanks.”

“Daddy said he was going to take me to the zoo this weekend! He also said that we can get as much ice cream as I can eat!”

“Is that right?” You look at Dean but instead of a happy smile on his face, he is racked with guilt. You know that look all too well. He’s not taking her to the zoo which means you’ll have to. “Alyssa, I’ll be taking you to the zoo.”

“Y/N--”

“What? I’m just saying it like how it is. You have work to do, don’t you?”

“Daddy?”

Dean is forced to confront reality and looks at Alyssa with a guilty face. “Alyssa, I just have to do something with Uncle Sammy. It won’t take long.”

“Can I come?”

You’re immediately put on alert but Dean isn’t stupid. He knows better than to put his daughter in danger.

“Not this time, baby.”

She stirs the batter but it’s not as happily as before.

“When will you be back?”

“I’ll try to be back before Friday.”

You look at your watch and widen when you see what time it is.

“Why don’t you get ready for school? The bus will be here in thirty minutes.”

You and Dean keep the peace as long as Alyssa is in the house. The second she hops onto the bus, you let it show just how pissed off you are with him. You walk back into the house and head straight to the kitchen to clean the mess they made. Your pancakes are left untouched; you’re not hungry anymore. Dean stays silent but he knows he has to say something to you even though he knows whatever he says won’t be of any comfort to you.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart.”

“Yeah, you’re always sorry.”

“Don’t do that.”

You slam the plastic bowl onto the kitchen island a bit too hard, and splotches of batter land on the counter. “Are we not important to you?”

“You know that’s not it.”

“It seems like it is when you leave us behind. You’re not here, Dean. When she asks me where Daddy is or when he’s coming home, I never know what to fucking tell her because I don’t even know if you’re alive!”

Something dark crosses over Dean’s features. “This is the life, Y/N.”

“Yeah, I know,” you scoff. You grab the batter bowl and toss it into the sink. You’ll clean it later. You grab a few paper towels and start to wipe the surface of the counter. “That’s always the excuse.”

“It’s not an excuse. It’s my life.”

“What about my life?!” you yell. “What about Alyssa’s life? You never see the disappointment in her eyes when I tell her that you’re not coming home. When will it be our turn to have you?”

It breaks your heart to even think about doing this, but you don’t know what else to do. You toss the paper towels into the trash and grab your purse. You pull out a packet of papers and slide them across the counter over to Dean.

“What is this?”

It hurts to even say these words but you know they have to be said. You want them to come out strong but they only come out as a whisper.

“I think the only way to save this family is to break it up.”

Dean grabs the papers and skims the first page.

“You want a divorce?”

You can’t meet Dean’s eyes. If you do, you’ll break down in tears and give in. You’re done bending to what he wants. It’s time you try and protect your fragile heart.

“I won’t ever keep Alyssa from you, but I can’t do this anymore. I can’t keep wondering when the love of my life is going to come home, and if he does, will he be in one piece? I admire what you do and I know people need you, but I need you.” Your voice cracks and the tears come. “I’m losing weight, Dean. My eyes are sunken in. My head hurts all the damn time. I can’t sleep. I can’t eat properly. I can’t do this anymore.”

Dean crushes the papers in his hands and throws them onto the counter. He’s never been one to confront how he’s feeling, and this is one of those times. He wants to comfort you, but he doesn’t know how. He’d hate to do or say something he’d regret so he turns and storms out of the kitchen and out of the house. When the door slams behind him, you sink to the floor in tears.

It’s not like you don’t love him. You’re in love with him, but you can’t keep waiting for the other shoe to drop. You can’t keep waiting for death to come for you, Alyssa, or Dean.

Dean doesn’t know where to go but his brain is on overdrive. He drives straight back to the Bunker where Sam is. Dena has to talk to someone, he needs someone to tell him what to do because he doesn’t know what to do. Do you think he’s fine with leaving you for weeks at a time? It breaks his heart. He hates that you are living this hollow life. He knows you deserve more.

Sam knows something is wrong the second Dean walks into the war room, and he provides his brother with a listening ear. He knew this was coming. It was inevitable. When you live two lives, one of them always crumbles.

“What do you want to do?” Sam asks after Dean is done.

“I can’t lose her, Sammy, but if I continue doing what I’m doing, I will.”

Sam is silent for five minutes trying to find the right words to say.

“What if you let her go?” Dean looks at his brother with red-rimmed eyes. “What if letting her go is the only way to protect her? To protect both of them?”

“There has to be another way.” Dean puts his head down and actually cries. Sam has never seen his brother like this. A thought of realization crosses Dean’s mind, and he looks up at his brother. “There might be another way.”

Alyssa was disappointed when she got home from school and didn’t see Dean waiting there for her. You had to keep her distracted with a new toy, but you know this can’t go on like this for much longer. She’s getting older and smarter. She’ll figure out something is wrong with Mommy and Daddy fast.

She usually likes to stay up and watch movies with you, but she wants to go to bed early tonight. Maybe she’s hoping when she wakes up, Daddy will be there waiting for her. You’re downstairs with a glass of wine just staring at the divorce papers. The look on Dean’s face when he realized what they were… true heartbreak. It hurt for you to even bring this up, but you don’t know of any other way to make this work.

You have a pen in hand but you can’t seem to sign it. The front door opens and you look up to see Dean walk in. He’s back. You set the pen down but you don’t get up to greet him. You do set your glass of wine down on the kitchen island.

“Hi,” you whisper.

“Hi.” He walks into the light and you can tell he’d been crying for hours. His eyes are red and puffy, as you’re sure yours are. He sits next to you and looks at the papers. “Is this really what you want?”

“I don’t know any other way. It hurts when you’re not here. It hurts seeing you in pain. It just hurts so much.”

Dean grabs the pen but he doesn’t sign it. He just stares at it and thinks back to the conversation he had with his brother. There is a way to fix this. But if you don’t want it fixed, then he’ll sign.

“If I sign this, I don’t know if we’ll ever come back from it.”

“If you don’t, I don’t see how we can move on.”

He’s about to say something when a small voice comes from the top of the stairs. You both turn to see Alyssa in her pink pajamas holding the stuffed unicorn that Dean got her.

“Are you guys going to read me a bedtime story?”

You’re about to get up when Dean stops you. “Let me.”

Dean follows Alyssa to bed while you stay downstairs. You spent the entire time just staring at the divorce papers wondering if this is what you really want. Of course, it’s not. You don’t ever want to be apart from Dean. You love him so much. That’s why it hurts so much. Dean walks back downstairs thirty minutes later and rejoins you in the kitchen.

“Look, if we’re going to do this, I think it’s best if you leave before the morning.”

“No.”

You look at Dean. “What?”

“No, I’m not doing this. I’m not getting a divorce.”

“Dean…”

“No, listen to me. I never knew I could have what you have given to me. I thought I was going to die bloody and that was that. Then you came along and showed me there is more to this world than blood and gore. Then Alyssa came alone and I had the apple pie life I’ve always wanted. I hunt for you and her. I hunt to keep them away from you, but I now see it’s tearing you apart. So, you think I’m broken? Fix me. ‘Cause I’m no quitter. I’ll fix me. I’ll work better on us for us.”

Tears well in your eyes and roll down your cheeks in waves. “I don’t think you’re broken. Our system is broken. I love you, Dean, but I can’t keep coming in second.”

Dean grabs both of your hands and runs his thumbs across their backs.

“You don’t have to anymore. I talked to Sam. I’m out.”

You pull your hands back “Wait, what?”

“I’m done hunting. Sam agreed he’d call if he needs help researching, but I won’t be hunting anymore.”

“You love hunting,” you whisper.

He touches your cheek gently. “I love you more.”

“What about Sam? Who will do it with him?”

“Jody has a few girls she’s been training. Sam loves to teach. I think they’d be good with him. Plus, he has Eileen and Garth and Donna.”

You shake your head as you try to wrap your mind around this. “Wait, Dean, I can’t ask you to give up hunting. That’s who you are.”

“You are who I am. Alyssa is who I am. I’d do anything for you and that includes this. I’m okay with this decision, but I am not okay with divorcing you because I am not done loving you.” You break out in a fit of sobs and Dean pulls you closer to him. “I will always be here. I won’t leave anymore. Sam even found me a mechanic job near here.”

“You’d really do that for me?” you whisper, unable to believe it still.

“I’d burn the world for you.” You lean up and kiss him with everything you’ve got. He pulls away from you and grabs the divorce papers. He rips them to shreds and tosses them into the trash. “It’s me and you, okay?”

“Forever and always.”

Dean captures your lips again, this time, picking you up by your thighs. This isn’t going to fix everything but it’s one hell of a start.

x

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[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

[angstywaifu]

Underestimated - Bodhi Durran

Request/Prompt: Bodhi and reader get into a fight during challenges because Bodhi underestimates her and she kicks his ass. And he finds it really hot and maybe they end up sleeping together from @fictional-babes-inc

Warnings: sparing/fighting, slightly dominant Bodhi. Masterlist | Support Me

Name after name gets called. Riders pairing up against each other on the mat, all of us trying to prove ourselves. It was the one thing the Rider’s Quadrant never lacked. Competition. We were all trying to be the best, trying to make sure we came out on top while we fought on these mats. Especially with Threshing fast approaching. We all wanted to prove we were the better fighter or take out those we saw as threats. And I loved the thrill of it.

”You look like you’re itching for a challenge.” Garrick teases from next to me.

He knew better than anyone how much I enjoyed being on the mat. Having been in the same foster home we knew each other very well. The only person who knew him better than me was probably Xaden, as they knew each other before the rebellion. My parents were part of the rebellion, but they were as high up and were a later addition to the cause. Meaning I didn’t know a lot of the other marked ones as well as the others.

”You know me too well. It’s been too long since I’ve been on that mat.” I tell him with a smile which he mirrors back.

I’d somehow managed to escape being called up for any challenges last week, meaning it had been almost two weeks since I’d been on the mat for a challenge. I’d missed it.

”Tavis, you’re up.” The professor calls up as he waves Garrick over to an open mat, a Cadet from my year going pale at the sight of Garrick walking over. Good luck kid.

Not long after Garrick walks away, Bodhi slots into his place. Yet again late for challenges. I swear he was never on time.

”Are you ever going to be on time for this?” I tease him, rocking into his shoulder as he playfully shoves me away.

”One day, but don’t hold your breath.” He teases back with a goofy grin.

I roll my eyes and shake my head. “Don’t worry, I’m not.”

He laughs in response before turning his attention back to the challenges at hand, mine drifting to Garrick who has the first year pinned to the mat already, their face bright red as Garrick cuts off their airflow with his arm. And he wonders why most of my year are afraid of him.

”Y/N and Felix, you’re up.” The professor calls across the room.

As I go to step forward Bodhi grabs my arm. “He’s going to knock you out, don’t.”

I furrow my brow at Bodhi. Due to his lateness to nearly every challenge he’d never actually seen me fight. And honestly the way he questions my ability now hurts. Especially seeing as Xaden had excused me from the training he had allocated to the other marked ones who were lacking in their fighting skills.

”Don’t think I can handle myself?” I challenge as I step towards him, Bodhi swallowing nervously.

”No, I’m sure I can. But…. He’s like triple you’re size.” He says nervously, clearly noting he’s angered me.

Fine, he thinks I can’t handle myself, I’ll prove him wrong.

I turn my head towards the Professor who is looking at us with a furrowed brow, clearly not liking Bodhi’s interruption. “I’d like to challenge Bodhi Durran instead.”

I feel Bodhi’s grasp on my arm slacken. “Y/N, that’s not what I me-”

”Done. On the mat Cadets.”

I free my arm from Bodhi’s grip, walking past a Garrick who laughs and shakes his head as he heads back to our spot. “Have fun Bodhi.”

I hear Bodhi stutter behind me, worry clearly setting in as he follow me to the mat. He wants to underestimate me? Fine. Just be prepared for the consequences. I turn on the mat to face Bodhi, seeing Garrick and Xaden standing where we were moments ago trying to contain their laughter as Bodhi joins me on the mat.

We both settle into a fighting stance and I’m glad to see a determined look to cross Bodhi’s face. He better not go easy on me. And I hope Garrick’s words were enough for him to rethink his approach to me.

Despite him underestimating me, Bodhi is the first to move, lunging forward as he aims a quick jab at my shoulder. I can tell there isn’t much power behind it, clearly testing how I would react and move. I lean back just enough to feel the air rush past me as he missed by a few inches. I watch as his brow twitches with surprise as I sidestep it with ease.

”Nice reflexes.” He praises as we start to circle each other.

I shrug and smirk at him. “Didn’t think you’d be so predictable.”

I watch as he smirks at my words, clearly seeing the challenge I’ve laid out for him. He might be the softer and more docile version of Xaden and Garrick, but deep down he was the same, you just had to find the right buttons to push.

This time he comes at my harder, faster, his strikes becoming more and more calculated. But unlike him, I’d had weeks to study how he fought. Studying his rhythm, the way he shifted his weight around. He steps towards me, throwing a right hook which I’d seen him do before. I duck low, twisting around him before landing a punch in his back.

’See, predictable.” I tease again.

Bodhi turns and smiles at me before charging at me again, feinting left before he aims a kick towards my ribs. I catch his leg mid air and sweep his other foot out from under him, Bodhi hitting the mat with a loud thud, his shocked expression priceless as I stand over him, pinning him to the mat as I press my foot into his shoulder.

”You good down there?” I joke as he squirms under me.

Bodhi just growls in frustration as he shoves my foot off him, rolling back to his feet as he settles back into a fighting stance. He comes at me again faster and sharper, trying to change things up. Just like Felix, Bodhi had size and strength over me. But I could use that to my advantage like I always did. I let him come at me, blocking and dodging till I see the opening I need. I let him come at me, blocking and dodging until I saw the opening I needed. And when it came I didn’t hesitate. A swift strike to his shoulder throwing him off balance, followed by a solid kick to his knee sending him stumbling backwards onto the mat again, his body landing with a loud thud.

”Point proven.” He grunts out as he rubs the pack of his head which had just missed hitting the mat and had landed on the wooden floor.

”You’re not a sore loser, are you?” I ask, holding my hand out to him.

He grasps my hand, pushing off the ground as I pull him up. “Not when the fights this fun,” he murmurs, his eyes flicking to my lips for just a fraction of a second. He catches himself, looking away quickly, but I saw it. Felt the intensity behind his eyes.

I step back, giving him room to breathe, though part of me wants to see what would happen if I didn’t. “Let me know when you’re ready for a rematch.” I say, turning towards the edge of the mat.

”I might need a minute to recover, from all of that.” He calls out to me.

Just before I step back into the crowd I turn and look at Bodhi, a smirking pulling at the corners of my mouth. “That’s a shame, because I don’t.”

Bodhi’s eyes go wide as Garrick chokes on his laughter as Xaden thumps him on the back, barely containing his own laughter. I don’t wait to see what Bodhi does, pushing through the crowd towards the doors.

”Dude, if you don’t go after her I might just do it.” I hear Garrick say from behind me, a muffled ow sounding from behind me that sounds awfully like Garrick as I step through the doors.

I know Bodhi has followed me when I don’t hear the door close behind me, the sound of rushed feet fast approaching me. I barely turn around before his hands grasp my hips, spinning me around as he lifts me up, pinning me to the wall.

My breath catches as my back meets the cold surface, the contrast sharp against the heat radiating from his body. His grip is firm, commanding, but his touch isn’t rough—it’s deliberate.

“Do you ever stop running circles around me?” Bodhi’s voice is low, gravelly, and it sends a shiver down my spine. His eyes lock onto mine, dark and unreadable, and I can feel the tension rolling off him in waves.

“I wasn’t running,” I manage to say, my voice breathless, betraying me. “You’re just slow.”

His lips curve into a slow, dangerous smile, but there’s something softer beneath it, something that makes my pulse race even faster. “Oh, is that how it is?” he murmurs, his thumb brushing against my hip, just barely enough to be noticed. “Because from where I’m standing, you’ve been in my head since the moment you walked across that Parapet.

I don’t know if it’s the way he’s looking at me—like I’m the only thing he can see—or the fact that I can feel his heartbeat against my chest, strong and steady despite the chaos between us. All I know is that my walls, the ones I’ve spent years perfecting, feel like they’re crumbling under the weight of this moment.

“You’re in mine too,” I admit, the words slipping out before I can stop them. They hang in the air between us, daring him to make the next move.

His smile fades, replaced by something deeper, more intense. “Say that again,” he whispers, his forehead resting against mine, his breath warm against my skin.

I swallow hard, my hands gripping his shoulders for balance—or maybe just to ground myself. “You’re in my head too, Bodhi. And it’s... infuriating.”

He exhales a soft laugh, his lips brushing against my temple as if testing the boundaries. “Good. At least we’re even.”

Before I can respond, he leans in, closing the gap between us, his lips hovering over mine. He hesitates for the briefest moment, his eyes searching mine for permission. And when I don’t pull away—when I tilt my head ever so slightly toward him—it’s all the confirmation he needs.

The kiss is bold, unapologetic, and all-consuming. It’s everything I don’t associate with the Bodhi I’ve come to know. The kind and caring Bodhi everyone sees. It’s not careful or slow—it’s fire and fury, a culmination of every unspoken word, every stolen glance, every moment we’ve danced around this. My hands slide up to tangle in his hair, pulling him closer, as if proximity could quench the heat building between us. It doesn’t. If anything, it makes it worse.

When we finally break apart, both of us breathing hard, he doesn’t let go. His hands stay firmly on my hips, his forehead pressed to mine, his lips ghosting over the corner of my mouth like he’s not ready to let the moment end.

“You drive me insane,” he says softly, his voice rough but laced with a hint of amusement.

“Good,” I reply, a small, breathless smile tugging at my lips. “At least we agree on that."

[luxerians]

The Last Mask (17.2)

Hwang In-ho/Oh Young-il/Player 001 x Reader

Chapter 17.2 - Keep You From Burning [NSFW]

Story Masterlist

NEXT : Chapter 18.2

PREV : Chapter 16

SFW ver. : Chapter 17.1

[Hwang In-ho’s Flashback…]

Hwang In-ho stood among the desperate, the hopeless, the damned. The neon glow of the voting panel illuminated the sea of green tracksuits, reflecting off the dull, exhausted eyes of players who had just witnessed how real this game was. He exhaled slowly, suppressing the satisfaction curling in his chest.

This was why he had come. To witness this firsthand. To prove that Seong Gi-hun’s naïve idealism was nothing more than a delusion. That these people weren’t victims. They were willing participants.

Gi-hun had begged them to quit, to see reason. But several players had openly rebuked and reprimanded him. Even when he admitted that he had won these games before, some didn’t believe him. Many doubted him. Then, player 100, a man drowning in a 10-billion debt, spoke up.

“Then let’s use him,” he declared, looking around the crowd. “If he really won, then he knows how to survive. We can use him to win this together.”

A murmur of consideration spread through the players. That’s when In-ho heard a scoff. Heads turned, including his, and he spotted her among the X zone. Player 423.

She looked out of place here. She didn’t look like someone who had been swallowed by debt. Even the way she carried herself was different. Calm, assessing, like she had already weighed all possible outcomes.

She met player 100’s eyes and spoke evenly. “Do you really think the next games will be exactly the same as before? They know there’s a previous winner here. They’re not going to let him give us an advantage. The games could be entirely different tomorrow, but we know one thing. Elimination means death. We should prioritize surviving over chasing money.”

In-ho watched closely, intrigued. Well, at least someone is using their brain here. But he knew it wouldn’t matter. The greedy always drowned out the rational.

And just as he expected, her words weren’t met with agreement. The desperate fools snapped back, dismissing her concerns. Their desire for wealth overrode logic. It was pathetic, really.

He glanced at Gi-hun, eager to see that moment of despair in his face. See? he thought. They don’t want to be saved. They never did. Gi-hun’s righteous crusade was laughable. He had come in, thinking he could be a hero, but these people weren’t his followers. They were gamblers who had already decided to risk it all.

Gi-hun moved to the back of the room, toward the unvoted players. A last attempt to change their minds. Desperate, In-ho mused. Pitiful.

Before Gi-hun could reach them, a triangle guard stepped forward and raised an MP5. The room tensed as Gi-hun froze, slowly raising his hands in surrender.

“From here on, we will not tolerate actions that disrupt the voting process,” the square-masked guard announced coldly.

In-ho smirked, barely hiding his satisfaction. There it is. The proof. You thought they were forced into this? That they were victims? Look at them, Gi-hun. They chose this. Just like they always will.

So much for ‘forced into it.’

Minutes into the vote, a slight movement came among the crowd of players in the X zone, and player 423 appeared. She moved quietly, heading straight for Gi-hun, who still had an MP5 aimed at him. Without hesitation, she reached for his sleeve and grasped it.

She spoke softly, “Come on. Let’s go back in.”

Just like that, the soldier lowered their weapon, no longer seeing Gi-hun as a threat. Without another word, the latter followed 423 back into the X zone.

In-ho’s dark eyes noticed how several players were staring at you with lingering look.

His turn to vote came quickly. Stepping up to the voting counter as player 001, he briefly wondered if Gi-hun would grow suspicious of him. The last time Gi-hun played these games, player 001 had been Oh Il-nam – the host of the Squid Game in South Korea.

With a neutral expression, In-ho pressed O.

A roar of cheers erupted from the O players behind him. Greedy fools, celebrating their own downfall. With his back facing the crowd, his lips curled into a smirk. These people had chosen this. Gi-hun’s attempt at playing the hero had been nothing but a joke. They weren’t forced. They weren’t trapped. They were exactly where they wanted to be.

He spun around, his gaze immediately landing on Gi-hun. The man stood still, eyes cast downward, shoulders heavy with the weight of failure. In-ho’s smirk deepened. There it is, he thought. That crushing realization. You’re not the hero they wanted, Gi-hun. You’re just another fool who thought he could change them.

But before he could fully savor the sight, player 423 nudged Gi-hun gently, whispering something to him. Without hesitation, Gi-hun and player 390 turned and followed her back to their corner.

In-ho’s eyes stayed on player 423.

Is she the type to keep propping him up? To keep feeding his delusions? He had seen it before. People clinging to the idea of hope, of salvation. Was she one of them? Or was she something else entirely?

For now, he would watch. He had time, after all.

***

“Help us then, sir.”

Gi-hun, player 423, and 390 looked up. Gi-hun’s expression hardened immediately, but player 390 and 423 studied In-ho more carefully. Gi-hun didn’t respond at first. He seemed content to ignore them. But In-ho knew how to get him to talk.

He just had to appeal to his ‘heroism.’

So, he did. “Honestly, I was scared. I wanted to quit and leave. But you made me think maybe I could play just one more game.”

That got Gi-hun’s attention. Just as expected.

Before Gi-hun could respond, player 423 spoke up, her voice calm but pointed. “Looks like it’s a bad idea revealing you’re a previous winner.”

In-ho almost smirked.

Gi-hun turned to player 423. “I thought it would make everyone understand… that everyone here is doomed to die as long as we stay here.”

Player 423 nodded silently, accepting Gi-hun’s reasoning, before glancing over at In-ho. Their eyes met, and she held the contact for a moment before looking away, almost bashfully.

In-ho didn’t break his gaze, but when she finally looked away, he turned back to Gi-hun and laid out his first trap. “Sir, you know which game’s next, don’t you?”

Gi-hun fell for it and announced to everyone nearby that the next game would be Dalgona.

“Four shapes? Which was the easiest one?” player 390 asked quickly.

“Triangle.”

“Which was the hardest?” 390 pressed.

“Umbrella.”

“Umbrella?” In-ho scoffed, a mocking smile tugging at his lips. “Some people actually chose umbrella? Those unlucky bastards must have bitten the dust.”

Gi-hun looked at him pointedly, obviously feeling the jab. In-ho held his stare, enjoying the brief flicker of irritation.

As player 100 suggested keeping this information to themselves, Gi-hun spoke up “heroically”, stating that he was sharing it with everyone in order to save their lives.

“And we don’t even know if the next game will really be Dalgona,” player 423 added.

In-ho glanced at her again. She wasn’t wrong. So far, she was the only one who had spoken with intelligence and logic in this room.

After a while, all of the other players left the corner except for In-ho. He carefully observed the three individuals in Gi-hun's small group. It is time to become part of his inner circle, he thought.

Once he got an opportunity to slip in, In-ho finally spoke up, asking why Gi-hun came back after winning. Gi-hun explained that he saw the money as belonging to the people who had died in the game.

In-ho thought Gi-hun’s guilt was pointless. He told him that feeling bad wouldn’t bring anyone back, but Gi-hun argued that if he had voted for X, they could have all escaped. In-ho calmly reminded him that 186 players had chosen to stay, proving that they wanted to be there.

The tension between them grew as Gi-hun refused to change his mind. He still believed he could save people. Before the argument could get worse, player 390 stepped in, telling them to focus on surviving the next game instead.

In-ho smirked to himself. Gi-hun was easy to figure out. Full of guilt, easy to upset, and determined to be a hero. That made him the perfect person for In-ho to control.

“But we can’t always rely on him,” player 423 interjected. “He doesn’t need more pressure from everyone expecting too much from him.”

In-ho noted her words carefully. Unlike the others, she wasn’t looking for a leader to follow blindly. She understood the weight Gi-hun carried and didn’t want to add to it.

He had expected the usual desperation – the kind that turned people into obedient followers. Yet, here she was, pulling in the opposite direction. Did she genuinely care about Gi-hun’s well-being or was she trying to keep the focus off of him? Either way, it was something worth watching.

He kept his expression neutral, but inside, he calculated his next move. For now, he just listened. Observing. Waiting. Timing was everything.

In-ho sat quietly as player 388, now introducing himself as Kang Dae-ho, approached Gi-hun’s group with eagerness. He claimed they needed to stick together and quickly tried to integrate himself, offering a handshake. Player 390 wasn’t convinced and dismissed him with skepticism.

Dae-ho hesitated, scanning the group. He glanced briefly at In-ho, who kept his head lowered, and then at Gi-hun, who barely acknowledged him. But then his eyes landed on player 423. She was the only one who didn’t look at him with doubt and In-ho watched closely as she accepted his handshake. He found her openness naïve but useful. She was clearly someone people gravitated toward.

Soon enough, Dae-ho and player 390 fell into an exaggerated display of military pride, loudly exchanging salutes and class numbers.

In-ho kept his expression neutral when player 423 asked whether Marines commonly got tattoos like that.

Seeing an opportunity to reinforce his harmless old-man act, In-ho spoke, “It’s not officially required, but many in the ROKMC see it as a tradition.”

She nodded in understanding, her curiosity seemingly satisfied.

In-ho watched as she turned away from the over-the-top military display between player 390 and 388. Unlike the others, she didn’t seem easily swept up in pointless distractions. She began cleaning up her lunchbox, taking slow sips from her water bottle, before glancing at him.

“Have you eaten already?” she asked casually.

He met her gaze and gave a warm, practiced smile. “Yes, I have.”

She nodded, returning his smile without hesitation. “Good. The food they prepared for us was worth it. It’s a waste not to eat it.”

In-ho felt amused. This will be the last time you will have proper meal, he thought.

Then, shifting her attention, she looked at Gi-hun’s untouched lunchbox. “You need to eat, sir. It’s better to mull things over with a full stomach.”

Gi-hun hesitated but finally complied, opening his lunchbox and eating without a word. In-ho took note of this. Although this was their first time meeting each other, player 423 had an influence over Gi-hun. Her words made him act. That was useful.

A moment later, she leaned slightly closer to him, lowering her voice. “By the way, do you know where the ladies’ restroom is?”

He gestured toward the right side of the main double doors. “That one there. The other is for the men.”

“Oh, thanks. Wouldn’t want to get lost and get shot by the guards.”

As player 423 chuckled lightly at her own joke, In-ho noticed – again – a few men sent glances at you from behind.

In-ho turned his attention back on you and smiled in hilarity. “I’m sure the guards would bring you back here if you were lost.”

She chuckled softly. “That’s comforting to know.”

Their exchange was simple, but it caught his attention. She appeared cautious and not foolishly overconfident either. Despite the situation, she managed to maintain a ray of smiles. In-ho couldn't help but assume that she was the type to hide her fear and dread behind a facade of happiness and reassurance.

“If you don’t mind me asking… why did you come here?” he asked, his voice gentle.

For the first time, she hesitated. Gi-hun, who had been listening, turned his head slightly, but said nothing. Then, with a fake smile In-ho caught on right away, she answered, “I needed the money.”

Predictable. Everyone here did. But he wanted more. “That’s all of us. But if I may say… I’m surprised. A lady like you shouldn’t have to bear the burden of crippling debt.”

Something shifted in her expression. The polished calm wavered just slightly.

She looked away, her gaze falling to the floor. When she spoke again, her voice was quieter. “The debts are my parents’, actually.”

In-ho studied you carefully. The way you hesitated, how your eyes darted away. It told him something. There was more to your story, more than just a desperate need for money. He filed the observation away, storing it for later. You weren’t like the others. They were here to survive for themselves. But you? You carried a weight that wasn’t entirely your own.

He had seen people like you before. People who took on burdens that weren’t theirs to carry, who fought battles that weren’t meant to be their own. It made them strong in some ways, but vulnerable in others. A person like that could break under the wrong kind of pressure.

Then, a fight had broken out on the other side of the dormitory. Player 333 was on the floor, getting beaten by player 230 and his lackey (124). The crowd did nothing, just stood there, frozen with fear or disinterest. Even player 390 and Dae-ho, who had been loud moments before, simply watched, their sleeves still rolled up, tattoos exposed.

Then, player 423 spoke. “Good thing I finished eating. Still, ganging up on him is just unfair.”

Her words made In-ho glance at her. She seemed frustrated, maybe even considering stepping in. He realized this could be a chance to earn Gi-hun's group's trust. By stepping in first, he could present himself as someone reliable, someone worth keeping close.

In-ho stood up. He strode ahead, walking past player 390 and Dae-ho, approaching the unfair fight with steady steps.

He ultimately had to physically overpower the two bullies, which he did with ease that was almost comical. When he let go of player 230, the entire room erupted into cheers and praises.

In-ho observed the unexpected praise that followed. The applause and admiration were foreign to him in this environment. He hadn’t expected approval – only fear or wariness. Yet here they were, cheering. It reminded him of when he became a police officer, a job he had dedicated his entire youth to. Back then, the respect and admiration of others had felt earned, a validation of his sacrifice.

Even player 423 clapped, her expression genuine. She had no doubt taken note of his ability, but rather than suspicion, she responded with admiration.

As he walked back toward their corner, he caught player 390 and Dae-ho murmuring among themselves. Soon, he arrived at the corner, and both boys looked at him with newfound respect.

“Sir, that was incredible,” player 390 said, clearly impressed. “Where did you learn to fight like that?”

Dae-ho added, “Seriously, the way you took them down without breaking a sweat. Are you some kind of martial artist or what?”

In-ho smiled, keeping the mystery alive. “Let’s just say I’ve picked up a thing or two along the way.”

The two men nodded in unison, seemingly satisfied.

“Man of mystery,” Dae-ho muttered appreciatively.

Player 423, however, leaned forward slightly. Her voice was softer and caring. “But you’re not hurt at all, right? You seemed upset.”

Her concern was unexpected. In-ho turned to her, meeting her gaze, and let his smile soften. “Not at all. I left and came back the same.”

Player 390 and Dae-ho continued to marvel at him, the earlier tension in the dormitory now fading. The fight had made its mark, and In-ho knew he had established himself as someone not to be underestimated. But player 423’s reaction lingered in his mind till that evening.

In-ho found out that player 423’s kindness and hesitation made her easy to manipulate. She was cautious but not distrustful, willing to take advice if it sounded reasonable. That was exactly the kind of person he needed to secure his place within Gi-hun’s group. If he played his role well – friendly, wise, and unassuming – he could ensure that no one suspected his true identity.

***

As the robotic voice announced the second game, instructing players to form teams of six, In-ho watched the tension rise. Player 390 immediately questioned Gi-hun about Dalgona, but before he could answer, player 100 and his group approached.

“Isn’t this the Dalgona game?” player 100 asked bluntly.

Gi-hun’s subdued response confirmed otherwise. The disappointment on his face was unmistakable. He had wanted to help, but the reality was settling in. The games weren’t the same to his past experience. In-ho smirked inwardly at Gi-hun’s naivety.

Player 100’s patience snapped. His frustration boiled over as he accused Gi-hun of misleading them. The anger in his voice drew attention, fueling the simmering tension in the room.

Before things could escalate further, player 423 spoke up. She directly challenged player 100, reminding him that she had warned the games wouldn’t be the same. In-ho watched with interest as she held her ground. But instead of backing down, player 100 turned his ire on her, mocking her intelligence and ridiculing her for speaking up.

In-ho couldn't help but notice player 423's shocked expression when the old man hurled his insults at her. She had been all smiles just moments before. Suddenly, he felt a spark ignite within him – something he hadn't felt since losing his job and his wife’s passing.

That's when he decided to intervene.

With measured steps, he positioned himself between them, his expression cold and dark. His voice carried quiet authority as he uttered a simple but firm warning: “That’s enough.”

Player 100 and his lackeys finally walked away, still clinging to their bravado, throwing sneers in Gi-hun’s direction. The moment they left, Gi-hun turned to his group and muttered an apology, guilt weighing heavy in his voice.

That was exactly the opening In-ho had been waiting for.

He stepped in first, his voice calm and reassuring, telling Gi-hun there was no need to apologize. He even expressed his hope to be on the same team with him. The reaction was immediate. Gi-hun looked at him in surprise as if struggling to believe that someone still trusted him after his miscalculation.

In-ho inwardly smiled. The doubt in Gi-hun’s eyes quickly melted into something closer to relief. He had taken the bait. Gaining trust this easily almost made In-ho pity him. Almost. But he wasn’t done yet. He had to play the long game, solidify himself as someone reliable, someone Gi-hun would lean on without question.

And when the time was right, Gi-hun would tell him everything. His plans, his thoughts, how he intended to stop this game operation.

All In-ho had to do was wait.

However, he didn’t take you into account.

Once Dae-ho left the circle to find another player for their team, Player 423 suddenly turned to In-ho, her expression soft, her eyes warm with quiet admiration. A small, sincere smile spread across her lips.

“By the way, thank you for the back-up.”

In-ho turned to her, momentarily caught off guard. The way she looked at him – tilting her head slightly, her gaze innocent – was the epitome of gratitude. There was no hesitation, no manipulation, no ulterior motive. Just pure appreciation, directed entirely at him.

It had been a long time since anyone had looked at him like this.

He had spent years living in cold detachment, watching people from behind a mask, always calculating his next move. Affection, trust, admiration. Those were tools to be used, emotions to manipulate. And yet, standing here, looking into her eyes, he felt something stir inside him. Something unfamiliar.

Warmth.

It was so human. He rarely allowed himself to feel anything beyond necessity, but this was different. It was a quiet reminder of who he had been before everything in his life fell apart.

Before he lost her.

His wife had once looked at him like this. And now, here was another girl whom he did not know the name yet, seeing him as just a man. A man worth looking at, worth appreciating. She unknowingly stirred that same feeling within him. It unsettled him yet he wanted to bask in it more.

In-ho returned the smile to smile. “It’s no problem. If he or his friends say anything rude or try to push you around, just tell me. I’ll protect you.”

In-ho took in the way her expression shifted – soft, unguarded, and almost shy. It was rare for him to be looked at like this, not with suspicion or calculation, but with something gentler, something warmer. He realized then that they had been holding eye contact for a long moment, neither of them breaking away.

His eyes traced the way hers flickered slightly, dipping down just for a second, to his lips, before returning to his gaze. He wasn’t sure if she even realized she had done it, but he had.

For once, he let himself linger in the moment. No plans, no calculations, no manipulations. It’s just the quiet, shared space between them. Because for the first time in a long while, he didn’t mind being seen like a normal person.

This would be for a short while, he thought. At least before her elimination… unless she ends up winning these games.

Dae-ho had secured another teammate – another Marine – and the group seemed satisfied. Then, a petite girl, player 222, approached and asked to join. When she revealed that she was pregnant, the entire circle instinctively glanced at her belly.

In-ho’s thoughts drifted for a moment. Had the recruiter known about her condition before she was pulled into the game? Perhaps not. She was small, and her belly wasn’t prominent. It was possible she had managed to hide it from everyone.

Then, before anyone else could respond, player 423 spoke up, “You know what? Take her and Mr. 096. I’ll go find another team.”

She was already stepping out of the circle when In-ho moved without thinking, his hand coming to rest gently on her shoulder.

It was instinctive. He wasn’t sure when it had happened, but somewhere between the small moments they had shared, between her quiet strength and the warmth in her voice, she had become someone he wanted to keep close.

Could it be that he’s clinging onto something that made him feel warm and human after so many cold and isolated years? Or perhaps he at least wanted to bask in her warm embrace before she gets eliminated.

His fingers curled slightly, just enough to make sure she didn’t take another step. She turned, eyes wide in surprise, and that’s when he noticed another hand land on her other shoulder. Player 390. Then, Gi-hun and Dae-ho took a step forward.

In a tangle of overlapping words, all of them spoke at once, “No, no, no.”

***

[Back to present…]

The metallic rasp of the zipper filled the room as Young-il tugged it down. Your breath caught in your throat with each inch the fabric parted. The zipper stopped at your belly button, revealing your bra as the cool air kissed your newly exposed, sweaty skin.

Young-il broke the kiss only briefly to glare down and yank the jumpsuit off your shoulders with a sharp tug impatiently. It slid down your arms and past your elbows, catching for a moment on your wrists before you sat up and he released them from the confines of the garment. You lied back down with the sleeves puddling around your waist, revealing the creamy expanse of your skin.

Your breath came in short, sharp gasps, lips parted invitingly. Young-il wasted no time, capturing your mouth in another searing kiss. His lips moved demandingly against yours, tongue delving deep, exploring and claiming. You found yourself powerless to resist as your own tongue danced with his.

He rolled his hips against yours, pinning you beneath him as he savored the taste of your mouth. The heat of his body seared through the thick fabric of his black outfit. With his body pressing you down, you could feel every hard plane and angle of his body, the solid muscle beneath the material.

The kiss grew more urgent as if he was losing control. His hands roamed over your newly bared flesh. Gloved fingers skimmed over the soft swell of your breasts, grazing over nipples that pebbled under his touch. His thumbs circled the hardened peaks, teasing them to stiffness.

His hands then slid down to your hips, gripping the bunched up fabric of your jumpsuit. With a swift, impatient tug, he yanked the garment downwards, peeling it down. The material slid over your thighs, calves, and finally off your feet. He tossed the crumpled jumpsuit aside carelessly, leaving you bare before him except for your bra and panties.

You focused your gaze on Young-il’s face and was rendered breathless. His gaze darkened with lust as his eyes devoured every inch of your newly exposed skin. The dim light of his bedroom cast shadows that accentuated your curves, rendering you practically radiant to his hungry gaze. He leaned down, his breath hot against your neck before his lips found your flesh. He trailed open-mouthed kisses along the column of your throat and the delicate line of your collarbone.

You turned your head to the side, a sudden bashfulness overcoming you as you whimpered almost inaudibly, “Wait... I'm sweaty. Let me take a shower first.”

“No need,” he breathed. He seemed undeterred. If anything, the sheen of sweat on your body only served to excite him further, highlighting the beauty of your form in the most intimate way.

His hands began to explore your naked body, his gloved fingers skimming over your skin. He traced the swell of your breasts, the dip of your waist, the flare of your hips. Each touch left a trail of goosebumps in its wake, your body responding eagerly to his caress.

Young-il's gloved fingers slid over the smooth fabric of your bra, tracing the delicate lace and satin that covered your breasts. With a quick flick of his wrist, he unhooked the clasp and tossed the garment aside, leaving you completely exposed to him.

His gaze lingered on your bare chest, his eyes taking in every detail as if committing it to memory. Your cheeks flushed with a delicate pink as you averted your gaze, your hands trembling slightly as they rested on either side of your head on the soft sheets. Your body was revealed in all its vulnerability as his heated and possessive gaze bore into you. You couldn't help but feel self-conscious under his intense scrutiny, your body still glistening with a light layer of sweat.

He reached out and gently squeezed your breast, causing it to pucker. Lowering his head, he traced a path between your breasts with his tongue, eliciting a soft moan from you as you arched closer to him.

He peppered kisses along the slope of your breast before taking one nipple into his mouth, sucking and playing it with his tongue. Whimpers and moans escaped your lips as your body responded to his touch. The room was filled with the rustling of sheets as you moved against them and the sound of his tongue flicking against your skin. The bed frame creaked as he shifted to better explore your body.

Without breaking eye contact with you, he let go of your wet nipple, saliva still connecting his mouth to your breast. You couldn’t help but stare at his eyes – dark and clouded with lust. He then moved to suckle on your other nipple, sending waves of pleasure through your body. His hands roamed over your skin, exploring every inch of you as he continued to trail kisses down your body.

He reached the waistband of your panties and hesitated for a moment, his dark gaze flicking up to meet yours. In their depths, you saw a swirl of hunger, of desire, of something almost primal. It made your heart race and your breath catch in your throat.

With a sudden jerk, his gloved hands grabbed at the edges of the fabric, pulling them down your thighs. You gasped as the cool air brushed against your exposed skin. He discarded the last piece of your clothing just as carelessly as he had done with your bra.

His gloved hands reached for your thighs and brought them up against your stomach, folding you in half. You yelped in surprise, the suddenness of his movement caught you off guard. You felt exposed and vulnerable in this intimate position. Your body was fully on display for him to see. It sent shivers down your spine.

His dark eyes clouded in arousal as he stared down at your exposed sex. The smooth skin and delicate folds of your lower lips were on full display. He reached out with a gloved hand and ran a single finger along your slit, feeling the heat radiating from your arousal. A low, approving groan rumbled in his chest.

You averted your eyes to the side. With a shy and almost embarrassed expression, you crossed your arms over your chest as if trying to regain some sense of modesty after being fully exposed. Your exposed breasts were pressed together under your arms.

With his hands on the back of your thighs, he pushed your legs further apart, opening you fully to his hungry gaze. His breath, hot and heavy with desire, fanned over your most intimate place. You shuddered, your hips twitching with anticipation.

Without warning, he leaned in and dragged the flat of his tongue along your folds, tasting your essence. A gasp of pleasure and shock escaped your lips. Your body jolted in pleasure, the rustling of sheets accompanied you, as your hands fisted in the sheets.

The wet, slick sound of his tongue moving over your folds was interspersed with quiet gasps and moans from both you and him. The wetness between your legs created a symphony of sensual sounds as he licked and sucked. You could hear the slight squelching noises as he delved deeper, his tongue flicking and circling your sensitive clit. As he drew more of your juices to the surface, your body thrashed in pleasure on the bed as he drove you towards bliss.

His hands gripped your thighs tighter, holding you in place as he feasted on you. You were helpless to do anything but feel, your body writhing with pleasure. Obscene slurping and sucking sounds filled the room as he ate you out with gusto.

You were locked in place and helpless. Your body twisted and writhed on the bed, unable to control the waves of ecstasy that washed over you. The sounds of wet licking and sucking filled the air, punctuated by your moans and gasps of pleasure. Each slurp and suck echoed off the walls, mixing with the rustling of sheets and your frenzied movements to create a soundtrack of lust and animalistic desire.

As your body began to quiver and your slick walls fluttered around his tongue, he sensed your impending climax. Your thighs trembled and clenched around his head as your moans grew louder and more desperate. The wetness between your legs increased, coating his chin and dripping down onto the sheets below.

He could feel your body tensing, your back arching off the bed as your climax approached. Your fingers tangled in the sheets, gripping them tightly as if trying to hold yourself in place. You were teetering on the brink, ready to plunge into the sea of ecstasy that awaited you.

Just as your orgasm was about to crash over you like a tidal wave, he suddenly pulled away. His face emerged from between your thighs, glistening with your essence. You let out a sound of dismay, your body still coiled and yearning for release. You turned to look at him, your eyes wide with distress. His eyes were dark and focused on you as he wiped your juices from his chin.

As soon as he saw the disappointment on your face, a smirk appeared on his lips. He said, “Not yet, sweetheart. I have another place for you to come all over.”

His words sent a thrill down your spine, your pussy clenching at the crude promise. You could feel the hard bulge of his arousal pressing insistently against your thigh, hot and thick even through his clothing.

Suddenly, he captured your mouth in a searing kiss, letting you taste yourself on his lips and tongue. A symphony of breathless moans and gasps filled the room, accompanied by the wet sounds of your kissing. Meanwhile, the rustle of fabric echoed in the room as their bodies pressed together, accompanied by his hands expertly moving and exploring her body, eliciting soft whimpers and sighs from her.

He suddenly pulled away from the intense kiss, leaving you breathless and wanting. You watched with heavy-lidded eyes as he leveraged himself up and knelt between your still-spread thighs.

His dark, intense gaze remained locked onto you as he slowly peeled off his gloves. The black leather fell away and he then began to remove his own clothing. He took off his black coat, revealing the toned muscle beneath inch by tantalizing inch. His chest was broad and defined. His abdominal muscles were still defined, but visible signs of aging could be seen. Despite everything, you still found him physically appealing. It was hard to believe that he hid all of that under his player's tracksuit and all-black outfit.

Next, he undid his belt, the jingle of the buckle echoing in the otherwise quiet room. He withdrew from the bed and stood. Now that he no longer held or pinned your body to the bed, your legs finally found their way back to resting on the bed after being folded and then spread out. He stepped out of the pants and kicked them aside. Left in only his black boxers, the prominent outline of his thick erection strained against the fabric.

His eyes never left yours as he hooked his thumbs in the waistband of his boxers and slowly drew them down. Your breath caught in your throat as inch after inch of his hard, thick cock was revealed. It sprang free, long and heavy, the swollen head already glistening with arousal.

He climbed back onto the bed. His hands gripped your legs apart and pinned them to either side of his hips. Your slick, swollen folds were laid bare before him, glistening with your arousal.

Young-il paused for a moment, admiring the sight of your needy, dripping sex. His dark eyes flicked up to meet yours, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. Without warning, he flicked your sensitive clit with the pad of his thumb, making you gasp and buck against his touch.

He flicked it again, and again, each snap of his fingers sending jolts of electricity through your core. You writhed beneath him, your back arching off the bed as you struggled to maintain control. Just as you thought you couldn't take anymore, he surprised you by slipping a finger deep inside your tight channel.

Your walls clenched around the sudden intrusion, drawing his finger in deeper. A low moan spilled from your lips as he began to pump his finger in and out, stroking that secret spot inside you that made your toes curl. He watched your face intently, drinking in every flicker of pleasure and need that crossed your expression. Without warning, he added a second finger, stretching you further, filling you more. Your hips bucked upwards in response, seeking more of this delicious friction.

His fingers pumped faster, thrusting deeper, stroking your silken walls with ruthless precision. The obscene sound of wet flesh slapping against flesh filled the room as he fingered you with increasing speed. His thumb circled your clit mercilessly, pushing you closer and closer to the precipice.

Young-il could feel your body tensing, your walls fluttering around his plunging fingers. He knew you were close, teetering on the brink of ecstasy. His eyes darkened with lust and hunger as he watched your face contort in pleasure. He curled his fingers just right, rubbing against that spot that made you see stars.

Just as your climax was about to overtake you, Young-il suddenly withdrew his fingers. Your walls clenched desperately around the sudden emptiness, aching for his touch. Your eyes blew wide and mouth fell open in disbelief at the cruel timing.

He smirked down at you, a wicked glint in his dark eyes, as he watched the disappointment and frustration play out across your beautiful face.

His hands gripped your hips tightly, thumbs digging into the soft skin as he leaned down to your mouth.

“Patience, flower,” he said, his voice a low, seductive growl that sent shivers down your spine despite the frustration coursing through your veins.

Suddenly, he gripped your hips, fingers sinking into the soft flesh of your ass. With a sharp tug, he spread your thighs even wider, opening you fully to him. Your slick folds glistened in the low light, quivering with a desperate need that only he could satisfy at this moment.

He positioned himself between your legs, the thick head of his cock brushing against your needy clit. The contact made you gasp as your hands dug into the sheets. Slowly and deliberately, he rubbed the tip of his member along your slit, coating it in your slick arousal.

Your breathing became labored as everything came crashing down on you. This is finally happening, you thought. You had never done this and had fought hard to protect yourself and your body. Now, you were willing to let it all go and open yourself up to the man you had fallen deeply in love with.

He gripped your hips tightly, fingers sinking into the supple flesh as he slowly pushed forward. The thick head of his cock stretched your slick folds open as he began to enter you inch by delicious inch. Your walls fluttered and clenched around his hardening length, drawing him deeper.

Halfway inside, he suddenly leaned down, folding your body in half. Your thighs pressed tight against your abdomen as he crashed his lips against yours in a searing kiss. Shock jolted through you at the sudden onslaught, but you found yourself welcoming his invading tongue with an open mouth.

As he plundered your mouth, claiming you thoroughly, he thrust forward harder. More of his thick cock speared into your tight heat, stretching you wider around his rigid flesh. Overwhelmed, your mind hazed with sensation. You released the sheets and wrapped your arms around his back, inadvertently scratching him in the process. You could only cling to him as he slowly, relentlessly filled you.

His tongue dominated your mouth, absorbing your muffled moans and whimpers. Your body trembled, back arching as he sunk into your silken depths. The mix of foreign sensations – his tongue conquering your mouth, his cock conquering your pussy – left you dizzy and breathless. The wet sounds of his deep, filthy kiss and the obscene squelches of his cock sinking into your dripping cunt filled the room.

He didn't stop until he was balls deep, his pelvis flush against yours, his heavy sack resting against your ass, and the tip of his cock hitting your cervix. He broke the kiss, both of you panting harshly as you struggled to catch your breath. His dark eyes burned into yours, pupils blown wide with lust and desire.

For a long moment, he simply held you there, buried to the hilt in your quivering heat. The thick weight of his cock pulsed inside you, stirring your insides and claiming you utterly. Then, with a satisfied smirk, he began to move.

He began to move, slow and gentle at first. The thick head of his cock dragged against your inner walls as he withdrew until just the tip remained inside. Then he slammed back in, sheathing himself fully in your slick heat once more in one powerful thrust. He repeated the same action, each thrust causing your breasts to bounce and sway alluringly.

He suddenly pulled away from you, causing your arms to slip off his back. Then, he gripped the backs of your thighs and pressed them against your stomach, folding you in half. You whimpered in surprise. His pace began to increase, his strokes growing longer and harder. His movements became more forceful, rougher and quicker. With every deep thrust, your moans grew louder and more distinct, escaping from your lips uncontrollably.

The room was filled with the sound of skin slapping against skin. Each thrust was accompanied by a groan of pleasure from him and a gasp or moan from you. The bed shook and creaked under the force of his powerful thrusts. The grip of his hands on your thighs tightened possessively. As he held you in place, all you could hear was the symphony of pleasure and desire between two bodies lost in the heat of passion.

Out of the blue, he leaned over, bracing himself with his hands on either side of your head. It was as if he wanted to be the only one to see you in this world, mounting and claiming you possessively. His eyes, once filled with ruthlessness and fury towards his opponents, were now darkened with an intense and unquenchable desire for you. You couldn't help but wonder if he had been holding back all this time. After all, you had caught him stealing glances at your lips on multiple occasions.

His movements were unrelenting, forcing you to slide up the bed with each forceful thrust of his hips. But he didn't let go completely; he held onto your hips, pulling you back onto him in a never-ending rhythm.

His form hovered over you, his sweat-slick skin glistening in the dim light of the room. With every thrust, his chest and abs flexed, his face contorted in pleasure. You could see the veins popping in his arms as he pounded into you unceasingly. The sheets twisted and bunched beneath your bodies, evidence of the intense passion between you.

Your body was on fire, every nerve ending tingling with the delicious friction of him moving inside you. The feeling of being filled so completely was incredible, more than anything you could have imagined. The sensation was intense, too much and yet not enough all at once.

Eventually, his desire became too overwhelming for him to control any longer. His hips slammed into yours with brutal force, the obscene slap of flesh on flesh echoing through the room. Each thrust punched the air from your lungs, replaced by strangled cries and whimpers. Your breasts bounced wildly, the movement sending ripples across your soft skin.

The room was filled with the rapid rhythm of your bodies colliding, the wet and primal sounds of skin on skin. The creaking of the bed frame and the rustling of sheets were accompanied by your shared moans and gasps. With each forceful thrust, the air was knocked out of your lungs, leaving you breathless and desperate for more. Your body moved in perfect symphony with his as they danced together in a frenzy of passion and desire.

Young-il withdrew his hands from the sheets and gripped your thighs hard enough to bruise, fingers sinking into your tender flesh. He pushed your knees up to your chest, nearly folding you in half as he loomed over you. His eyes blazed with feral hunger, drunk on the sight of your body surrendering to his dominant thrusts.

“Fuck, you feel amazing,” he snarled, voice ragged with lust. “Fucking tight and wet, squeezing all over my cock.”

He punctuated his words with a particularly rough thrust, burying himself balls deep. Your cheeks turned a deep shade of red as you looked away shyly. You were surprised that he could speak to you in such a provocative manner. It was incredibly alluring and it only served to make you even more aroused.

Slick, obscene squelches and wet slaps filled the air as he took you with animalistic fervor. The bed shook and shuddered, the headboard slamming against the wall with each powerful drive of his hips. Sweat dripped down his chest and abs, his skin glistening in the dim light.

He angled his hips, changing the trajectory of his thrusts. The new position allowed him to strike that sensitive bundle of nerves deep inside you with every slam of his pelvis against yours. Sparks exploded behind your eyelids as pleasure bordered on pain, your body writhing beneath his relentless assault.

The wet slaps of your bodies colliding filled the room, mixing with your gasps for air and the occasional grunt from him. Each thrust elicited a shy and breathless “Ah!” from you, punctuating the symphony of your fucking. Despite your attempts to stifle them, the moans escaped your lips uncontrollably.

Young-il's grunts turned guttural and harsh as his thrusts grew more erratic. The bed springs creaked and groaned under the force of his movements, the headboard slamming rhythmically into the wall. The air was thick with the musky scent of sex and sweat, the sounds of your coupling echoing obscenely in the room.

He leaned in close, baring his teeth and sinking them into the tender skin where your neck and shoulder met. You gasped as a sharp pain shot through you. Despite the discomfort, your body arched instinctively, pressing closer to him. He bit down firmly, but not enough to draw blood. His hips continued their relentless rhythm against yours, driving you further into the bed. Your hands reached out and grasped at his back, leaving red marks in your ecstasy.

Young-il released your neck, a deep mark indented in your skin where his teeth had been. His dark eyes, wild and intense, bored into yours. Without warning, he grabbed your thighs, hands gripping the backs of them tightly.

“Spread your legs more for me,” he commanded huskily. He didn't wait for a response before using his grip to fold your legs up and back, essentially bending you in half. Your knees pressed to your breasts as he held you in a mating press.

This position allowed him to sink even deeper into your core. Each powerful thrust now kissed your cervix, sending shockwaves of pleasure radiating through your body. The headboard slammed rhythmically against the wall as he rutted into you like a man possessed.

His face hovered inches from yours, eyes blazing with a dark and primal hunger. You could feel the heat radiating off his skin, could see the sweat dripping down his chiseled jawline. His breathing came in harsh pants, each exhale hot against your lips.

His hips never ceased their relentless rhythm as he grunted, “Such a good little girl, so tight and perfect.”

He released your thigh with one hand and used it to forcefully grip your chin, turning your face to meet his gaze. Your eyes were heavy-lidded with extreme pleasure. Your mouth was already open, filled with moans and gasps, and he took advantage of the opportunity to press his lips against yours. His tongue darted into your mouth as he continued thrusting his hips into you. The intense kiss only added to the sensations of pleasure coursing through your body.

You were overwhelmed as he slammed into you, simultaneously devouring your mouth. The only thing you could do was to scratch his back in an attempt to alleviate the sensation.

Young-il’s hips surged forward with wild abandon, the obscene slap of flesh against flesh echoing through the room. The bedsprings screamed in protest with each powerful thrust. His cock pounded into your soaked, clinging heat, the veiny shaft stretching you exquisitely.

Drunk on lust, he gripped your thigh with his other hand, holding you in place as he rutted into you like a man possessed. The new angle allowed him to strike your cervix dead-on, each brutal thrust sending waves of intense sensation crashing through your core.

Your body started to quake and tremble, your walls beginning to flutter around his plunging cock. The pressure built rapidly, your climax fast approaching. Obscene, choked moans spilled from your lips, mixing with the animalistic grunts tearing from Young-il's throat.

The room filled with a symphony of carnal noises – the wet slap of skin on skin, the creaking of the abused bed, the panting breaths and garbled cries of two people lost in the throes of passion. Young-il's eyes flashed wild and feral as they drilled into yours, his handsome face contorted in pleasure.

“I'm close,” he snarled through gritted teeth. “Come for me. Come.”

His command, coupled with the relentless pounding of his hips, sent you hurtling over the edge. Your vision exploded in a kaleidoscope of color as your orgasm crashed over you, wave after wave of sheer ecstasy consuming your body. Your nails raked down his sweat-slicked back as you clung to him, back arching as your walls clenched viciously around his pistoning shaft.

As your climax overtook you, Young-il let out a loud groan. His hips stuttered, losing rhythm as the first hot spurts of his release shot forth. The sensation of his thick seed painting your insides pushed you into a second, even more devastating orgasm. Your body seized and trembled, back arching clean off the bed as you screamed your pleasure.

He collapsed against you, his weight pressing you into the mattress, pinning you as he emptied himself inside your spasming cunt. Each twitch of his cock was followed by another gush of potent cum, flooding your womb until you swore you could feel it sloshing inside you.

He buried his face against your neck, panting harshly as the final waves of his climax rolled through him. Slowly, his movements slowed to shallow, lazy thrusts as he rode out the aftershocks.

The two of you remained entwined, him still buried deep inside your quivering heat. His weight pressed you into the mattress, the heat of his skin seeping into yours. The room was filled with the sound of ragged breathing – yours mingling with his – as you both struggled to regain composure in the aftermath of your intense lovemaking.

Young-il lifted his head slowly, his dark gaze meeting yours. There was a new softness in his eyes, a tenderness that wasn't usually present. A small, satisfied smile played on his lips as he took in your dazed and blissed-out expression. He brushed a few damp tendrils of hair from your face, his fingers lingering on your cheek.

“Such a good girl,” he murmurs, voice low and rough from their exertions.

He nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply, his breath tickling your skin as he let out a soft sigh of contentment. His lips brushed against the tender skin there, pressing a kiss onto the bite mark he had left earlier. A shiver ran through you at the intimate touch and a satisfied hum resonated from deep within him.

“My flower,” he murmured, his voice muffled by your skin. His hands ghosted down your sides, tracing small circles over your overheated flesh.

Turning his head slightly, Young-il pressed another kiss to your shoulder before pulling out of you slowly. It was a sweet discomfort that had you gripping his arms tightly, biting back a low moan.

He rolled over onto his back, drawing you into his embrace. Your head fell onto his heaving chest, your body still shaking with the remnants of your climax. His hand moved to soothe your trembling limbs, fingers drawing slow, calming circles on your skin.

“Breathe,” he murmured, his tone soft as if he was afraid to break the spell of the moment. The rhythm of his heart thrumming underneath your ear was a soothing lullaby that began to lull you into a state of drowsy relaxation.

Your body was achy and sated, and the pleasant throb between your thighs was a testament to Young-il’s fervor. You could still feel the remnants of his release trickling from you and soaking into the sheets below. It was dirty and obscene but also incredibly intimate in a way that made heat bloom in your cheeks.

The both of you lay naked on the bed, your head resting against his chest as you side-hugged him. His heartbeat was steady beneath your ear, a rhythmic lull that should have calmed you. He lay on his back, fingers trailing slow, absentminded strokes along your damp skin. His gaze – now relaxed – was fixed on the ceiling, while your heavy-lidded eyes remained locked on the wall.

Your bodies glowed in the dim light, entwined beneath tangled sheets. The rise and fall of his chest beneath you was grounding, steady. Yet, beneath that warmth, doubt festered.

Your mind churned with conflicting emotions. You finally got to think clearly. Relief, disbelief, betrayal, longing. You had surrendered to him too easily. You had given in to his touch, his presence, before you had the chance to fully comprehend the weight of his revelation. He wasn’t just Young-il, the man who protected you, the man who made you feel safe. He was him. The orchestrator of this entire operation. The one who had watched hundreds of players fall, one by one.

Your stomach twisted as your thoughts tangled further. Was he lying when he said he cared for you? Had everything that two of you had been a calculated act?

You shifted slightly, your breath hitching as you swallowed back the lump in your throat. His fingers, still ghosting over your back, stilled for just a moment before resuming their slow, deliberate movements. Did he know what you were thinking? Was he waiting for you to speak?

You wanted answers. You needed them. But at the same time, you feared them.

The quiet stretched between you both, thick with unspoken words. Eventually, you knew you had to be the one to break the silence. He probably expected you to drift off to sleep after the rigorous love-making, to let exhaustion override any lingering thoughts. Maybe he wanted you to be too spent to question him, too vulnerable to resist whatever control he had over you.

But you weren’t about to let that happen.

You lay still for a moment, staring at the wall, gathering your thoughts. There were too many questions, too many emotions swirling inside you, but you needed to start somewhere. Pushing aside the heaviness in your chest, you finally spoke.

“This is the second time you did this.”

His fingers, still idly tracing patterns along your skin, stopped. You felt him glance at you, questioning, but you kept your gaze fixed on the wall ahead, unwilling to meet his eyes just yet.

“You tried to divert my attention from anything shady you did,” you continued, your voice quiet. “First was during the Mingle game when you kissed me after killing Min-jae. And now… now this is the second time.”

Silence again. A heavier one this time. You could feel the weight of his gaze on you, like a presence pressing down against you even though he hadn’t moved. His breath was steady and measured, but you knew he was thinking. Calculating.

Finally, he exhaled slowly. “You think I’m trying to manipulate you?”

You let out a short, humorless laugh, still refusing to look at him. “Aren’t you?”

His fingers moved again, this time gliding up your arm as if trying to test the boundaries of your trust. “Back then, I was. I didn't want you to be frightened of me.”

“Then what about now?” you inquired, turning your head slightly and finally locking eyes with him. The intensity of his stare made your breath hitch, but you refused to back down.

He stared at you quietly for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then, without a word, he leaned down and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to your forehead. The warmth of his lips contrasted with the cool air around you, sending a shiver down your spine.

When he pulled away, his voice was low but steady. “I miss you. You ran away and hid from me. I was worried. But now that you’re here, I’m glad.”

His words wrapped around you, heavy with emotion and something unspoken, something deeper. His tone was firm, yet there was an edge of vulnerability lurking beneath it – something he rarely let slip.

Your chest tightened, emotions warring inside you. The Young-il you knew – the one who had protected you, cared for you – still existed in those words, in that voice. But the Front Man, the orchestrator of these deadly games, was here too. And you didn’t know which one you were truly facing.

His fingers traced slow and random circles along your arm as he waited for you to respond. You swallowed hard, searching his face, but all you found was contradiction. A man who held power over life and death, yet who now lay beside you, speaking of protection as if it absolved him.

You averted your gaze, staring at the wall as your fingers curled against the sheets. Your voice was quiet but firm when you finally spoke. “So Young-il is not your real name?”

There was a pause as if he had expected this moment but still wasn’t quite ready for it. “No. My real name is Hwang In-ho.”

The name lingered between you, unfamiliar and yet deeply tied to the man beside you. You tried to process it, to match the name to the person you had come to know – the protector, the strategist, the liar.

“Why did you fake your name?” you turned your head slightly, enough to see the flicker of something in his eyes. Hesitation? Guilt?

His jaw tightened before he answered. “I needed to keep an eye on player 456.”

Your brow furrowed. “Gi-hun?”

He responded, “He’s been outspoken about stopping the games. Long before he ever stepped foot in here, he tried to chase me and the recruiter down. He made his intentions clear. So I disguised myself as a player, changed my name, and befriended him. I needed to find out what else he was planning.”

You stared at him, trying to reconcile the man who had watched over you, who had risked his life for you, with the one who had spent days lying to everybody, especially you. “So... you disguised yourself and fooled everyone. What about me? Was I just a part to make you look normal?”

His brows furrowed as he gripped your shoulder tenderly. “No. You were never part of the plan.”

He exhaled slowly as if bracing himself for something. “I didn’t expect to care about you the way I do.”

Your stomach twisted at his confession, torn between believing him and shielding yourself from the betrayal you felt. You wanted to demand more answers, to know how much of what you shared had been real. But part of you already knew the answer – his touch, his protection, his lingering gazes. Those couldn’t have been faked.

But that wasn’t the important thing. Your relationship with him, whatever it was, couldn’t matter more than the lives at stake – the players who were trapped in these games, fighting to survive. His games. The ones he managed, orchestrated, and upheld with unwavering authority.

You rose from his chest and sat up. In-ho stayed lying down but his gaze was locked with yours. You slightly turned your upper body to look at him and started, “So, what happens now? Do I pretend I don’t know any of this? Do I pretend that you're not the one pulling the strings? That you aren’t the reason so many people have died?”

His expression darkened, but not in anger. In resignation. “It’s more complicated than that.”

“Is it?” you scoffed. “People are dying. And you—”

You clenched the sheets between your fingers, struggling to keep your voice steady. “You’re standing here like you have no choice. But you do.”

He exhaled sharply. “You don’t understand what’s at play here.”

“Then make me understand,” you challenged, finally turning to face him fully. “Make me understand why you’re doing this. Why you’re still here. Why you let me believe—”

He ran a hand down his face, the weight of your words pressing on him. “Because it’s not as simple as walking away. The moment I put on this mask and stepped into this role, I have a duty.”

You felt your stomach turn. “So you’re just going to let this continue? Let more people die? Let our friends die?”

His silence was deafening.

You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself, before fixing him with a hard stare. “And what about them? Jun-hee, Yong-sik and his mother, Dae-ho, Jung-bae... even Gi-hun. Do you feel nothing for them? For what they're going through? They trusted you. Gi-hun trusted you as a friend. That mother prayed for your return. Do you not care that they’re still trapped in these games?”

His gaze flickered with something unreadable. “It’s not that simple.”

You sighed. “That’s all you ever say. But people are dying, and you’re letting it happen. You’re the one in charge. You could stop this.”

He exhaled through his nose, his voice quieter this time. “I don’t have the power you think I do.”

“Then who does?” you challenged. “The investors? The VIPs?”

Young-il’s gaze sharpened, something shifting behind his eyes as if realization had just struck him. He furrowed his eyebrows slightly before asking, “I assume you find out about VIPs from following me as a manager hours ago, but I don’t recall mentioning about their investment. Who told you?”

Your breath caught in your throat. The weight of his question pressed down on you. He studied your face closely as if searching for any cracks in your composure.

Then, his voice dipped lower, more controlled, more knowing. “I know you have friends among my guards. Who are they?”

Silence stretched between you. The air felt heavier, charged with an unspoken tension. You refused to answer, your mind racing through the consequences. You couldn't betray them. 011 and Gyeong-seok had risked so much for you already. The least you could do was protect them now.

You took a slow breath, steadying yourself. “Why does it matter? I watched you as a manager. I found out a lot of things. It’s obvious.”

Young-il’s expression darkened, his posture stiffening. “That’s not an answer. Someone among my guards helped you with your disguise.”

You forced yourself to hold your ground, refusing to give him anything more. His grip on control was absolute, but you could see the slightest shift in his demeanor. He didn’t like that you had access to information you shouldn’t have. That much was clear.

“I don’t owe you an answer,” you finally said, voice steady despite the storm raging inside you. “Not when you’ve been lying to me from the start.”

Young-il’s jaw tightened, his gaze never leaving yours. For a moment, you thought he might press further, demand the truth from you. But instead, he exhaled slowly, composing himself.

“You should be careful,” he said, his voice dangerously quiet. “Knowing too much in this place is never a good thing.”

His words weren’t a threat. Not exactly. But the warning was clear.

Still, your mind was far from settled. The conversation had left you feeling hollow. It seemed like your words failed to break through the walls In-ho had built around himself. Frustration curled in your chest, mingling with the lingering sensations of your shared intimacy.

You shifted, inching yourself to the side of the bed. Immediately, you heard a movement behind you.

“Where are you going?” In-ho asked. His voice, usually composed, carried a note of urgency.

“Out of here,” you muttered, swinging your legs over the edge of the bed.

You couldn't stay. Not after everything. Not after learning the truth. You couldn’t believe you had laid with a man who orchestrated so much suffering, who played god over the lives of others. The thought made your stomach twist.

A dull ache flared in your limbs, a deep soreness from the way he had taken you – rough, passionate, desperate. But you ignored it, steeling yourself as you planted your feet flat on the cold floor by the side of the bed.

“Don't,” said the man behind you as the mattress shifted. His voice was softer this time. “Just stay here for the night.”

You didn’t respond. You braced yourself and rose from the bed, but the moment your weight shifted, your legs wobbled beneath you. A sharp exhale escaped your lips as you stumbled, barely managing to catch yourself before you plopped back on the bed.

Before you could make another attempt, an arm looped around your waist, firm but gentle. The warmth of his skin against yours sent a shiver through you.

“You're not going anywhere,” In-ho murmured as he pulled you back onto the bed.

You tried to push him away, but your body betrayed you, still too weak to resist properly. He took the opportunity to bring you back to the center of the bed and away from the side. His grip was solid as his lips pressed against the back of your neck.

“Stay,” he whispered between kisses, his lips trailing down the curve of your shoulder. “I may have led this hell myself, but I will be the one to keep you from burning.”

You closed your eyes, torn between the storm inside you and the undeniable pull of his touch.

SFW ver. : Chapter 17.1

NEXT : Chapter 18.2

PREV : Chapter 16

Story Masterlist

I apologize for the late update because I got sick and is still very much sick. I got the triple combo one (fever, runny nose, and coughing fit) and I tried to continue writing but then it turned out it was a quartet combo, with the additional one being a headache. So now I'm a bit better so I could function better. Please feel free to leave comments and feedback about my story, the characters, the "you", and practically anything! I love reading your comments, especially long ones! It motivates me a lot! What do you think about Hwang In-ho's flashback and his view towards everything? Is it so him? Is he OOC? What do you think about his view towards you? Remember, this is a slow burn fic. Anyway, I decide to split his P.O.V. into multiple parts so I hope it would keep readers guessing about his true intention with her and his feelings towards her. Of course, you are more than welcome to re-read and form a guess about what he really feels. Anyway, what do you think about the smut/sex scene/NSFW scene???? That's the moment you've all been waiting for???? Do you really think In-ho will stop just with one round, though????? Now, what do you think about your conversation with In-ho at the end? Do you think it's so him? Is he OOC? What do you think about the "you", though? What do you think she will do afterward now that In-ho finally have her? I really want to know your reaction on this! Anyway, thank you very much for giving my story a chance. I love reading and re-reading all of your comments!

Leave a comment on the masterlist post to be added to the taglist.

[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...