#and so they are making money off the deaths of innocents

[arabian-batboy]

The pager terrorist attack Israel did on Lebanon was so fucking disgusting. There's no line these Zionist animals will not cross, there's any crime they will not commit, no form of privacy they will not preach and no type of violence that is too dirty for them.

They're already making jokes about all the innocent people that are dead or injured and justifying it by saying they're just targeting Hezbollah's "terrorists," because apparently Hezbollah is just the Lebanese version of Hamas to them.

A boogeyman they will blame all their crimes on.

It doesn't matter that Hamas is literally just the name of the government or that Hezbollah is just the name of a political party, so their members includes normal civilians just like any other government in the world and their assassination is against international law (not that Zio dogs care about international law), but even if we assumed that every single member of Hamas and Hezbollah are weapon-wielding combatant, which is completely unrealistic, it still wouldn't justify this sleazy cyber attack that injured and killed innocent bystanders, including children (not that Zio dogs care about murdered children) who were simply standing next to those Hezbollah's members, which again, included civilian members who were off duty and doing normal daily tasks in public places such as shops, hospitals and schools.

But since The West has racialized the word "terrorist" so much to the point where fascists just use it as a synonym for Middle Eastern people, these actual Zionist terrorists can get away with killing, torturing and raping any innocent civilian they want from our region by turning around and calling them the terrorists.

They can kill any Palestinian person they want and excuse it by calling them Hamas terrorists or being used as a human shield by them, they can kill any Lebanese person they want and excuse it by calling them Hezbollah terrorists or being used as a human shield by them, they can kill any Yemeni person they want and excuse it by calling them Houthi terrorists or being used as a human shield by them.

They can use all the money, weapons and impunity that is unconditionally given to them by the US + The West to terrorize as many people as possible and in the end of the day, their victims are the ones that get demonized and have their death justified by being accused of being terrorists while their killers, the actual terrorists here, continue to victimize themselves and claim self-defense.

Find a protest near you here: X, X, X, X & X

Donate or join Palestine action here: PALESTINE ACTION

[just1cefor4ll]

Kind stranger

Kang Dae-ho x pregnant!reader warning. swearing, not proof read, in-ho never reveals his true identity, might be OOC

A/n. this is uh— long. and my first time writing for squid game so I hope you enjoy!

“Miss, are you okay?” A man with the number 388 on his shirt asked, his voice soft and careful. His eyes, curious and innocent, sort of reminded you of a puppy; despite the grim reality around you both.

“Oh, me? Yeah, I’m fine,” you said quickly, keeping your head down. “Just.. shaken up after the first game.” His brows furrowed slightly as he studied you, but he didn’t step closer. “You sure? I could ask for help if you’re feeling unwell.” “Yeah,” you said, forcing a small smile. “Really, I’m fine. Thanks for asking.” For a moment, he looked like he might say more, but then he nodded. “Alright. Take care of yourself,” he said simply, before stepping back and going over to the man who supposedly has won these games before.

You exhaled, the tension in your shoulders easing. He didn’t push, and for that, you were grateful. The last thing you needed was someone noticing how you instinctively cradled your stomach when you thought no one was looking.

As the room buzzed with hushed conversations and the sound of restless movement, you sank further into yourself. There wasn’t room for kindness here, not when you were hiding something so precious—something that would only make you a target.

Still, you couldn’t shake the warmth in his voice. It was strange, how a simple act of concern could make you feel human again, even for just a moment. But you reminded yourself it was safer this way. No ties, no risks.

The only thing that mattered was keeping you and the life inside you safe. Your baby girl.

Once you woke up to the loud melody of classical music you were immediately hit with a kick to the stomach. ‘Shit— who’d think that a baby could be this strong.’ You think to yourself as you lazily sit up, rubbing the rest of the sleep from your eyes.

“Attention all players, the next game will begin shortly. Please follow the staff’s instructions and make your way towards the game hall.

Right—those death games. You joined the forming line of players, a chaotic mix of emotions filling the air. Some people were pale with fear, trembling as if the weight of the games had already crushed them. Others seemed indifferent, like they’d embraced whatever fate awaited. Then there were those who practically vibrated with excitement, eyes gleaming at the chance to win yet another fuck ton of blood money.

You were firmly in the scared to death category. Money didn’t matter— at least not anymore. Your debt was more than the share you’d get if the first vote had ended in the X’s winning but to you no amount of cash could make this worth risking your baby’s life for.

As you shuffled forward, lost in thought, you felt a tap on your shoulder. Startled, you turned to see the old lady from the first game, her kind smile somehow both soothing and grating at the same time. “Do you need a hand? I’m sure you’re still tired.” She asked softly, leaning closer as though trying to shield her words from the others. “I heard the next game is dalgona, so please, be careful.” You forced a small, polite smile, trying to keep your voice steady. “Oh, no, I’m fine. Thank you,” you said quickly, brushing off her concern as gently as you could.

She didn’t seem convinced, her gaze lingering on you for a moment longer than you liked. But, thankfully, she nodded and stepped back into line.

You sighed inwardly, a mix of guilt and frustration bubbling under your skin. It wasn’t that you didn’t appreciate her kindness. In a place like this, it was a rarity you didn’t take lightly, but you couldn’t afford for anyone to notice how vulnerable you really were.

Well whatever theory the old woman heard, it definitely wasn’t true. You were supposed to divide into groups of five and all though you didn’t really remember dalgona being a big part of your childhood, you still knew it definitely wasn’t a group game.

You sigh as you try and look for a team however you forgot that all these men were stuck up and sexist so they all turned you down even if they needed just one last player to make them a full team. ‘Motherfuckers—‘ You bump into a familiar man, the very one who was concerned for your well being yesterday. The impact made you wince and clutch your stomach, mumbling out a quick ‘sorry’. “Oh, miss! It’s you. Are you okay did I hurt you?” He put a hand on your back and looked at you with concern in his eyes— which then traveled down to your swollen belly. “Please let me join your team, everyone keeps turning me away.” You begged, practically bowing to this man to help you. “Of course— please no need to bow I’m glad to help you. Please don’t strain yourself miss, I’ve got you.” He smiled sweetly and lead you to his group— of men.

“I thought you’d bring a man—“ Player 390 started but cut himself off as you placed your hand on your stomach, pulling the ‘i’m pregnant’ card. ‘Whatever needs go be done to survive I guess.’ Every single one of them looked down and nodded, welcoming you with warmth which was quiet unexpected.

The game luckily went well— at least for your team. The other one unfortunately got shot up while you were cheering in victory, bringing you back to the cruel reality you were living.

Player 456; Gi-hun as you learnt once you got back, instructed everyone to put their mattresses onto the ground and make a barrier in case anyone attacked tonight which seemed absurd but you didn’t bother arguing since he did play before. However Young-il voiced his concerns aloud which only made you wince at the bad move.

“Absurd? The moment the lights went out last time, everyone went for each other. People who you thought you could trust. Your most ‘loyal’ ally betrayed you without a second thought.” His voice was sharp, venom dripping from every word, and the room grew colder as his meaning sank in. Young-il smiled faintly, looking down a bit. “You’re right,” he said smoothly. “I apologize for my ignorance. Who better to trust than someone who’s already survived?”

The tension hung heavy in the air for a moment before Gi-hun turned away, giving out orders to the group. Everyone, even the skeptical ones, obeyed without question.

Player 388; Kang Dae-ho and 390; Jung-Bae gathered mattresses and set them down onto the floor while you were tasked to collect pillows and blankets. ‘So you don’t overexert yourself.’ Gi-hun said to you a few minutes back, his light pat on your back a bit comforting but still awkward from the last interaction.

The atmosphere in the room was tense, everyone moving with purpose, glancing nervously at the darkened corners. Gi-hun’s warning echoed in your mind: People you thought you could trust.

Once again when the classical music woke everyone from their slumber— a never ending routine you’ve learned to hate, you knew what was about to happen. ‘The next game..’

You all agreed on voting X, even Jung-bae who previously voted O and told yourselves you’d meet for dinner once everything in your lives was settled which excited your nerves. ‘I got this. For my baby, and my.. friends.’ You thought to yourself as everyone chatted along themselves, you yourself stealing glances from Dae-ho, a reassuring smile exchange between the two of you.

That night while everyone was asleep, Dae-ho was keeping watch with Jung-bae. You noticed how the older man was starting to doze off so you decided to switch with him even after his constant reassurance that he’d be fine and that you needed the rest more than he did.

You sat in silence for a bit before you decided to strike up a conversation. “So, what made you take me into your team?” You asked softly, looking up at the prize money in the see through pig. ‘Your life could be added to that pile any second.’ A voice inside you kept repeating but you shook it off. “You reminded me of my sisters. I knew I definitely wouldn’t want them to be left stranded and definitely not here— plus in your state you could be exposed to any kind of danger and what kind of man would I be if I let a gorgeous lady like you get put into the arms of those assholes..” He stated simply, gesturing towards all the other men who were on the other side. You just nodded, his words kind and genuine.

You talked through almost the whole night, telling him how you ended up here and some personal things which hardly anyone knew about you while he shared things about his toxic household and his amazing older sisters before Gi-hun told you two to catch some sleep before the game that morning and so you did, giving Dae-ho one last glance before lying down on your mattress.

You made your way towards the game hall, your heart beating so fast you thought it’d explode any second. The room looked like a big circus tent, doors going all around the room with a big platform in the middle which reminded you of a carousel. Once the instructions were said, you all formed a strategy. “If the number is bigger then 5 we will find the remaining amount of players. If it’s less then that we split. The most important thing is to stay calm, don’t panic.” You repeated in your head everything that Gi-hun and Young-il said, placing your hand on the pile, taking a deep breath before muttering ‘Victory.’ along with them.

The platform soon started spinning, a nursery rhyme on the speakers with bright lights shining in the middle of the platform.

“Ten players.”

Everyome scathered around, yelling and pulling people into their group like wild animals before a group of people came to you. “We have 4, how many of you are there?” Player 120 asked before getting pushed by a man with wide, psychotic eyes. “There’s five of us, come with us.” However they got pulled away by yet another group.

“15 seconds.”

Player 120 rushed to a woman who looked like she was.. praying? Rushing to the nearest empty door. “Room 40! The green one!” You yelled as you quickly got into the room before it locked itself. Your breathing was quick, sweat going down your forehead but relief washed over you. You were alive. The lady started screaming, something about how you were alive because of her and that you should be thanking her but you ignored her, going back out once the speaker told you to.

The next round was 3 people so you went with Dae-ho and Jung-bae while Young-il and Gi-hun went to find a player. Another round survived.

Six players was the most shattering part. Everything was going fine until the girl who’s name was Young-mi was locked out by player 333. You couldn’t watch the scene unfold so you looked down and covered your ears, a ache in your heart for player 120 who lost a dear friend.

The last was two players and you ran with Dae-ho to an empty room, pushing a few players aside to get an empty room. “There’s 50 rooms and 126 players. 100 players will survive, the remaining won’t be as lucky.” Young-il explained before you all ran off once the platform stopped. A pain in your stomach stopped you deaf in your tracks, getting pushed to the ground by a guy who quickly went into the room with Dae-ho, however he got a punch to the face and got thrown out before he could close the door.

“10 seconds.”

Dae-ho rushed to you and picked you up, sprinting to the room and shutting it right as the lock clicked and shots fired, eliminating the 26 players just like Young-il had predicted. Your eyes watered with relief, getting onto your knees you bowed, choking out your gratitude to the man in front of you. He knelt down next to you, letting your head rest on his shoulder as he patted your head. “No, no don’t cry. I told you I’d get us out of here didn’t I? We’re alive, all three of us.” He smiled, giving you one last squeeze before helping you up, wiping your tears and joining the rest of the group.

Dae-ho stayed beside you the whole time after the game, waiting for the pink soldiers to come and let us take a vote. Your hopes weren’t high, it was pretty obvious since you sat there with slumped shoulders as everyone else after your vote continued to press the O’s and X’s.

“Last 6 votes.” Jung-bae shook Dae-ho with excitement which he returned twice as much. Your eyes began to shine with a little hope as the last two players came up to the voting area.

An X..

You could sense the tension, every single breath, the sound of teeth chattering.. one last vote.

An X.

51:50

You won? You— no that couldn’t be? You won! You jumped into Dae-ho’s arms as everyone from your group started to celebrate. The money was enough for all of you now, it was perfect even! Gi-hun promised everyone to help with the money he previously won if something wasn’t payed for or that they just needed help in general.

There were angry shouts which were quickly shut down with a gun shot to the roof.

“The majority of the players have voted to terminate the games. It’s quite a pity we must say goodbye to you like this, but the games are now over. Your belongings and money will all be returned and sent to your homes. Thank you for your participation.”

You finally felt the cold breeze of air as you were dumped out of the car, hitting your back hard against the pavement. Groaning, you struggled against the restraints on your wrists, wincing at the sharp pain shooting through your body. Just as panic began to settle in, you heard familiar voices—voices you thought you’d never hear again. Your friends. Relief washed over you as they rushed to your side, helping you up and breaking the binds that held you, and them captive.

Months passed since the horrors of the games, and life had taken a turn for the better. You moved in with Dae-ho after oficially getting together and deciding to start something fresh. Your apartment was close to almost everyone in your circle, making it easier to stay connected; which is why regular dinners became a tradition, a way to bond and leave the dark memories of the games behind. Slowly but surely, you all began to rebuild your lives, focusing on the present and the joy of simply being alive.

Not long after your release, your baby came into the world—a healthy, beautiful girl, delivered without complications. The birth was celebrated joyously, marking a new chapter in your life. Gi-hun and Young-il eagerly accepted the roles of godfathers, while the kind old woman from the group became the grandmother. Everyone else quickly fell into place as loving uncles and aunts.

It wasn’t a blood tied family, but the love was a stronger seal than anything else in the world.

Tonight, you were hosting a sort of ‘meeting our daughter’ type thing at your home. Everyone was already there but you excused yourself to get a camera to take a few pictures when you noticed Dae-ho standing in front of the mirror. His brow was furrowed, a look you’ve learnt to recognize after being together for a few months now. “Dae?” you asked softly, stepping closer and wrapping your arms around his waist. “What’s on your mind, sweetheart?”

He hesitated, his gaze fixed on the mirror as he fidgeted with his shirt. “I just... I’ve been thinking. What if she doesn’t like me when she grows older? I’m not her real father, after all.” His voice faltered, the vulnerability clear in his tone. You turned him around gently, cupping his face in your hands as you looked into his eyes. “Dae-ho,” you began, your voice steady and full of warmth, “she doesn’t need a ‘real’ father. She needs you. You’re the one who’s been there for us, who’s loved us and cared for us. She’s going to grow up knowing how amazing you are because of the love you show her every single day.”

His expression softened, his shoulders relaxing as he let out a shaky breath. “You really think so?” You smiled, nodding. “I know so. She already adores you. She doesn’t care about blood ties, Dae she only knows the man who makes her giggle and holds her when she cries. That’s what makes a real father.”

He pulled you into a tight embrace, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “Thank you,” he whispered.

The sound of your daughter’s laugh echoed from the living room, followed by Gi-hun’s exaggerated baby talk as he attempted to entertain her. You and Dae-ho shared a chuckle before heading out to join the others. That night, surrounded by your unconventional but deeply loving family, you realized just how far you’d come. The memories of the games still lingered, but they no longer held power over you. Your life was yours to live, and the bonds you’d formed in the aftermath were stronger than anything money or blood could ever buy.

In the warmth of your family’s laughter and the comfort of Dae-ho’s hand in yours, you knew you had found your peace.

© just1cefor4ll— I don’t consent to my writing being reposted to other platforms and fed into AI. Translating it is also strictly prohibited. 🚫

[melminli]

Dirty Cash (Money Talks)

summary - you had nothing against your colleague, but you weren't stupid enough to be fooled by his innocent smile and appearance since you knew exactly what kind of corrupt person was hiding behind that costume. after all, you were wearing the same one.

pairing: (gong yoo/ji-cheol) the salesman x fem. recruiter reader

word count: 1.4k

contains: talk about gambling + death and murder, sexual tension?, crack and just evil morals tbh

a/n: i watched maybe the first fifteen minutes or so of bullet train, but i thought of the two funny dudes from it while writing this bcuz their dynamic was funny af. also, i will use the actor's name in this fic since the character itself doesn't really have an official one that was mentioned in the series!

You straightened your tie with your free hand while watching your train approach from the side. The station was always pretty empty at this hour, which saved you the jostling and squeezing as you entered. After that, you sat down comfortably with a light sigh - next to the free seat beside your devilishly handsome colleague. “Are you alright? Don't tell me that you had a exhausting day?” he asked you worriedly with his typical innocent smile on his face but you've known the guy for a while now and you knew exactly how dishonest he sounded right now.

You returned his gaze for a second, uninterested, before turning it back in front of you to observe your surroundings from the window. “Exhausting day? Don't make fun of me or I'll punch you in the face,” you replied monotone and Gong Yoo didn't doubt your statement for a second - or Ji-cheol as you preferred to call him since you weren't a big fan of nicknames. “I had a great time punching those bastards in the face one by one. It feels kinda therapeutic, so I'm actually feeling pretty good right now,” you told him, talking about the subject as if you were talking about the weather.

Your colleague grunted with delight at your good news. “And I would never disagree with you on that.” he said and then just watched your figure silently for a while before speaking up again. “Since you're in such a good mood, would you be willing to play a more private game between the two of us?” he suggested, making you look at him in utter disbelief.

“A private game? With you?” you repeated, amused and laughed in his face. “Hell, no. But don't worry, I'll let you know next time I want to get totally screwed by a freaky pervert,” you added, your voice dripping with sarcasm. Which will be, never.

“Come on, don't be like that,” he asked you sweetly. As sweet as the wolf who pretended to be the mother of the seven little goats before he ate them all one by one. “It's just a tiny, harmless game. It's been so long since we've played anything together.” he complained to you earnestly as if you actually cared, and you didn't.

Yeah, you remembered the last time very clearly, even if you would much rather prefer that you didn't. You hummed. “Is that so? Huh. I mean, it could be because you almost killed me in a fucking game of tic-tac-toe the last time, but that's just a theory.” You said with a shrug, clearly still resenting him for that. However, he just rolled his eyes unaffected by your grudge. “But you didn't, right? It was the other guy who got the bullet in his head.” He replied, not even remembering his name. Not that he had to.

You just glared at him while you rubbed your forehead. “Yeah, maybe. But I'm tired of risking my life just because it makes you horny and you can jerk off to it.” You made your feelings on the matter clear. “You know that the whole living on the edge of death thing isn't really my cup of tea. At least try to understand me a bit here, too.”

I suppose she's not entirely wrong, I could give it a try. I never thought about it like that before, did I? He thought to himself in his head as he ran his tongue over the back of his teeth while he pondered. How selfish of me. “So what exactly do I have to do, to convince you?” He asked you while he already had a few ideas in mind.

You grinned. “You know that very well, don't play dumb.” You demanded as you leaned closer to him so that he could hear what you were singing softly. “Money talks, money talks - dirty cash, I want you, and dirty cash, I need you, oh ~”

He raised an eyebrow, not particularly surprised. “So you want to play for money?” He repeated it, not outright rejecting your request. “Don't you have enough of that already? You're really insatiable when it comes to cash and now you want mine, too?” he joked just to get you worked up.

Though, you didn't get the slightest bit offended by what he said. “Can you ever have enough money? Besides, I'm not forcing you to give it to me, am I?” you said with a smile, already knowing that he would agree to your terms. “But if you want me to play with you, I want eight million won for every round I win.”

She's so greedy for someone who is already more than wealthy. “Aren't you exaggerating a bit? Most people don't earn that much in a month,” he continued his act of - whatever this was - because he just loved arguing with you.

“So? We both have the same salary, I know you can afford it,” you said, holding a hand in the air as soon as you felt that he wanted to stretch this unnecessary conversation even more. “You have to decide now what you want to do or I withdraw my proposal again.”

Gong Yoo closed his mouth and started grinning even wider. “You don't even want to know what kind of game I want to play?” he asked curiously, nodding and accepting whatever you wanted as soon as he saw that you actually weren't interested. You couldn't even imagine how gladly he gave in to you at this moment. “All right, I agree with your request.”

You stood up with your briefcase in hand after your station was announced. “Good. Text me when you have something in mind, I'll be there as long as it fits timewise.”

Your colleague continued to watch you with a look on his face that used to make you more than just uncomfortable back in the day - though, it didn't even bother you in the slightest now. “You don't want to accompany me to the...office?”

You smiled while the train started to slow down. “Au revoir, Ji-cheol.” you just said your goodbye to him and stepped out of the doors. You didn't even spare the poor guy a second glance when he waved his hand at you from the window. She can be so heartless sometimes, he thought to himself, even if you were like this pretty much all the time. I'll have to think of something good to ask for in return should I win. I'm definitely not going to hold back when there's this much money at stake.

You didn't give a second thought to anything as you made your way home after a day's work like any normal citizen would do. However, your steps slowed considerably when you noticed a beggar in your field of vision and even though the rest of the crowd ignored the man and his entire existence, you couldn't help but focus your full attention on him. You looked at your watch, I've been off work for a while now. But even then, you couldn't help but notice that he was one of the people on your list to recruit for the game. He'll still be here tomorrow, but I don't mind another round of Ddakji. I love money more than anything - but I'm not doing this job for only that.

“Excuse me,” you spoke to the man with a polite smile on your face, and he only submissively avoided your gaze as he listened to you. After all, one rarely approached people like him and why would they? He held his cup of loose change out in front of him, probably expecting you to give him a small donation, but you wanted to give him so much more than that. Even if the guy didn't know it right now - you wanted to give him another chance in life, so that he wouldn't continue to be just a miserable failure.

You ignored his donation cup. “I was wondering if you might have a moment because I'd like to make you an offer,” you continued politely and the man met your gaze at that. Yeah, you were really looking forward to what was about to happen - after all, you were known for letting your opponent only win if you allowed them to.

[rqnarok]

LATCH | pervy!old man!logan x fem!reader

summary: you come up at logan at night and he finally gives in to his desires. 

content warnings/tags: smut, mdni! little to no plot. old man!logan. unspecified age gap. soft dom!logan. sub!reader. pervy!logan. pet names (kid, kiddo, little girl, princess, etc). logan calls himself ‘old man’. fingering (f receiving). innocence kink. not proofread. wc: 1,5k

Logan Howlett is not a good man. 

“I’m not a good man, sweets.”

He has not been a good man in years. 

Still, when he scoops your sobbing figure in his arms on that day at the X-Mansion, he feels like a good man. 

“C’mon. Let’s go, kid. I’ll take care of you.”

Ever since then, you look up to him as if he is some kind of savior. A hero. A good man. 

And he starts to believe that. 

At first, it started oh, very casual—innocently. By working himself to death for the sake of your comfort. Earning money so that he could see that smile on your pretty face when he gives you gifts: new dresses, books, food—anything you want, really. He’d give it to you.

You walk up to him one Friday, showing your brand new sundress that you bought using his money, “Logan! It fits me so well, don’t cha think?”

The sight of you twirling around and giggling in front of him is enough to be his bad-day-cure, “Spin one more time, princess. Don’t have my glasses on.” 

He lies. He just wants to catch a glimpse of your cottoned panties in the process. 

Logan perceives himself as a sick fuck when he starts seeing you in that way. But hey, he did say that he is not a good man, right?  

He tried to control it, he really tried. Composing himself and creating some moral values in his head in an attempt to be in charge of his corrupted desires. 

But Logan forgot one simple thing: he can control himself all he wants, but he could never control you. 

You may be content but you are far from stupid.

It takes you months to perfect this mastermind plan—or so you call it. This mischief came into you when you decided that you had enough of Logan and his games. You know he yearns for you and you feel the same way, too. 

He peeks over you so… hungrily and thinks you wouldn’t notice? 

When you confront him about it one morning, he nonchalantly brushes it off by letting out a dry chuckle and mutters something around, “What ya’ talking ‘bout, kiddo? Go ‘head finish your breakfast.”  

But you know! You always catch his yearning gazes and… hear him over the shower one time. Moaning and grunting your name when he thought you were out buying the weekly groceries. It upsets you that he does not give in. 

So then, you concluded that you will determine to bring his temptation up to the surface and break his poor self-control through this little contemplation of yours. 

It takes a while to gain your courage and when you finally creep up into Logan’s room, the clock on the wall ticks at half past two in the morning. 2:30 AM. 

Logan said he’d take care of you, right? Said he’d do anything for you, right? Well, you need him now, “Logan? Logan? It hurts.” You whisper into the chilly air as you shake him up from his deep slumber.

And y’know, he’s a tired old man—so it takes him a while to wake up. He grabs his glasses from the nightstand beside him and slides them right on. When Logan sees you standing sleepily before him in your nightie gown, Good Lord. 

“Hey, hey—what’s goin’ on, princess?” You’re all teared up and your lips are bitten red. You look heavenly in the shaft of moonlight that slips through the window and into Logan’s bedroom. 

Your actions speak for themselves as you make your way onto his lap and nuzzle into his greying beard. “Tell your old man what’s got you so upset. C’mon.” He wants to take a good look at your face but you are so latched to him—snuffling into his broad shoulder all gloomy and wretched. 

“Hurts so bad.” You repeat yourself as your arms make their way around his neck. “Hurts, Logan.” 

“Hm? What hurts?” 

Pure silence as your little fingers wrap around Logan’s wrist and place it on your knee. Then, you’re guiding him up up up and he knows where this is going but he could not stop it. 

Fuck. He curses himself. Should’a know you’d pull some shit like this.

Finally, you stop his large calloused hand on top of your pussy. It’s heating up. Logan can feel the warmth of your cunt through your thin white cotton panties—his middle finger twitches with the urge to palm you. But no. That’s not what a good man should do. He tries to remember all the moral values he has created in his head while he sighs deeply and closes his eyes. 

“Kiddo-”

“Want to cum, please, Logan.” You take his face in your hands in the way that you always do and his hand is still on top of your clothed mound. “Please…! You said you’d help me, take care of me. I’ll be good, promise. Please.” His eyes open and he looks at your big eyes then your lips then your eyes again. That’s when you know you had him. “Hurts.” 

With half-lidded eyes, you watch Logan lose his composure, “Yeah? You’d be good f’me?” His head goes forward as he pampers your face with gentle kisses and you gulp because you don’t know what to do now. 

“Why don’t you lay down and let me take a look?” 

His scent combination of beer, whiskey, and cigars lingers around you as you rest your aching body on his bed. Looking up at him all mesmerized and lust-filled. 

Logan tries to soften his features for you. He thinks the heave of your chest moving up and down, up and down is one of the most beautiful things he has ever seen. He said he’d take care of you and that’s all he’s doin’ now. Taking care of his pretty baby. 

“C’mon. Open up to your old man.” He says, patting the sides of your thighs to part. And you did what you’re told, revealing the wet spot of your panties, and Logan curses. Mutters something under his breath. 

“You’ve been touching yourself here, Little Missy? That’s what got you dripping?” You throw your head back and huff a breathy ‘ah’ at the feel of his big fingers rubbing circles along the slick. Logan wants you to sing for him, “Use your big girl words, c’mon.” 

“Y-yes! Been touching myself…” Your red cheeks heat up at your own answer, suddenly feel so little. Logan hums deeply at your reply, hooking his fingers at one side of your panties and pulling them aside. Oh, he can tell. “Mhm.”

You were in a moment of bliss until he stopped his movement and brought your panties back to its original place, “Show me.” 

“L-Logan…” you respond by shaking your head erratically. Nononono— this isn’t a part of your plan. This becomes humiliating. No way. 

“What d’ya mean no, princess?” Logan grins—he knows you’re playing something and he is not going to lose so easily. “You want me to take care of you, yeah? Gotta show your old man what you were doin’ so he knows what he can do.” 

Well, he is not wrong. You let a huff defeatedly and roll yourself onto your front, shoving one of Logan’s pillows between your plushy thighs. And Logan is bewitched and hypnotized and fuck, so hard. His cock sticks up in his boxers briefs it hurts. 

Through his lens, he attentively watches every move you make: how your nightie gown hikes up to your chest and reveals a glimpse of your breasts, how you roll your hips in circles, how you throw your head back up facing the ceiling. The noises you make—sounds he not-so-accidentally heard when he passes your room at night when he comes home from work. This is what you've been doing? 

“Aight’. I know the problem is, sweets.” You slow down your movements as you gaze at him all doe-eyed. He places his palm on your back to still you. Your head lulls back and forth as you wait for his guidance. 

“You need something inside. Have you had something inside, baby?” He turns you to him oh, so delicately as if you are something fragile. 

You shake your head slightly at his question, suddenly embarrassed. Logan is so hard at this. He can't hold back anymore. “I see. ‘S alright, little girl. Lean on top of me. I’ll show you how it’s done. Y’ just need to trust your old man, yeah?” 

And you do. You always do. You love him. 

He smiles down at you, showing the wrinkles and scars on his face. “I love ya’. Give me some sugar first. Let me kiss ya’.” 

The kiss is more than just a distraction. It’s a repetition of him saying I love ya’ through his actions. What comes next is new to you, his large fingers probing at your entrance as you hiss and whimper and sob. Logan eases you open while kissing your inner thighs, letting you feel his scruffy beard. Raining you with his sweet praises, “Oh, that’s a good girl, alright. My sweet girl.” 

Then it leads you to it. The main purpose of your plan here in the first place. 

The clothes you both had on are thrown all over the floor as he hovers above you, taking off his glasses—placing kisses everywhere he can reach. “Y’want it?” And the tip of his cock finally nudges between your folds in an aching stretch and you mewl.

“Your old man’s gonna take care of you.” 

He always does.

[lyvhie]

★ ˙ ̟ ─── . “click, boom!”.

| summary | Maybe that was the thing with him. No one could be this hot and normal at the same time. That would explain why you were sitting here, half-naked, playing a death game with a stranger. | cw | smut, russian roulette game, oral (m), big cock johnny 👅, deep throat, pet names. | a/n | friends, be honest, do you think id have a chance with haechan

The sharp click of the gun after he pulled the trigger was the only sound that echoed through the dark room. You didn’t flinch, but your heart pounded beneath your chest as you stared at him. He smiled—calm, amused even—as he handed the gun over to you, the weight of the cold metal pressing into your palm.

"Your turn," he said, his voice laced with delight, as though the possibility of death was nothing more than a passing inconvenience. The playful glint in his eyes only heightened the tension, like he was enjoying every second of the twisted game.

You weren't sure how it had come to this. The dim lights, the suffocating silence, the gleam of the revolver. All you remembered was the charming stranger, his voice dripping with temptation as he asked if you were willing to play. A simple game, he called it. With a generous sum of money promised if you won.

But you weren’t that innocent, of course. You knew it would involve something dirty—no one would offer such an absurd amount of money without expecting something in return. You just didn’t expect it to be this. And, to be honest, a part of you was compelled by him—by the way his presence filled the room, how his movements were so effortlessly smooth, how that sly smile never left his face since the moment he first approached you.

He was handsome. Devastatingly so. Well-mannered, too. Every word that left his lips was laced with charm, drawing you in like a moth to a flame. It was intoxicating.

You took a deep breath, the cold air biting against your skin as you reached for the zipper of your hoodie. It slid down slowly, the sound deafening in the silence. Without a second thought, you shrugged it off, the heavy fabric pooling at your feet.

Not only did you have to play Russian roulette—but each time the gun failed, you had to strip. He said it would make things more fun. And the worst part? You didn’t argue.

There was something disturbingly thrilling about it all—the danger, the adrenaline, the way his eyes gleamed with please as he watched your every move. Curiosity buzzed beneath your skin. You could still feel the warmth of his hand from when he passed you the gun, the ghost of his touch lingering.

"That's the spirit," he purred, his voice low, eyes flicking over you with a dangerous spark. "Now, let’s see if luck is on your side."

“People were right when they said you shouldn't trust overly generous people,” you said, your fingers steady as you cocked the gun once more, the cold metal heavy in your grip. You lifted it to the side of your head, meeting his gaze with unwavering determination. “You're like a wolf in sheep's clothing.”

Then, without hesitation, you pulled the trigger.

Click.

Just the sound of the empty chamber. No bullet. Only that hollow, nerve-racking noise that echoed through the dimly lit room.

Oh. That was… easier than you thought. And actually… fun. The rush of uncertainty, the split second where fate toyed with you—it sent a strange thrill down your spine. Your stomach twisted in a way that shouldn't have been pleasant, but somehow, it was. The adrenaline pulsed through your veins, making your breaths come a little quicker.

A shaky exhale left your lips, the tension momentarily breaking. He watched you intently, his diversion barely concealed beneath that charming, wicked smile.

"Careful," he drawled, his voice low and smooth, as if savoring your every reaction. "You might get a taste for this."

With a chuckle, he reached down, his fingers working the buckle of his belt. The soft clink of the metal hitting the floor reverberated through the room, each sound lingering in the air like a taunt.

He extended his arm to you, waiting for you to hand the gun over. But instead of complying, you raised your brows and held it away, as if daring him to make a move.

“What? Do you want to play twice?” he tilted his head slightly, a smug smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“No,” you shot back, your voice tinged with disbelief. “I just… That’s it? I took off my hoodie, and you took off your… belt? Really?”

You tried to sound indignant, like the absurdity of the situation was what truly bothered you. But deep down, you knew that wasn’t entirely true. A part of you, a very stubborn, very curious part, wanted to see him lose. Piece by piece. You hated to admit it, but the thought of him sitting there, bare and vulnerable, was dangerously tempting.

He caught the flicker of frustration in your eyes, and his grin widened. “You sound disappointed,” he teased.

“I just think the stakes aren’t exactly balanced,” you shrugged, trying to sound nonchalant. “Like, it wouldn’t be fair if I discarded each piece of my earrings one by one, right?”

He hummed thoughtfully, as if genuinely considering your words. “Fair point,” he conceded, his hands moving to loosen his tie before slipping it off. Without hesitation, he followed by shrugging off his suit jacket, letting it slide down his arms effortlessly.

Your eyebrow twitched slightly in approval. You weren’t about to give him the satisfaction of an open reaction, but you did take a moment to admire the way his dress shirt clung to his frame, highlighting the muscles beneath.

Mhm. That was a nice view.

He wasn't oblivious to your reactions—quite the opposite. He was observant, very observant. It was a necessary skill in his line of work, after all. He noticed the subtle shift in your expression, the way your gaze lingered just a bit too long.

“Like what you see?” he teased, a playful smirk tugging at his lips.

Tsk. You were caught.

You scoffed, leaning back slightly in an attempt to look unbothered. “I’m just making sure the game stays fair.”

“Of course,” he mused, rolling up the sleeves of his dress shirt with slow, deliberate movements. The way the fabric slid up his forearms, revealing the defined lines beneath, felt almost calculated—like he knew exactly what he was doing and was enjoying the effect it had on you.

Your fingers tapped idly against the cool metal of the gun, feigning boredom, even as your heartbeat betrayed you. “Your turn.”

He didn’t hesitate, taking the gun with practiced ease. The weight of it settled naturally in his hand as he spun the cylinder, the faint metallic click slicing through the quiet room. He handled it with the confidence of someone who had done this too many times before. As if this wasn’t some reckless game but a scenario he was all too familiar with.

“I must admit, I’m curious,” you began, crossing one leg over the other, your eyes never leaving the way the cold metal of the gun pressed against his temple. “I want to know about you and what kind of life you've been living until now.”

“Don’t be,” he shook his head slightly, the smirk on his lips suggesting a bit of amusement. “There’s nothing interesting about me, I guarantee you.”

Without hesitation, his finger pressed down on the trigger again, his calm demeanor never wavering, as if this were nothing more than a casual activity.

Click.

Empty. Again.

A small smile tugged at the corners of your lips at the result. You were starting to enjoy this. The thrill was intoxicating, even in its strange way.

Your hands moved to the hem of your shirt, pulling it up swiftly, revealing more of your skin. The cool air brushed against your exposed torso as the fabric slid off your shoulders. His eyes followed your every move, dark and intense, like he was studying the way each inch of you was uncovered. Your laced bra rested against your skin, and you could see his gaze land briefly on the curve of your breasts before drinking in the full view of you, his attention far from subtle.

It was your time to ask now.

“Like what you see?” you asked, your voice dripping with a playful confidence.

That got him. He chuckled, his annoyingly beautiful smile returning once again, his eyes twinkling with that same amusement, though there was something else beneath it. “Pretty much,” he replied, his voice lower now, as if the game had shifted—just like the energy in the room.

You rolled your eyes, reaching your arm forward to grab the gun. "By the way," you said, tilting your head slightly. "Since we're having such a romantic time here, I think it might be appropriate to know your name too, don’t you think?”

The thought hit you suddenly. Amidst all the tension and the strange game you found yourself playing, you realized you had no idea who he really was—not that it had been your first priority in the heat of the moment, but it seemed important now. After all, the man who was just a few pieces of clothing away from seeing you completely exposed deserved at least a little bit of an introduction.

He glanced at you, his expression unreadable for a moment, as if debating whether he should share that piece of information. Finally, he sighed, his tone remaining as composed as ever. "I suppose it’s only fair. The name’s Johnny."

You hummed in acknowledgment, then, without hesitation, pressed the trigger. As expected, at least, according to your growing, perhaps overly confident instincts, nothing happened.

You exhaled through your nose, a smirk tugging at your lips. “Then take off your clothes, Johnny.”

His eyebrows lifted slightly, amusement flickering in his dark eyes. “Bossy, huh? I like it,” he murmured, fingers already working at the buttons of his dress shirt.

And just like that, it was your turn to stare.

Your gaze trailed over every inch of skin that was revealed, anticipation buzzing beneath your skin. Each undone button exposed more of his chest—toned, sculpted, an expanse of muscle that spoke of both discipline and danger. His abs, defined and firm, flexed slightly as he moved, and his arms… God, his arms. Strong, built, perfect for a headlock, if you thought about it.

It really was a shame you hadn’t met him under different circumstances. It was a shame, really. One of you wouldn't make it out of this game alive. At least, if it came down to it, you'd had a hell of a view before death.

His voice calling your name, smooth, almost teasing, snapped you out of your trance, sending a strange, unwelcome flutter through your stomach.

"You’re drooling.”

"What?" Your hand instinctively shot up, brushing the back of it against your mouth before you even had time to process he was just messing with you. After all, you could really be drooling after such a show.

Johnny let out a genuine laugh, the kind that made his shoulders shake slightly. The sound was rich, effortless, annoyingly attractive.

Your glare only made him chuckle harder.

"Not funny, Johnny," you grumbled.

"Oh, it’s very funny," he mused. "But don’t worry, I’m flattered."

You only rolled your eyes and kept your mouth shut, determined not to embarrass yourself further. Instead, you focused on the gun in your hand, at least it was a good distraction.

A few more rounds passed, and now both of you were left in nothing but your undergarments. The tension in the air had shifted, but not entirely because of the game.

You took in the sight before you—his broad shoulders, the defined muscles of his torso, the way his skin looked under the dim light. Yeah. Really a nice view.

And he thought the same. You were very pleasant to look at. Especially the way you tried to maintain a composed demeanor, even when your fingers absentmindedly tapped against your thigh, a telltale sign of impatience, or perhaps an attempt to contain the slight embarrassment of being in such a situation.

He had noticed it since the start of the game. Every time he took his time undressing, your fingers would start their little rhythm, as if urging him to hurry up. It was funny, really—how you pretended to be unaffected, yet your body betrayed you in the smallest ways.

Especially since it was his turn to strip. With only his boxers left, you were really, really impatient this time.

That said, he had an idea. A rather fun one.

“What if we change the terms of our little game?” he started, a smirk playing on his lips.

“Why?” You raised a teasing brow, eyes shamelessly raking over his body. “Getting shy now that you’re about to show me your…” You trailed off, your own smirk widening as you let your gaze dip lower.

Your words had him laughing softly, completely unfazed by your obvious ogling. “Quite the opposite, actually.”

He shifted in his chair, spreading his legs a little wider. Your eyes flickered down—oh. You blinked a few times at the unmistakable bulge straining against his boxers.

“As you can see,” he mused—hell, you could see very well—“things would be over the moment I take this off.”

Oh. That’s what he was talking about.

“And that wouldn’t be too fun, would it?” He tilted his head slightly, watching you. “Just sitting here, staring at each other all bare. Where’s the thrill in that?”

“Yeah, I guess so…” You wet your lips, forcing yourself to look up. “What do you suggest, then?”

“We could make a deal,” he began, his gaze slowly trailing over you. “If my gun fails, instead of taking off your clothes… you’ll have to suck me off.”

Your breath hitched slightly, not out of shock, no, you should’ve expected something like this. It was the way he said it, so casual, so confident, like he already knew you wouldn’t refuse.

You raised an eyebrow, feigning thoughtfulness as you tapped your finger against your thigh. “Hmm… and if my gun fails?”

Johnny smirked, tilting his head slightly. “Then I’ll return the favor.”

A shiver ran down your spine at the sheer confidence in his voice. He wasn’t even asking, he was stating it like a certainty, like he already knew exactly how things would play out.

You let out a slow exhale, gripping the gun tighter. “That’s a bold proposition.”

He leaned in slightly, his eyes locked onto yours. “Scared?”

You scoffed, trying to ignore the heat creeping up your neck. “You wish.”

“Then it’s a deal?” He extended his hand toward you, waiting.

With a smirk, you shook his hand. “Deal.”

He hummed in satisfaction at your words and stood up, his fingers hooking onto the waistband of his boxers. With one smooth motion, he pushed them down, letting the fabric pool at his feet. His cock sprang free, tapping against his toned stomach, and your breath hitched in your throat.

You tried not to stare—really, you did—but your eyes betrayed you, flickering down before you could stop yourself. He noticed, of course. The knowing smirk that curled his lips told you that much.

“My eyes are up here, pretty,” he teased, stretching his arms lazily as if this was the most natural thing in the world.

You cleared your throat, forcing your gaze to meet his, but not before muttering an ‘I know’ under your breath. You handed him the gun, your fingers lingering slightly as you passed it over, feeling a strange mix of anticipation and curiosity rise within you.

Despite your usual confidence, something about this moment made your heart race. You wouldn't admit it, but deep down, you were praying for him to survive this round, because if he did…

Your mouth watered at the thought.

You watched intently as he acted just as he had from the start—calm, unbothered, overly confident, sure that everything would unfold just as he expected. And so it did, as the solemn click of the gun echoed for what seemed like the ninth time that night.

Your eyes met, and that victorious smile was on his face, the one you’d love nothing more than to wipe off. You weren’t sure if it should be that erotic to have a naked man holding a gun in front of you, waiting for you to suck him off, but… hell yeah, it definitely was.

“Well, I should get my rewar—I mean, my punishment,” he bit his lower lip, still smiling as he watched you rise from your seat and take those few, slow steps toward him.

He smelled insanely good, and now that you were close, no longer as apprehensive as before, you could take in the tattoos covering his skin. Why did he keep getting hotter?

“I’m starting to think that was your goal from the very beginning,” you said, rolling your eyes as you used your foot to push aside his discarded suit, positioning it just right for you to kneel on.

“Hmm, perhaps?” Even his eyes were smiling at you. “I can’t deny that I made these special rules just for you.”

He used the barrel of the gun to push a strand of your hair away from your face. The cold metal grazing your skin sent a shiver through you.

“What do you mean by special rules?” you asked, your curiosity getting the best of you.

“Well,” his eyes never left yours as he spoke. “Let’s just say we should’ve ended this a lot sooner.” He slid the gun down your face, tracing a path to your lips, pressing it lightly against your lower lip, making them part just slightly. “But my intentions changed a little as we talked.”

“And why is that?” You felt like you were in a trance, his gaze never wavering from yours, and his voice was so smooth, so damn captivating.

“You ask too many questions. I’m starting to get impatient,” he said, his tone playful, but with just enough edge to make you unconsciously look down at the sight of his hard length, leaking with pre-cum. “You can sit with the knowledge that I liked you,” he continued, using the gun to tilt your chin up, forcing you to meet his eyes again.

God, he’s so hot.

"I really hate that mysterious persona of yours," you murmured, frowning slightly as your hand wrapped around his cock, giving it a slow stroke. A sharp breath escaped him, his composure wavering just for a second.

"I really hate that mysterious persona of yours," you murmured, frowning slightly as your hand wrapped around his cock, giving it a slow stroke. A sharp breath escaped him, his composure wavering just for a second.

His slight reaction had you smiling in satisfaction. You wanted to press for more answers, but you knew he wouldn’t budge, so instead, you played it cool, pretending not to care as you finally sank to your knees.

Facing his throbbing cock, you took in the sight of the swollen tip, glistening with pre-cum.

You could feel his gaze tracking your every movement, heavy and unrelenting. When you looked up, his eyes were dark—no trace of that provoking smile, just raw anticipation as he waited for you to begin.

Slowly, you stuck out your tongue, dragging the wet muscle over the flushed head of his cock in a teasing lick. His thigh tensed slightly at the contact.

“Sensitive, aren’t we?” you teased.

A low, strained chuckle left his lips, but he didn’t respond. Instead, he just watched you, his grip tightening around the gun.

You licked him again, slowly, just to see how much you could make him squirm. His breath hitched, but he still held himself back, refusing to give you more than that.

“Nothing to say?” you hummed, wrapping your fingers around the base of his cock, stroking him lazily. “And here I thought you liked talking.”

His jaw tensed. You could feel him twitch in your hand, the weight of his stare burning into you.

“I like making you work for it,” he finally murmured, voice rough.

You smirked, tightening your grip just slightly. “Not so mysterious anymore, hm?”

And with that, you finally took him into your mouth—unhurried, teasing, making sure he felt every second of it. His groan was quiet at first, but when you hollowed your cheeks and took him deeper, he finally let out a ragged curse.

That annoying, pretty smile you wanted to wipe off? Gone.

Your mouth felt like heaven to him, your warm, wet tongue swirling around his length and then pulling back with a great, delicious suck. You could hear his soft grunts as you bobbed your head back and forth, speeding and then returning to a steady pace.

Honestly, he was too big, so you had to compensate for what couldn’t fit in your mouth with your hand—but his moans were too addicting for you not to push yourself further.

Bracing your hands on his thighs, you took him even deeper, relaxing your throat to welcome him fully. Your nose grazed his pubic area as you squeezed your eyes shut, breathing through your nose, determined to take all of him.

“Fuck,” Johnny exhaled, his legs nearly buckling at the overwhelming sensation. His hand shot down, fingers tangling in your hair, gripping tight as he held you in place. You felt his thighs tremble slightly beneath your palms as your throat tightened around him, drawing a ragged groan from his lips.

Throwing his head back just a little, he let himself savor the feeling, his grip tightening as if he wasn’t sure if he wanted to push you deeper or pull you away before he lost control completely, after all, the deal was you sucking him off, and not him fucking your mouth.

You finally pulled back, leaving him slick and glistening, and he groaned softly, only to have the sound cut short when you took him back into your mouth without hesitation. He barely had time to miss the sensation before you were working him over again, lips and tongue relentless.

Then, you felt his hand loosening from your hair, the absence of his grip almost disorienting. A second later, the unmistakable sound of a gun being cocked echoed in the room.

Your eyes flicked up to him, curiosity flickering in your gaze, but you didn’t stop. You kept your mouth on him, kept moving, pushing the moment to its limits.

Johnny smirked, his expression unreadable as he brought his free hand to your cheek, thumb stroking it with a tenderness that contrasted the weight of the barrel now pressing lightly against your head.

“May I take the chance to test your luck for you?” he murmured, voice smooth, teasing, but laced with something darker.

Well, having your brains blown out mid-blowjob wouldn’t exactly be hot, but… oh well. You simply shrugged and let him play his game, nails sinking into his thighs as you sucked him harder, pulling another raw, pleasure-drenched sound from his lips.

The cold metal of the gun pressed against you again. Then—click. The trigger was pulled. Nothing.

Honestly? You couldn’t have cared less.

He, on the other hand, seemed very pleased with the result. And in fact, he was. The thought of returning the favor, of having you squirming under his tongue, only pushed him closer to the edge. Combined with the tight heat of your throat, the way you swallowed him so perfectly, it was all too much.

Johnny didn’t bother warning you. He simply tightened his grip in your hair and pulled you down, burying himself to the hilt, your nose pressing against his abs as he spilled deep into your throat.

He only released you when you frantically tapped his thigh, your silent plea growing desperate. The moment his grip loosened, you pulled back with a gasp, gulping down air as your chest heaved.

Johnny, on the other hand, just watched you, satisfaction written all over his face.

“Not cool, Johnny,” you glared up at him, trying to sound annoyed, though the way you licked your lips clean might’ve betrayed you.

“You’re right,” he nodded, his voice laced with amusement as his hand slid into your hair, petting you like you were something he owned. “That wasn’t very chivalrous of me.”

Then, with a smirk, he tilted your chin up, his thumb grazing your swollen lips.

“Let me make it up to you, pretty.”

↝ taglist: @nebularsung, @sinisxtea, @peterm4rker.

[gothicfied]

nam-gyu x shy reader 🙏🙏🙏

Nam-gyu / Player 124 with a shy reader

Pairing: Nam-gyu / Player 124 x shy!reader

Warnings: Mentions of death/dying, killing, blood (typical squid game stuff), other than that it's just fluff, not proof read (english isn't my first language)

A/N: TIHIHIHI I love this man sm

જ⁀➴ You realized pretty quickly that being rather shy in this place would get you absolutely nowhere. It made you an easy target, but no one seemed to notice you at all at first. Everyone was too busy with their owm stuff, their selfishness showing itself in the first voting. You couldn't understand how anyone would press 'O' after witnessing people die right in front of them. Was money really worth more than human lives? What would make winning even enjoyable knowing innocent people were executed? It left a bad taste in your mouth.

જ⁀➴ However, there was one person who noticed you. Since the vote was already this close, Thanos and Nam-gyu were set on trying to win some other people over to their side. They were taunting and relentless in their ways, even after starting and losing a fight with Player 001. The latter of the two had taken notice of you immediately, thinking your shyness and crippling awkwardness awkwardness was adorable.

જ⁀➴ It was clear to him you had no direction, but thankfully he was there to help you. Even if you didn't hesitate to press 'X', to Nam-gyu you seemed almost too easy to convert. He thought by charming you or paying you enough attention to boost your ego a bit, you'd 'come to your senses' and vote to continue next time. In a way, he knew how fucked up it was, but did he care? No.

જ⁀➴ Nam-gyu also thought that it'd be better if he took this over. Someone like Thanos wouldn't know how to handle someone like you. So, he'd watch your every move. Sometimes you two would lock eyes, to which nodded at you, but you could only look away quickly. You weren't good with confrontation and you already saw what those two were capable of, so you didn't want to draw Nam-gyu's attention any more.

જ⁀➴ Did that work? Of course not. Even though this should've only been to their - actually, to his benefit - he couldn't help but find himself attracted to you. You seemed sweet, almost too innocent to be in this place. A thing you weren't, though, was incompetent — and he liked that about you.

જ⁀➴ To get you out of your shell and make you trust him more, he figured he just needed to save your life. Make you feel like you owed him something. And in this place, fabricating a situation like that was obviously not hard.

After hearing the rules for the next game you played, the mingle, worry was plastered on your face. Watching everyone make a plan with their team while you were kind of just standing there, too shy to ask to join, it made you lose hope. This was it. This would be your last game, most definitely even. Thankfully, you made it out somehow, which was thanks to Player 124, or Nam-gyu, as he introduced himself. He had taken your hand and dragged you with their group to one of the safe rooms during a round and made sure you were okay after. "Thank.. you so much." you said again when stepping out of the room to a bloody mess on the white floor. You were careful not to step into any of it. "What? No," Nam-gyu laughed it off, "we have to thank you. If you hadn't come with me, we'd all be dead now."

જ⁀➴ Now he had you exactly where he wanted you. Vulnerable, but still trusting enough to try to shift your opinion. And you actually did feel like you owed him something. Now Nam-gyu felt kind of bad despite his and Thanos' plan. The more he got to know you and the less shy you got around him, the more he liked you.

જ⁀➴ You were smart and honestly very pretty and you even got along with Thanos. It seemed to him that you tried to see the good in everyone here, even if they voted 'O'. You were so full of life, he didn't know anymore if he wanted you to change your vote.

જ⁀➴ At least he got to enjoy these moments with you now, hearing you laugh and seeing you smile made him forget about the prize money for a couple of minutes every time. Perhaps he should change his vote to have more time with you outside of the games.

[msmk11]

a hunger games fic where there’s tension between reader and haymitch but he feels conflicted because of the age gap i don’t know lots of pining and angst so i can go insane

Drunk on You

Haymitch Abernathy x fem!reader

WC: 4k

CW: Drinking/being drunk; mentions of death and blood; age gap (legal and consensual- reader is 21)

A/n: Thank you for the request!! I'm so sorry this took so long. I have been in a writing rut and also very busy, but I hope you enjoy this! I know I sure did.

You’d been lucky enough to avoid mentoring the first two years after your games- your first year by claiming insanity and the second merely because of the abundance of victors in your district. But the Capitol, and Snow, were ravenous for the return of their Angel- the sweet, innocent girl they painted you to be despite the blood they knew was on your hands.

And while the nightmares of your games were as fresh in your mind as the day they started, you persisted nonetheless. You couldn’t afford to let anyone else die at your hands, even if the cost to you was great. 

So the day of the reaping you stood by Mags’ side- four’s other mentor this year- as you watched kids be chosen to be sent off to their deaths like pigs for slaughter. 

The girl, someone you barely recognized but knew you’d gone to school with, looked strong. Like a potential competitor. She was tall enough, fairly lean, and the definition in her arms was obvious. Her age- eighteen- was a benefit too.

Whatever her name was (you’d been too anxious to pay attention), would be your mentee this year while Mags took the boy. 

The boy.

Finnick Odair. 

And while the age difference between you two was large- almost 7 years exactly- you guys were close. Like sibling-level close. It took everything in your power to not let the tears brimming at your waterline spill. 

The aftermath was a flurry of rushed goodbyes, heated whispers, and your begging Mags to just help you make it through the games. 

Though every instinct screamed at you to put all your efforts into Finnick’s survival, your mind knew it wasn’t the right thing to do. The girl, your mentee, may not have meant something to you, but she certainly meant something to someone. And she deserved life just as much as Finnick. 

It didn’t make it any easier though. 

And in the nights, when the nightmares and fears came creeping in, you turned to drink. 

That’s how you met Haymitch.

Haymitch Abernathy. Blonde, 31, borderline alcoholic, victor of the second quarter quell. And your new drinking buddy. 

Apparently. 

When you get to the bar in the Tribute Center the first night it’s totally empty except for a few Capitol stragglers giggling in a corner booth. 

You take a seat at the actual bar and order from the bartender- a brunette avox who couldn’t be much older than you. You’re sure to be extra polite as you accept your drink and take a sip of the strong concoction. It burns and you know it’ll fuck you up just enough to take the sting off the emotions squeezing your heart. 

“Drinking alone? Seem a bit young to be doing that, sweetheart,” a voice interrupts from beside you.

You turn to find Haymitch Abernathy standing next to you, his appearance a little disheveled, but still obviously very handsome. 

“Not sure you’re the one to be making judgements, Abernathy. You even sober right now?”

He smirks at you a little, “only buzzed for now. Care for some company?”

You scan the blonde suspiciously and decide he’s basically harmless, “fine, but you buy the next round.”

The District 12 victor lets out a chuckle and slides onto a stool beside you, “thought you had more money than you knew what to do with, four.”

“So do you,” you remind him with a shake of your head, “anyhow, it’s not about the money. It’s about the principle. You’re supposed to be a gentleman.”

Haymitch doesn’t reward you with an answer, instead turning to the bartender and ordering two glasses of whiskey. 

“What brings you to the bar so early in the games?”

“Wanted to fully reacquaint myself with the tribute center,” you huff dryly, “I’ve missed it sooooo dearly.”

“You’ll get used to it pretty damn fast. Especially now that the Capitol’s got its claws back on you, you won’t be able to escape it.”

He takes a sip of his drink thoughtfully, “I mean, their angel has made her return.”

A scoff escapes you in spite of yourself and Haymitch smirks. 

“What would they think if they knew you were getting wasted with the Capitol’s most disappointing victor? Your reputation would be ruined.”

“Then maybe I should stick around you a little longer, Twelve. Let some of your bad energy rub off on me. Maybe even have them catch me leaving your room.”

Haymitch chokes on his drink and you smirk. 

“What?! Catch you leaving my room like, like we?”

“Had sex,” you tease, “goodness Abernathy, I didn’t pin you for a prude.”

He rolls his eyes at you and huffs cockily, “me, a prude? Babydoll back where I come from I have a reputation. I’m just shocked that the Capitol’s perfect little angel could be so naughty.”

It’s your turn to choke when he sends you a wink, and you try to cover it with a cough. 

“Looks can be deceiving, Abernathy.”

***** 

You’re not sure if it’s the booze or the blaring music that’s giving you a headache. Or maybe it’s the relentless stares and unwanted approaches by dimwitted Capitol folks. Regardless, you want to be anywhere but here right about now. 

A party. Celebrating. The arrival of tributes. The arrival of doomed children.

It makes you sick. 

You forget someone is yapping away in your ear until they’re suddenly interrupted by your savior. 

Haymitch. 

“I’m sure the story you’re telling is lovely, really, but unfortunately we’re being pulled away for important mentor business,” he shares calmly, barely suppressing a smirk. 

“Oh, oh. Yes, of course,” the blue-haired person before you chatters, “I’ll have to catch you another time.”

Haymitch, thankfully, is already pulling you away before they can make you answer.

The blonde pulls you through the crowd, hands intertwined, and you can’t help but shiver. You figure it must be the evening chill in the air. 

You seem to be walking forever, further and further away from the party until the voices and music are a faint hum. He’s hidden the two of you away in one of the President’s many flourishing gardens. One that, surprisingly, doesn’t have a rose in sight. 

When Haymitch finally comes to a halt you look at him and smile, eyes darting between his face and your joined hands, “what was all that for?”

He looks at you disbelievingly, “I was saving you.”

You quirk an eyebrow at him, “who said I needed saving?”

“The poor glass in your hand that you nearly squeezed to death.”

You once over the glass full of some colorful drink in your hand and shrug noncommittally, throwing it back and then setting the empty glass on the wall. 

“I think you just wanted time alone with me, Abernathy. Seems like an awfully convoluted plan….showing up to the Capitol party, stealing me away so dramatically….”

He releases your hand and leans back against the wall, “don’t flatter yourself. I’m here for the free booze. I only brought you here out of the goodness of my heart.”

A scoff escapes you and you roll your eyes. 

“Anyhow, you owe me now- for saving you. And for missing out on free drinks because of it.”

“Let me guess, with more booze?”

“How else?”

“I don’t know… a meal, a simple favor…. My friendship?”

Haymitch winces and taked a large gulp of his drink, “don’t think the last would be much of a reward.”

You go to slap his arm but he stops you, his hand grabbing yours.

“You’ve got wicked fast reflexes,” you choke out, trying to suppress the gasp that escapes your lips.

“I’m a victor, remember?”

When you look up at him, his smile seems to briefly vanish, replaced with something much darker. 

You take his drink and finish it while squeezing his other hand. 

*****

“You clean up nice.”

Haymitch looks more than disgruntled to be stuffed into a fancy suit and you can barely suppress your laughter. 

“Shut up,” he grumbles under his breath. 

It reeks of booze. 

“What? I’m just saying it’s nice that you’ve changed up the homeless look.”

The blonde eyes you with a glare, “And I see they’ve stuffed you into another ridiculous costume.”

Haymitch is right. You do look ridiculous, and you’re not even the one on stage tonight. The white, feathery dress made for you was certainly intended to represent your angel persona. You think you look more like a white duck. 

“I suppose it’s better than usual,” you scoff, flattening out a few ruffled feathers, “though it itches like crazy.”

You begin to fidget with your dress again as the group of mentors slowly gather in their assigned seats near the front of the auditorium. The shrill voices of an excited audience echo loudly throughout the room as you step inside. You prepare for the stares and whispers, donning your mask and armor bravely.

Still, your hands shake. Your body’s thrown back in time to your games. You can remember clear as day standing up on that stage as Cesar talked and prodded, guiding you right into the role that had already been decided. 

Sweet. Innocent. Lovely. An angel. 

You’d fallen for the trap, mistaking the net for a lifeboat.

And had you ever really escaped it? 

The knots in your stomach are answer enough, and the seat soon before you is a welcome reassurance for your wobbly legs. 

Somehow, you’ve ended up between Mags and Haymitch. The former smiles at you warmly, nodding in a way that is inexplicably reassuring. Deep down, you know that she’s telling you that Finnick will be okay. That you’ll be okay. 

And when a hand lands on your knee, you’re doubly reassured. 

“Stop tapping your foot, it’s even making me anxious,” Haymitch grumbles. 

You still, turning to look at him apologetically. 

“Sorry, sorry. It’s just… weird being back.  I feel like I’m back in my own games, being in this room again. I hate it.”

Haymitch shifts a little and you see him reveal a small golden flask in his hand. 

“Want a drink?”

As tempting as it sounds, you shake your head, “I think I’d puke if I drank. And I want to be present anyway. Ready for anything.”

Your eyes flit to his hand still on your knee and you recall the pleasing warmth as he held yours those few weeks ago. Carefully, you reach out and intertwine your fingers, resting your clasped hands between you. At first he stiffens, and you think he’s going to pull away. But then, he doesn’t. 

And the flask disappears into his pocket, unused. 

*****

The blare of the horn through the speakers nearly sends you into a meltdown on the spot. It feels so deeply real to you, even though you’re miles away from the games. Your eyes are trained on your tribute as she sprints forward towards the cornucopia, and towards her potential death. Still, she’s technically a career, so you have hope that she’ll survive the bloodbath. 

Your eyes stray to Finnick too and your stomach rumbles in worry. But you know that he’s strong and determined, so you try to relax. 

Like usual, the bloodbath is ruthless and you can barely stomach it. It’s worse too because you have a stake in the outcome. Not just your own life or strangers’ lives, but someone you’ve trained, someone you care about. 

It doesn’t register with you that the death of strangers might actually affect you more than you realize. In particular, the two tributes from twelve. They’re struck down quickly, as they often are, and your heart twists. While the death of children is certainly part of the cause, it’s the image of Haymitch that really pains you. Another year, another loss, and you wonder how he bears it. You suppose he doesn’t. 

Hence, the booze. 

Once the initial craziness of the bloodbath calms down and you’re sure that both your tribute and Finnick are safe, you go on a hunt for Haymitch. 

It doesn’t take you long if you follow the trail of beer.

Not literally, of course, but the bar is certainly the right place to start. Haymitch is slumped over on a stool and your heart breaks a little. 

“Drinking alone?” you say quietly. 

The blonde looks at you unimpressed and you’re immediately taken aback by the pain swimming behind his eyes. 

“Care if I join you?”

He hums noncommittally and you don’t take that as an outward no. After you take a seat you order a drink and sip silently for a few moments. 

“I’m sorry about your tributes.”

Haymitch shrugs, “I knew they were never gonna make it.”

“But it can still hurt,” you remind him. 

Haymitch scoffs a little, “I don’t care. I barely knew the kids.”

You study his face and can tell that he actually does. Of course, you don’t say that. Instead, you reach out and grab his hand. This time, he doesn’t even flinch as he grips yours back. 

“Let’s go somewhere quieter.”

You drag him along to the fourth floor suite and bring him inside. 

“I’ve entered enemy territory,” the blonde says gruffly.

You smirk at him and hold up a bottle of whiskey, “what about now?”

He smiles a little and you pour a drink for each of you before settling on the couch next to him so that your knee is touching his thigh- so you’re fully facing him. 

“You know, you don’t have to pretend to be strong,” you tell him softly. 

“I’m not pretending, I’m fine.”

Haymitch turns his head away and you hear a small sniffle. 

“Sweetheart,” you coo.

You grab his chin and gently turn his face towards you. He looks embarrassed and teary eyed and you stroke your thumb over his cheek. Haymitch’s eyes flutter shut and you think it’s a rather pretty sight. 

“It’s okay,” you whisper very softly. 

When Haymitch opens his eyes you’re inches apart, and your heart stutters in your chest. 

You both lean slightly closer, your breaths mingling. 

“Haymitch…”

He abruptly pulls back. 

“I think I need another drink.”

*****

You suppose you’re glad it was quick. Hopefully pretty painless. No chance to be afraid or to bleed out slowly. 

But it also happened so fast. One second your tribute was breathing, and now she’s gone. You’d had such high hopes for her, and now she was dead. Was it your fault? 

Was there something you could’ve done to warn her? To prepare her better? 

You feel even more guilty because you’re sort of relieved that she’s dead. Not because you wanted her to die, but because it means Finnick is one step closer to getting out of the arena. Back home to District Four where he is relatively safe- or at least in your dome of protection. 

When the guilt subsides, it’s replaced by numbness. That’s all you feel. 

You understand now why Haymitch drinks. It provides some semblance of warmth when all you feel inside is coldness and emptiness. 

Knocking. You hear knocking. 

You stumble to the door, bottle in hand, and there he stands.

“Haymitch!”

You lunge towards him and he catches you, gripping your waist firmly. If you were sober, you would’ve been able to suppress the shudder that runs through your body from his touch. 

“Want a drink?” you slur, your boozy breath blowing in his face. 

He shakes his head at you and you shrug, “more for me then.” 

You lift the bottle neck to your mouth but he stops you, gripping your wrist gently.

“I think you’ve had enough, sweetheart.”

A loud laugh escapes your lips and Haymitch shushes you, shuffling the both of you inside and closing the door, “What’s so funny?”

“It’s just funny- you telling me I’ve had too much to drink. Hilaaaaarrious!”

“Well I have a better tolerance.”

You shuffle back and topple over the couch arm, sending Haymitch down on top of you.

“Oooooops… sorrrrryyyyy” you giggle. 

The blonde pushes himself up off of you and sets the bottle down on the side table.

“Are you okay, sweetheart?” Haymitch asks softly, more kind than you’ve ever heard him before. 

You sober up a little at the question and scoff, “Of course I’m not fine. My tribute just bled out on

television in front of millions of people.”

“I-I’m sorry,” he mutters gruffly.

“Why? What was it you said? You barely even knew your tributes…It’s not like I did either. Why should I care? Or be torn up?”

“Because you’re a better person than me,” Haymitch adds gently, “Because you wear your heart on your sleeve and care so deeply about people.”

He grips your knee and smiles at you sadly. 

“Well I’m done with caring,” you slur, “It only hurts more. I like your way- drink yourself to death.”

You lunge towards the bottle behind him and he reaches out, stopping you again by grabbing your hips and pulling you against him. Surprisingly, he doesn’t let go when he pulls you away from the bottle. Instead, he pulls you into his chest, hugging you. 

“What’re you doing?” you mumble into his chest.

“Giving you a hug, sweetheart.”

“Why?”

He scoffs exasperatedly, “I can stop.”

“NONONO don’t! Don’t.”

You shift back a little to look him in the eyes, “It’s… nice. You’re…nice.”

“I don’t think anyone’s ever called me nice before.”

You look at the blonde softly, infatuated by his face- the stubble across his chin, his piercing eyes, his lips…

By some unknown force, you’re pulled to his lips. You reach out and close your eyes, pressing your lips to his. For a moment, he reciprocates, his mouth melting against yours. But then he pulls away, “Stop, stop. You’re drunk.”

“So? You’re always drunk and I don’t stop you from doing things you want,” you remind him.

“I don’t- you’re. Even then, it doesn’t matter. You’re too young and I-”

Haymitch stands abruptly and leaves, abandoning you on the couch, alone. 

*****

Finnick’s return to the Capitol should be more joyous than you currently feel. You’re beyond relieved that he’s back and safe, within arms reach. In fact, you haven’t let him out of your sight in days and you think he’s starting to get annoyed by you. 

Still, something continues to burden your mind or, rather, someone. 

You haven’t seen Haymitch since you drunkenly tried to kiss him a few days ago. Though you were incredibly wasted, his words still ring in your mind clear as day- “you’re too young.”

It’s more painful than flat out rejection, really. Him not having feelings is one thing, but the knowledge that he potentially does and still won’t let you in hurts much more. What-ifs haunt you constantly, and the memory of the look on his face when he pulled away slowly rips your heart to shreds. 

Now there’s only an evening left until you’re set to return home to District Four, only one night until you won’t see Haymitch again until…well you’re not sure how long it will be. 

“You know, I’m the one that should be moping about,” a voice says.

You look up to see Finnick staring at you from the doorway, a knowing look on his face.

“I’m not moping…I’m just tired,” you say.

It is true, but so is Finnick’s statement. Not that you’ll tell him that. 

He quirks an eyebrow at you and walks into the room, plopping down on your bed, “Such a bullshit response. Come up with a better excuse if you’re going to lie.”

“I’m not lying I-”

You shut up as he looks at you unimpressed. 

“Come on, I can read you like a book. What’s wrong?”

You sigh and look down at your hands, fidgeting with your fingers. 

“Nothing I- I kissed Haymitch,” you murmur.

“What’d you say? I can barely hear you.”

“I kissed Haymitch,” you say more boldly. 

Finnick’s eyes widen, and it would be comical if it were any other situation, “Abernathy? You kissed Haymitch Abernathy?”

“Yes, Abernathy. Is there any other Haymitch?”

Finnick shakes his head in disbelief, “I owe Mags five dollars.”

“Excuse me?”

“Mags told me she thought you two liked each other. But I didn’t believe her, so we bet on it. Guess I can’t be that mad though.”

“Well it doesn’t matter, we’re not together or anything.”

Finnick looks at you intently, “why not?”

You sigh and pause for a moment, “Because he said I was too young.”

“That’s such bullshit,” the blonde scoffs, “you’re only like, what, ten years younger? Anyhow, you’re an adult who can make her own decisions.”

You shrug your shoulders and sigh, “I just wish I never would’ve done anything. I was drunk and stupid and now he won’t talk to me.”

A pillow gets thrown at your face and you wince, scowling at Finnick, “what was that for?”

“Drunk you was smarter than sober you. She acted on her feelings. Now you’re just sitting around moping.”

“I-”

Finnick looks at you seriously, “Don’t waste your chance. We both know life is too short to have regrets.”

You stand up quickly and kiss Finnick on the cheek, “when did you get so smart little bro?”

He only rolls his eyes at your endearment and shoves you out the door.

Your hand shakes as you hold it up to the twelfth floor door. It’s ridiculous, really, how you’re more nervous to confess your feelings than you were to fight in the games. 

You take a deep breath and finally knock stiffly. 

There’s momentary silence and you think maybe Haymitch is asleep or not there. But then you hear shuffling from the other side and the door is yanked open- “Wha-?”

Haymitch freezes at the sight of you, his likely nasty reply hanging off of his lips. 

“What are you doing here?” he asks more calmly.

“I-I came to apologize.”

Then, you shake your head, “that’s a lie. I’m not here to apologize because I’m not sorry for what I did… for kissing you. I’m only sorry you left too soon and I was too drunk for us to talk about it.”

Haymitch stands in the doorway still and only stares at you dumbfounded.

“Can-can I come in?”

Finally the blonde nods and steps aside, welcoming you into his space. It’s slightly messy and you suppose he hasn’t left the suite in days, not that you blame him or mind. 

You find a seat on the couch, comfortably separate from Haymitch on the other end. 

“Haymitch-”

“I’m sorry,” he interrupts. 

“What?”

“I’m sorry. For walking out on you. It wasn’t the right thing to do. I-I panicked and you were drunk and…and I haven’t felt anything like that in a long time.”

You stare at him softly and your heart beats in your chest, “So you did feel something.”

Haymitch runs his hand through his hair exasperatedly, “Fuck, of course I did. I mean, you’re smart, funny, and beautiful, how could I not?”

Heat rushes to your cheeks and you look down at your hands awkwardly… “but you think I’m too young. You said that.”

He sighs, “I-I did. And I meant it. I still do. You’re young, you still have a life to live. You deserve to be with someone young and put together and better…”

You scoff gently, “Did you ever think to ask me what I think I deserve? Why do you get to decide for me?” 

Haymitch’s mouth opens and closes silently like a fish.

“Maybe what I want- maybe what I deserve- is a kind, handsome guy who might be a little rough around the edges, but who is gooey and sweet on the inside. What then?”

“But I’m a drunk and fucked up and…”

You reach out and grip his hand tightly, “I don’t think I’ve seen you touch a drink in days. And also, look who you’re talking to. I don’t exactly handle my trauma well either. I’m a victor too, remember?”

You shuffle closer to him, “Please don’t push me away, please-”

Before you can finish your response you’re cut off as Haymitch moves forward and pulls you into him, kissing you passionately.

You melt into his touch and sigh, finally being rewarded with what you’ve been craving for weeks. 

He pulls away and rests his forehead against yours, panting softly, “you know, you’re right. I haven’t drank in days because I found something better. I got drunk on you instead.”

[comatosebunny09]

heel | sylus

sum: he knows without looking that you’re beside him once more. you always are. like a faithful crow perched on his shoulder, awaiting his command. he wouldn’t have it any other way.

cw: reader is implied to be female, reader has hair, guns, mentions of violence, implied minor character death, innuendos, you’re a little unhinged and sylus is here for it, & maybe he has a thing for you, scent kink (?), mdni

notes: idk what this is. i just wanted to write something about sylus having a bad-ass lapdog. inspired by that unleashed movie with jet li. might continue this. thank you for reading!

He can’t focus. Not with you smelling like that behind him.

It’s an arresting scent. Sweet, floral, nostalgic. Intertwined with your natural fragrance, it’s quite a heady mix.

He first catches wind of it when you angle yourself over the table beside him to place a case—heavy with military-grade weapons—onto its polished surface. Your warmth fades along with the aroma, the wispy tendrils of your hair grazing his neck.

Sylus finds himself chasing the smell when you ease back to rejoin the twins. He peers at you over his shoulder as if to convince himself he isn’t imagining things.

You bear a deceptively innocent smile. Acknowledge Sylus with a nod, and your eyes darken into something indistinguishable. Mischief? Admiration? Murderous intent?

You’re always itching for a good fight. Vibrating with the need to protect and maim at the drop of a hat. At the subtle tremor of Sylus’ fingers.

Sylus shakes his head to dispel the tension, smirking down at his lap and returning his attention to the table. Regains his composure, fixed on the gentleman seated across.

“Ten million,” Sylus simply states through the lazy furl of cigar smoke. Beneath the sepia-toned veil cast by the filament lights overhead.  

The portly man on the opposite side of the table harrumphs. Gradually erupts into a fit of laughter mixed with coughing and wheezing. Sylus winces. Maybe he should give the cigar a break.

As if reading Sylus’ thoughts, the gentleman does just that. Signals to one of his bodyguards—one of ten. For little old Sylus? He then snuffs out his smoke on the summoned guard’s palm, not batting an eye.

Disgusting, Sylus thinks, lips twitching with the urge to sneer. How could humans make themselves so disposable?

“Mister Sylus,” the gentleman begins, disrupting Sylus’ inner monologue. He folds his fat, liver-spotted hands on the table and leans forward until his chair creaks. “My family has worked with you for years—”

“Your point?” Sylus interjects, his brow ticking. He’s trying to keep his cool. Trying to maintain that poker face. Between this deal sapping up more time than he initially anticipated and your heavenly scent beckoning to him like ghostly tendrils curling under his chin, he’s more than a little antsy.

The gentleman clears the phlegm from his throat. Tugs on the round of his tie, disbelieving Sylus’ gall. He tries again, sitting up a little straighter.

“My point, Mister Sylus, is that ten million is a little…eh, steep.” Leaning back, the man’s lips crook into a smirk. Sylus narrows his eyes. He knows this song and dance. This fool thinks he’s already won. “Especially given that these weapons are mere prototypes—”

Sylus doesn’t have to speak. Couldn’t even if he wanted to, that fragrance once again pervading his senses like creeping mist. It’s accompanied by a swift breeze caressing his cheek. By the clack of something metallic set on the table. He knows without looking that you’re beside him.

You always are. Like a faithful crow perched on his shoulder, awaiting his command. He feels it rolling off you in waves. The vitriol, the malice.

Down, girl, Sylus thinks, eying you in his periphery. Swells with pride. Leans back in an easy slouch, crossing his legs with humor gracing his features. He pushes that bewitching smell to the backburner. There’s money to be made and a scourge to be wiped from the face of the planet.

The room had lapsed into an impenetrable silence when you slammed a pistol on the table. A show of power. A threat bleeding into a promise.

All eyes are on the shiny gleam of the revolver.

The gentleman swallows thickly, fretting with his tie, Adam’s apple bobbing. He glances between you and Sylus, and it’s comical how a bead of sweat forms on his mottled temple.

He swiftly feigns nonchalance, throwing his hands up as he cackles with his guards over his shoulder. Red-faced like it’s the funniest thing in the world. “What is this? Am I—am I really supposed to be intimidated by that?” He gestures to the revolver like it’s something of child’s play.

Another gust of air grazes Sylus’ skin. He’s bereft of the scent you carry, finding his wits scurrying back to him. Like you released him from a spell.

In an instant, you’re behind the gentleman. A deviously soft hand presses between his shoulder blades. You pitch yourself forward over his shoulder, your lips brushing the outer shell of his ear.

“No,” you whisper, and the man shirks away with a shriek pinched from his throat like he’s seen a ghost. Your accompanying giggle bodes danger. “But you should be scared a’ me.”

The click of various weapons shifting to semi surrounds you. Ten guns aimed at your back, threatening to rend you to sinew and bone. But you’re too quick. In the blink of an eye, you’re seated on the table before the gentleman, one leg crossed over the other, leant back on your hands, your head coyly cocked to the side.

You’re a cheeky little shit. Sylus wouldn’t have you any other way.

The man’s tie is suddenly between your fingers. You’re admiring the texture of it, lids lowered, lips pursed whilst you tug him forward. Your breath fans over his blanched skin, and you scrutinize his features like a curious feline. He’s petrified, his men’s weapons poised at his back.

You grin something sultry, toying with the gentleman’s tie. Gaze flits between him and his goons, signaling for him to call them off. They’ll have to riddle him with holes to get to you. Have them do the dirty work for you. Crafty little thing.

His bodyguards acquiesce when the man raises a trembling hand. Reluctantly lower their weapons, a symphony of quickened heartbeats and clenching buttholes invading the air. The man’s stricken by your beauty and otherworldly speed. He thought this would be cake. Figured he could pull one over on Onychinus’ notorious kingpin, unaware that he would drag his guard dog into the fray.

Sylus sighs, shifting in his seat. Stuffs a hand in his pocket, nothing short of amused. “And here I thought you were a smart man,” he huffs, examining his nails. “This could’ve all been so very easy.”

“But you had to make it hard,” you tack on against the swell of the gentleman’s lips. “Not that I’m complaining.”

At some point, you pilfered the man’s phone from his pocket.

You hold it to his face, unlocking it with his biometrics. His bank app has already been cued up with Sylus’ information. Your humored visage ebbs in and out of focus as the gentleman peers between you and the screen.

The man swallows again, his throat clicking. He cautions another look at your boss, silently willing him to call you off. Sylus does no such thing, instead holding his hands up in mock surrender.

Shakily, the gentleman keys in the proffered amount. Presses send, the chime of it the only sound heard in the tense atmosphere.

You look at Sylus over your shoulder. Smile sweet as sugar, and something in Sylus’ chest pulls. He nods once he’s received the transaction. Quietly praises you with a smoldering look before maneuvering to dismount his seat with a flourish of his coat. Luke and Kieran flank him without a hitch, snickering at his sides.

Sylus smiles, playfully waving his phone in the air. “Pleasure doing business with you,” he says, moving to the room’s only entry point with the twins in tow.

The man bristles, sweat coasting in rivulets down his neck. He moves to stand, but you bar him, blotting out everything from sight that isn’t you. You twist his tie around your fist, wordlessly telling him to heel. He’s already lost. Already tried to undermine the devil and failed. No sense in prolonging his sentencing.

Not that Sylus intended to let him live from the start.

“Oh, and, sweetie,” purrs Sylus, halfway through the threshold over his shoulder. Your gazes interlock for the briefest of seconds. He does so love it when you look at him like that. “Have fun.”

You need no further goading as the door slips shut with Sylus’ exit.

Your body hums with the prickle of your Evol, and a crazed smirk warps your countenance as the gentleman’s bodyguards close in.

[holylulusworld]

Animalistic (1)

Summary: He's coming for them.

Pairing: Alpha!Kraven x Omega!Reader

Warnings: a/b/o, betrayal, human trafficking, sex trafficking, angst, kidnapping, innocent reader, implied character death (unnamed thugs), grumpy Kraven

A/N: Please consider that I do not write for Kraven from the comics, but from the movie.

Animalistic Masterlist

He always liked animals better, maybe because they are easier to understand, or maybe because his father was a drug-dealing piece of shit.

Kraven doesn’t want to remember the reason. Out there in the darkness, surrounded by stillness and wild animals, he feels alive—that’s all that matters to him.

He hates coming back to the city to hunt a different kind of animal. The kind selling drugs to kids or selling innocent lives to monsters.

Years back, when he was much younger and tried to impress his father, he hunted animals. The most dangerous predators he could find.

That’s in the past. Since he almost died and was left to rot by his father somewhere in the middle of nowhere. A fading dream saved him. Her name was Calypso, and she saved him in more than one way.

He gave up his name and started a new life. Now he hunts the real monsters. The ones hiding behind money and a fake smile.

Tonight, he’s back among humans, and he couldn’t hate it more. The stink of their lies and sweat mixed with desperation makes him sick.

He plays along to get closer to his next target. A man making even a ruthless hunter like Kraven sick.

Darian Garton, self-declared ruler of New York City, human trafficker of the worst kind. He sells children, women, and whoever one of his business partners wants to the cruelest monsters ever to exist.

Three days ago, your life wasn’t too bad. You had a job, a home, and some good friends. That was until you followed your friend’s invitation to a party at someone’s house. A guy she knew from another party wanted her to bring more friends.

Oriana was your best friend since childhood. You believed you knew everything about her—just like she knew everything about you. Only half an hour after you came to the party, you realized you knew nothing about your friend.

Men crowded you and some other girls in a room. You knew right away that something was off. These men didn’t try to flirt or ask you out. No—they looked at you and the other women as if you were on the menu.

While the other girls chatted with some of the guys, you tried to sneak out and leave before things could turn to the worst.

You grabbed Oriana and guided her into the bathroom, telling her this party was fishy. Your chance to sneak out of the bathroom window was taken from you when Oriana grabbed the back of your neck to slam your face into the tile wall, knocking you out.

Kraven follows his target like a predator hunts its prey. His sight is heightened, just like his other senses. He’s the ultimate apex predator in human form. Made to capture his prey.

Darian Garton feels safe enough to walk around town with only one bodyguard. He believes no one will dare to attack him.

“Tonight, Garton,” Kraven snarls as he hides in the dark. Garton walks toward an old warehouse on the outskirts of New York. Only a few people know this place exists. “I’ll get you.”

You shiver from the cold creeping into your bones. It’s been three days since your best friend betrayed you in the worst way possible. She lured you and the other women in, offering a good time.

“You’re lucky,” one of your captors says. “The others, they are replaceable. You are not.” He laughs when you grit your teeth. “An unbonded and untouched omega is the jackpot my boss has been waiting for.”

“Get fucked,” you grunt and look away from him. You cannot show him that you are scared to the bone. You heard some of the other women scream and beg, leaving nothing to your imagination.

Something horrid must’ve happened to them, but you don’t want to think about it. Rumors spread through the grapevine. You heard about missing women. Kidnapping is real, and so is sex trafficking.

You had hoped that you imagined things and that your friend didn’t sell you to these monsters. Sadly, only one person knows that you are an unbonded and untouched omega. Oriana—the monster waiting in the shadows to take away your life.

“You know, Oriana is one of our best,” the man laughs as you snap your head toward him, hearing your friend’s name. “She came to us on free terms, offering her help. Ori was done living off scraps. She wants the big money, and big money she’ll get for selling you.”

“I hope you know there’s a special place in hell for the likes of you,” you growl, eyes glowing as you sense another alpha enter the room. “All of you will suffer.”

“Hey, did you bring the fo—” the man speaking to you seconds ago choked on his words. He steps back, and you wonder what scared him. You scramble to your feet, stepping closer to the bars parting you from the man.

It’s pitch-black, but you can see the man drop to the ground. “Omega,” a deep voice says. He sniffs in your direction before pushing the key into the lock. “Get out. Come with me.”

You hesitate to get out and step back. However, the alpha doesn’t care. He steps inside your cell and harshly grabs your arm. “If you don’t want them to sell you, come with me. The others are already lost, but I can bring you out of here.”

“No…not without the others!” You cry. “Please! I—I heard where they are going. Please…”

The man drags you out of the room, ignoring that you gasp loudly. The men who kidnapped you lie dead on the ground. It looks like someone slaughtered them using a knife and rage.

“I already lost track of Darian Garton to save you. I won’t waste more time!” He growls, but stops when you start to cry. He sighs deeply. “Fine. I’ll bring you somewhere safe, and you will tell me everything you know.”

“We need to find Oriana,” you murmur and avert your gaze. “She was my friend and the one trapping me. If anyone knows more about that man’s business, it’s her. And I can tell you what I heard.”

Kraven looks at you, brows knitted together. “If you lie to me, I’ll leave you behind.”

“Fair enough,” you reply. “I have no reason to lie…”

Part 2

[thoutisashark]

Accidental Courtship :3

Accidental courtship

ft: Savanaclaw, Octavinella

cw: possible minor spelling errors (blame the dyslexia), established relationship, swearing, implied fem reader

Penguins have this adorable courtship ritual where the male gives the female a smooth pebble, if the female is impressed by the pebble she accepts the gift and mates with the male

I know that jade, Floyd, and Azul aren't penguins, but i thought it would be so cute if their s/o gave them a pebble and basically proposed but not knowing what it meant.

And for the beast-men (Leona, Jack, Ruggie) i thought it would be cute if there was a special beast-men way of courtship, I couldn't think of anything though, but then i remembered that for a lot of mammals (and animals in general) grooming is a form of bonding, so what if licking was a form of courtship?!?!

ENJOY

Savanaclaw

Leona: he awoke from his nap when he felt a pair of hands running through his hair, he sniffed the air, realizing it was just his s/o he closed his eyes once again, surrendering to the comforting feeling of your hands, he hated to admit it but he loved when you played with his hair, it was something he looked forward to and expected. what he didn't expect however was the sudden wet feeling that graced his cheek his eyes shot open and his head snapped in your direction

"so soon? at least wait till we graduate"

your so confused, he realizes that you probably dont know what you just did

"for beast-men, your lick was you asking me to marry you you dumb herbivore"

he wont admit it but his heart was pounding in his chest

Jack: he had finished his classes for the day and was walking around the campus grounds, when he spotted you his tail started to wag a bit, he attempted to stop, annoyed that he was giving away how he felt. he walked over to you, he wrapped his arm around your waist pulling you closer to him you smiled up at him, kissing his cheek, he smiled at you and walked with you to the ramshackle dorm, you guys sat in the guest room you had been working on you had been pretty bored all day and wanted to do something to make you laugh, why not lick your boyfriend see what his silly reaction would be, little did you know the implications behind this supposedly innocent action. as soon as your tongue brushed his cheek he was off to sofa and staring at you in shock, he moved so fast that your tongue was still hanging out of you mouth

"i-im not ready"

his voice was shaky and his tail was wagging at a super sonic spread

"i mean you need to meet my parents and my siblings, and i dont have any money, i mean were still in high school, marriage is a very large leap"

you were so fucking confused Marriage? when you asked what he was talking about he looked at you confused

"you licked me... you want to marry me...right?"

you blushed and told him that in your world its just a weird thing to do. he sighed in

"so no marriage then, good, i love you but im not ready for that yet... try again in a few years"

he winked, his tail giving away his feelings

Ruggie: you had gotten some powdered donuts from Sam's store earlier and you were super excited to eat them, you rushed to your dorm hoping to avoid the food thief you called a boyfriend but it was useless, he could probly smell them from 3 miles away, he saw you running smelt the sweet scent of donuts and took off after you, he caught up quickly, snatching the box from you hands

"watcha got here shihihi"

he held the box out of your reach and took a donut out, he quickly shoved it into his mouth as you pouted, you loved him to death but god was he annoying sometimes you noticed how he had gotten some of the powdered sugar on his nose and an idea of revenge sprung into your mind, you grabbed the collar of his shirt and pulled him down to you

"you gonna kiss me~" he teased you, he wrapped an arm around you resting a hand on the small of your back while his other held the donut box.

you licked his nose, he tensed up, his eyes widened and he stumbled back almost falling over

"i-i dont- i mean-" he turned around, he grabbed his ears and pressed them down, trying to calm himself down, he had never felt so flustered before, but could you blame him? his s/o just asked for his hand in marriage "i accept but... so soon?"

you looked at him confused, he took a moment, realizing that what is a marriage proposal for beast-men might not be the same for humans, but everyone was aware of the tradition, then it clicked, you weren't from here, you had no idea what you had just done. his blush was still there, and to be honest he was dissipated, he licked you cheek "that is a proposal for marriage" he admits, looking away embarrassed, he shoved the donut box back into your hands and quickly walked away mumbling a quick "i love you" his tail was small, but it was wagging as he zoomed away from you.

Octavinelle (penguin esc courtship)

Floyd: he hated working at the cafe, it was so boring, why would he work when he could be with his little shrimpy? he found you outside of the ramshackle dorm, you were on your hands and knees digging round a pile of rocks

"shrimpy~" he lifted you up and hugged you from behind "what are you doing?"

he asked, examining the rocks you held in your hands, you didn't answer, instead you picked on of the rocks you had and handed it to him, it was smooth, and had a faint blue undertone to it, he squealed and snatched it out of your hand, he wrapped his arms around you, squeezing you till you felt like you were about to burst, he kissed you passionately before skipping off to tell his brother and Azul, you just stood there, confused as to why your boyfriend was so happy about the rock you gave him, i mean sure it was cool but was it that exciting for him? a couple hours later there was a knock on the door to the ramshackle dorm, you opened the door and say Floyd standing there frowning slightly

"do you know what a rock means"

you shook your head and you swear it looked like he was about to cry

"so you weren't asking me to marry you?"

you shook your head again, now understanding why he was so upset, you hugged him and kissed his cheek promising him to marry him one day, as soon as he heard that he was happy again, hugging and squeezing you all night long.

Jade: he was observing the mushroom he was growing, they had a strange mutation that he hadn't seen before and was eager to study, he was writing down the differences and comparing them to known mutations when suddenly you burst into his room clenching something in your hand, he turned to you smiling at you, he closed his mushroom guide and walked over to you, kissing your forehead and ruffling your hair, you hold out your hand and show a small smooth rock to him, he blushed, hugging you tightly

"are you aware of what your asking me?" he asked, his voice shacking lightly as he hugged you tighter, part of him wished you meant what mer-people mean when they give rocks, but he knows you arent used to the tradtions and culture in this world

he pulled away slightly and when he saw your confused face he smiled sadly "in merfolk culture you asked me to marry you" he chuckled as you blushed "i want to be the one to give you the rock dear" he mumbled into your hair he pulled away caressing your face before picking you up and taking you to the couch to cuddle.

Azul: he was in his office doing paper work and for the cafe, he was stressed, his hand was starting to cramp from the amout of writing he had been doing. the door to his office opened and you entered, his eyes lit up as he say you, your presence always made him feel better.

"hello my love"

he smiled at you softly, he open his arms for a hug and you wasted no time crawling into his lap and hugging him tightly, he kissed your shoulder, you reached into your pocket and handed him a pretty rock you had found earlier, his faced flushed with a blush

"m-my love? i- i mean y-yes ill marry you, but at least meat my family first, do you have a venue in mind? a dress? i can help you look- wait your not proposing? oh... you dont know do you"

as disappointed as he was that he wasn't going to marry you he chuckled and laughed

"my beloved your little rock was a proposal of marriage"

he smirked at you, watching as you face as you realized what you had done, he kissed you shoulder and cheek again

"just know love.... i will say yes, i will always say yes to you"

a couple days later when you walk into his office you she the rock you gave him on the shelf behind his desk, it was in a glass container, when you asked Azul all he said was

"its special to me, i wish to keep it forever"

End notes:

i had no idea what to do for leona and i think its pretty obvious, but i had fun writing this! its my first time writing for twst characters and i think i did ok... i hope

I am accepting requests :)

[mint-8]

Platonic Yandere Show-Off!

Yandere Mother vs. Yandere Father x Child! GN! Reader

Content/Trigger warning: Mentions of death, torture, and pregnancy. Please read as completely platonic.

- United in an arranged marriage, neither Yandere Mother nor Yandere Father are particularly pleased with their current situation. Both are enraged due to their respective family's tradition of marrying into money and improving business respectively, and are already planning on how get to get rid of the other one so they can live a happy single life, preferably with all of the remaining assets from having their spouse die in 'mysterious' ways.

- Yandere Mother and Yandere Father are tasked with having at least 1 child so they can inherit the entire family business. Their gender doesn't matter. They need to make an heir. Yandere Mother is disgusted at the idea of having Yandere Father inside her, and so does he, but after avoiding the inevitable for a couple years, they finally spent one quick and uncomfortable night together to get it over with.

- While Yandere Mother is busy dealing with the pregnancy, Yandere Father makes sure to put aside enough money for his child's education, entertainment, health, and anything else they might need. Look, he might hate his wife, but he is not going to hate an innocent creature that had no choice to be born to such a horrible woman, he is going to do his best to raise his child right, but might leave most of the heavy duties to the mother. And speaking of, Yandere Mother is excited for having a child. It will be HER child and no one else's, and is very happy that her piece of shit of a husband is going to leave most of the kid's upbringing to her. She will make sure her baby grows with only the best of the best, and of course, only loving their mama! Your sperm donor will only appear for publicity reasons.

- Yandere Mother and Yandere Father who are surprised when your birth occurs a bit earlier than expected, but nevertheless rush your mother quickly to the best hospital in the country while your father waits outside of the operation room. Partially because it will look good for the press and partially because he doesn't want to be like your deadbeat grandfather who skipped his birth so he could drink with some investors. Yandere Father, at least, wants to be there for you. Meanwhile, Yandere Mother is screaming bloody murder in the other room. The pain is horrible. Even when the doctors gave her strong medications for the delivery, she still feels the first complications of motherhood. But even with all the difficulties, she bears through it all and gives birth to what will become of her and her husband's future adoration and obsession, you.

- The first to meet you is, of course, Yandere Mother, who held you as soon as the nurse's finished washing off all the blood and liquids, and who couldn't believe her eyes when she first saw you. Even when you were wet and crying after experiencing breathing for the first time, you still looked like the most adorable of little angels. Yandere Mother couldn't help but cry and weep from the incredible amount of love she felt in the moment, while a warm smile grazed her face, as she protectively held you, hearing your heart beat in unison with hers. She even refused to let the nurses and doctors check on you until she pretty much collapsed from the exhaustion of giving birth.

- Yandere Father meets you after the hospital staff gave him the clearing after running some tests. To say he fell in love is an understatement. This man fell to his knees when he first saw you at the maternity ward, peacefully sleeping with a soft blanket covering you. He couldn't help the tears that fell down his face, or the clear adoration in his eyes. He just... loves you much. His baby, his little angel. The adorable and cute baby in existence was right in front of him, and you were all his! He made you, after all! Oh, how excited he was to get you ot of here and buy you dozens of toys, and clothes and-

"They are beautiful, aren't they?"

"Like an angel..."

"If you hurt them in any way, I'll make sure to hire an assassin to torture you to death"

"I can say the same to you, dear"

- Yandere Mother and Yandere Father spoil you rotten through your childhood. Especially Yandere Father, who can't spend as much time with you as he would like because he has to take care of the family conglomerate, but always sends you hundreds of gifts your way, which are always meticulously chosen and discarded by Yandere Mother, who makes sure to spend every moment that you are awake by your side. She will make sure to raise you into the most innocent, polite, and kind little one in the entire world. She might love you with all her heart, and is more than willing to frame someone for a murder she committed if it came down to it, but she won't neglect you by letting you grow as you please! Oh, no! Proper etiquette classes and lectures about being responsible, respectful, and kind are very prevalent in your busy schedule and educational curriculum.

- Yandere Mother chooses homeschooling with only the best of the best private teachers and tutors to foment your growth! And no complaining or pressure from her extended family will change that! Yandere Father also supports this plan, with the added clause that you need to participate in extracurricular activities outside for your fortified home. Yandere Mother was going to cut your father from suggesting such dangerous activities to fragile, innocent you, but quickly changed her mind when he explained that he wishes to have photos and memorabilia of each and every one of your achievements, specifically those in which you absolutely crush the pathetic competition.

- Yandere Mother and Yandere Father attend every competition and event you compete or participate in, cheering you on from the audience and celebrating with grand parties and banquets for every success or failure. They love making everyone in the world know about their perfect little prodigy and are not shy in the slightest to prove it! Although, if you ever felt uncomfortable or annoyed by such displays of affections, no sweat! Yandere Mother and Yandere Father will completely understand and will keep your celebrations inside of their home, protecting your privacy if you so wish.

- Yandere Mother loves spending time with you to show her affection, being an active and involved parent in pretty much everything you do, always showing support, financial or emotional, for every single one of your hobbies and aspirations. She is also very touchy and cuddly, she specially loved to hold you close to her when you were a baby, giving you kisses and waking you up with more kisses and giggles. She loves to embarrass you with all the photos and loving memories she has of you!

- Yandere Father prefers to shower you in gifts and delicious treats whenever he is free. He especially loves going out to trips to your favorite mall or shops, lets you browse through the different sections, and buy everything your little heart desires. He tries his very best to be strict and teach you about the importance of money, but you give him your 'puppy eyes'™️ and he becomes weak once again. He also loves complimenting you and giving you praise whenever you succeed, as well as helpful tips and advice in the cases you lose or are in need of some support. He especially loves when you come to his home office or during meals and ask him anything and everything you might have in your mind. Your Yandere Father is very well educated after all (and so is your mother!) and is very eloquent when explaining topics and talking about how the world works. He has so many fond memories of little toddler you waddling to his office, asking silly questions and him calmly and sweetly responding as you fall asleep on his shoulder.

- Yandere Father and Yandere Mother loves you so much, little pumpkin. They know that you will grow to become an amazing person, but can't help but worry about others potentially hurting you! So, they make sure to background check anyone that you could possibly have an interest in (romantic or otherwise), to be 100% sure that they will appropriate companions for you. Very few people make the cut, with the many undeserving of your love and attention being quietly taken care of. Not necessarily in a brutal way, but Yandere Mother sure misses her time as queen bee of high-school when she would destroy the lives of those trying to take her down, and Yandere Father has such a vast collection of weapons that it would be a shame not to use them every once in a while!

- Yandere Mother loves you with all her heart and would do anything to protect your smile. Yandere Father loves you with the entirety of his soul and is more than willing to commit war crimes to protect your happiness. The two of them hate each other deeply for always keeping your attention off the other, but work surprisingly well in raising and taking care of you, so they toughened it up and simply focus on your safety and well being. They don't care who they have to hurt, kill, torture, or incriminate. They will do it and make sure you never find out. You are their adorable sweetness. You don't need to know about the atrocities in this world =)

"You are the absolute most, my little star. I love you ♡"

"I'll love you even if you kill me, dear. You will always be my little angel ♡"

[lxkeee]

HEAVEN AND BACK !

—Lucifer Morningstar x Alastor's Mom! Reader

Fandom: Hazbin Hotel

Genre: Romance

Warnings: Love at first sight, fast paced romance and mentions of domestic ab*se.

Notes: to the anon who requested the platonic Alastor x Mom! Reader it would be part of this:)

Synopsis: In which Alastor's mother went down to hell to oversee the hotel's progress and met the king of hell.

Word count: 4.6k words

PART TWO | NAVIGATION

[Y/n] lived a good and honest life, a simple housewife with one son. After finally separating with her abusive husband, her life with her son, Alastor had become better. Alastor promised that he'll support her through his radio hosting, the boy has become quite popular amongst the folks—with his wits and charm, he was able to make a reputation for himself and earn money better for him and her.

[Y/n] was finally happy, proud of what she and her son have accomplished. She doesn't have to worry about her ex-husband coming home to hurt her or her son.

After the divorce, not a few weeks later, her husband was found dead with several of his body parts missing. She and her son were questioned about it but nothing could connect them to the crime and was proven innocent.

Alastor comforted her about it, promising to protect her if the killer ever hurt her. Which calmed her down as the whole situation did affect her, despite her harboring hatred towards her ex-husband, she felt bad he got murdered in a brutal way possible.

Peace and happiness didn't last long for her unfortunately, some fight happened in the city when she was out for an errand and she got in the middle of the crossfire, getting herself shot twice—on her shoulder and one in her stomach. She bled to death.

[Y/n] briefly remembers a tall black haired man walking towards her, black wings on his back while carrying a large golden scythe on his hand.

“[y/n] [l/n], age is 44 years old, destination is heaven.” the man says with an amused tone in his voice. A smile found its way to her lips, this must be death then? I am sorry Alastor, I can no longer watch over you. She thought sadly, and then suddenly darkness.

[Y/n] woke up with a gasp, her eyes staring at the bright blue skies. Blinking, disoriented about what just happened. She looked at her side to see clouds, clouds everywhere. Even the ground she's lying on is clouds.

“Where... Am I...?” she mutters as she sits, finally turning around to see the gates that are shining ever so brightly, the radiant rays of the sun reflecting against the golden gate.

“Am I... In heaven...?” she asked herself softly, eyes widening as she remembers what happened. The fight in the city, getting shot—twice, bleeding to death.

Tears were streaming down her cheeks, as the reality that she died finally settled in. “No, no, no, no, no!” she said to herself, her hands covering her mouth to stop herself from crying. Her smile now lowering, already tired of keeping it up. She was the one who taught her son to always smile in any situation, but this...? She can't keep it up any longer. So she cried, hysterically. Her cries echoing throughout the skies.

She's dead, that means she won't see her son ever again. Her son will be alone, she can't be there for him!

It took a while for her to finally calm down, with a shaky breath she got off the cloudy grounds and approached the gate. An angel sitting behind the counter at the side of the gate is what she saw.

“Welcome to heaven, can I get your name please?” the man says with a smile, [y/n] stood there nervously, “[y/n] [l/n].” she says softly and watched as the male flipped through his thick book, “[y/n] Alberich, [y/n] Gunnhildr, [y/n] Lawrence [y/n] Kreideprinz, [y/n] Ragnvindr...” the angel mutters as he flips through his book, [y/n] stood awkwardly as she watches him.

The angel's finger finally stopped at a name and his smile became brighter, “Aha! There it is, [y/n] [l/n]... Please, come inside. I Saint Peter, officially welcome you to heaven.” the angel also known as Saint Peter says with a smile, the gates of heaven opening up for her.

[Y/n] nodded and hesitantly walked to the gate, passing by it and finally got inside the heavenly city.

Her new life after death. She hopes her son will join her here when his time comes, for now, she'll enjoy her new life.

It has been a few years, decades even. Still no sign of Alastor, she wonders if Alastor was gifted with a long life, something she didn't have? After getting inside heaven, they are not allowed to check up on their remaining loved ones on earth as they are not allowed to and [y/n] respected that, she'll wait for her son to join her here. She does miss her son, she wonders how he's doing, especially after her death. She can't imagine the pain he felt after her passing. She wonders if he's in purgatory if that place ever exists, she prays that her beloved son isn't in hell. Not her Alastor.

During her time here, she somehow became a well respected angel, becoming a seraphim angel and helping around heaven, overseeing important matters around the heavenly realm. [Y/n] befriended another seraphim angel named Emily, the girl is wonderful to be around with! Very positive and such a kind girl. [Y/n] enjoys having her around.

Recently, a secret has just been revealed during a court meeting with hell's princess, the daughter of Lucifer Morningstar, [y/n] read about him and she believes that the angel didn't do anything wrong, just misunderstood but this belief is something she keeps to herself, in fear of the others throwing her out for that small reason.

All throughout the trial Charlotte Morningstar expressed valid arguments, showing that souls can really improve their ways.

It was revealed that the exorcists were going down to hell to cleanse them, a sugar coated word for killing. The fact that Sera agreed to it was ridiculous but [y/n] can't do anything about it, she is just a mortal soul after all. She can't argue with the high seraphim and risk herself getting thrown out of heaven.

[Y/n] can only pray that Charlie's plan will work.

After that meeting, [y/n] can sensed that high ranking angels trust on Sera significantly lowered.

[Y/n] and Emily spent most of their free time researching, finding ways to help Charlie achieve her dreams for her people.

It has been a day since the cleansing started, [y/n] was in the seraphim office together with Sera and Emily doing important paperwork when suddenly a bright light fills the room and out emerged a familiar snake they [y/n] saw during the court meeting when Charlie was showing Angel Dust, she could briefly remember this snake man to be one of Angel Dust's and Charlie's friend. The one who announced he'll have sex with everyone at the club, she definitely didn't forget about that. The only difference is that the man's color themes changed.

“Huh? Wha...? Where am I?” he says as he looks around the unfamiliar place.

[Y/n] covers her mouth in disbelief while Emily squeaked beside her, turning around to look at the other two seraphim, Sera was in disbelief, [y/n] can't tell what the older woman is feeling right now.

Turning back to look at the new guest, [y/n] gave the man a small wave and the man gave her an awkward smile while waving back, “Oh... Hello!” he says and [y/n] giggles and Emily squeaks beside her.

“Hi! Welcome to heaven!” Emily cheers, the man's eyes widened. “I'm in heaven...?” he says in disbelief and [y/n] nodded, “Yes, this is heaven and you're currently in the office of the Seraphims. It is a pleasure to meet you, Sir Pentious or dare I say... Sir Redemptious?” [y/n] says with a small and gentle chuckle, chuckling at her own joke. Emily giggled at the joke while Sera remained flabbergasted.

Sir Pentious blinks in confusion, “You know me?” he asked, tilting his head slightly.

Emily nodded, a bright smile on her face, “Yes! But it is a long story.” she says with a large smile.

“But first, let us introduce ourselves.” [y/n] says with a small smile, a smile that seems awfully familiar to Sir Pentious but less... Threatening.

[Y/n] clears her throat, “It is an honor to meet you, Sir Pentious. I am [y/n] [l/n] one of the seraphims.” she introduces and Emily follows after, “Hi! I am Emily but you can call me Em, Emmy, Ly... It is a pleasure to meet you!” Emily says excitedly, approaching Sir Pentious' side and admiring him, circling him and taking in his new appearance.

“And this,” [y/n] says, extending her arms towards Sera, “This is Sera, the head Seraphim.” [y/n] says which snapped Sera out of her thoughts. Sera cleared her throat, finally back to her authoritative self.

“Greetings, Sir Pentious. I am Sera, the head Seraphim. I would like to formally welcome you to heaven, I hope you'll enjoy your stay.” Sera says and Emily nodded excitedly while [y/n] just gave a small nod with a gentle smile on her face.

“I'm not dreaming...?” Sir Pentious says in disbelief and [y/n] shook her head, “I can assure you that you are not dreaming right now.”

Emily tilts her head in confusion, finally realizing something. “How come he arrived immediately here and not at the gates...?” she asked and [y/n] hummed, she too was baffled by this, placing a hand on her chin as she began to think.

“Perhaps... He's another Seraphim?” [y/n] asked, snapping her fingers and she smirked as she noticed Sera's eye twitches. Interesting... [Y/n] thought, a subtle smirk on her face, finding the situation interesting.

“How about I show you around? I'll let the grownups handle your stay here.” Emily says, Sir Pentious looked at the girl, “I hope that my egg bois are here.” he says with glassy eyes and Emily let's out a small 'aweee' and patting the back of the man, “I am sure they are here.” Emily says as she pulls the man out of the office.

[Y/n] turned to look at Sera, a mischievous grin on her face. Sera sighs, a frown on her face. “Don't say it.” Sera muttered and [y/n] chuckles, “What...? I am not saying anything yet.” she says with a mischievous tone. Sera rolls her eyes at the woman.

“I was in the wrong, the hotel does work.” Sera says, disbelief that it does. “[y/n]. I want you to go down there and make sure that the hotel runs smoothly.” Sera says and [y/n]  blinked, confused on what the woman was planning, “Why me?” she asked, raising an eyebrow, her smile not leaving her face.

“Just do it.” Sera deadpans and [y/n] shrugs, still has a small smile on her face, “Alright, whatever the boss says.” she shrugs.

“Make sure it runs smoothly but don't tell them he's here, I fear it will influence the sinners. I want them to work hard for it, and work hard for something that they are unsure of.” Sera says, walking out of her table, walking across the room and stood in front of the window, gazing outside the office of the Seraphims.

[Y/n] looked at the woman's back, Sera's wings neatly folded behind her. [Y/n] nodded in agreement, understanding where she's coming from.

“Understood, when shall I start?” [y/n] asked, tilting her head in confusion.

“Next week, let them rebuild the hotel. Do you understand your mission, [y/n]?” Sera says, turning around to look at her, [y/n] kneels down gracefully, a hand over her heart.

“Affirmative.” [y/n] says softly and Sera nodded, “Good.”

[Y/n]'s head peaked through the small gap of Sir Pentious' door as she opens it, her eyes soften as she sees Emily and Sir Pentious talking and multiple egg boys asleep on the bed. Knocking to catch their attention, the two looked at the very tall angel woman standing by the door, a gentle smile on her face.

“Hello, Sir Pent. I hope you're comfortable with your new room. I see that Emi is warming up to you which isn't surprising.” [y/n] giggles and Emily smiles and nodded excitedly.

“Speaking of [y/n], she's like a mom to everyone! She's so nice, I hope you two will get along!” Emily says happily, [y/n] presumes that Emily was talking about other angels before she came inside the room. [Y/n] smiles and gives the two a gentle nod, “That is me, if you have any problem... Feel free to approach me okay?” [y/n] says with a closed eyed smile, Sir Pentious eyes sparkled and a small blush on his cheeks as he could literally feel the gentle warmth of the woman.

[Y/n] just smiles and tilts her head before looking at Emily, “Anyways, I just came to check up on you two on how you two are doing. I'll be leaving now, you two have fun okay?” [y/n] says softly and Emily nodded, “Okay! I'll see you later Miss [y/n]!” Emily says and then Sir Pentious nodded and gave a wave to the woman. The two watched the older and taller woman leave the room.

[Y/n] walks away from Sir Pentious' room, walking past multiple doors that decorated the hallway—these are rooms that souls occupy and sooner, Sir Pentious' room will be upgraded since the man is a seraphim after all.. Entering the elevator, [y/n] presses a button—a button to her floor. The door closes.

[Y/n] sighs as she feels the elevator moving upwards, her mind buzzing with multiple thoughts. Taking mental notes on what to bring for her time in hell, she'll have to oversee the hotel after all.

The door opens, [y/n] steps out of the elevator, walking past by multiple doors (but the doors are much lesser than the floor Sir Pentious was in), these hallways are the rooms of the Seraphims.

Her feet stopped, coming to a halt. Holding the doorknob, the symbol of the doorknob glows, signifying that the owner of the room returned and in turn, and unlocked the door.

Stepping inside, she closes the door behind her. Time to pack.

Timeskip a few days later.

[Y/n] stood at the opposite side of Sera's table, her hands holding her luggage, Sera the high Seraphim sat on her seat looking at the taller woman. Emily standing beside Sera, the smaller girl looked at [y/n] with a slight worried look but still had a smile on her face. [Y/n] is proud that Emily continuously applied her teachings, you're never fully dressed without a smile, as what she always tells the girl.

“Goodluck, Miss [y/n]!” Emily says with a grin on her face, [y/n] chuckles at the girl's enthusiasm and nodded nonetheless.

“Do not disappoint us.” Sera says, [y/n]'s eyes narrowed slightly but her smile never faltered. [Y/n] nodded, a charming tone in her voice, “No promises.” she says with a grin and Sera rolls her eyes and then snaps her fingers, opening a portal for the taller angel.

[Y/n] waved goodbye at the two and stepped into the portal.

The bright blue scenario was replaced with a dark red one, a door was in front of her, a glass tinted door depicting apples and snakes.

Placing down her luggage, she curls up her fingers and then knocks on the door.

Loud knocks were heard against the tinted glass doors of the hotel, the sounds momentarily cutting off the conversation the hotel dwellers were having.

Angel Dust raises his eyebrows as he looks at the door, Husk stopping midway of drying up a freshly cleaned glass. Niffty just resumes cleaning the lobby of the hotel, Vaggie and Charlie were on the couch with Charlie's head on Vaggie's lap, Cherri is passed out drunk on the counter of the mini bar, and Alastor was just grinning as he sat on the cushioned chair.

Getting off Vaggie's lap, Charlie Morningstar walked towards the door, getting a very strong sense of deja vu. Opening it and seeing a very tall smiling angel looking down on her, a familiar angel that she saw when she had the court meeting in heaven, she remembers that this woman stood at the opposite side of Emily. Charlie never got to actually meet her or know her.

“Good eveni—” the angel started but was cut off as Charlie closed the door.

Turning around to look at her friends, a look of disbelief on her face. There's an angel in her front door, there is a SERAPHIM ANGEL IN HER FRONT DOOR.

“Vaggie?” Charlie calls out to her girlfriend nervously, Vaggie gave her a raised eyebrow, “What?” she asked.

“There's a seraphim angel at the door.” Charlie says, pointing towards the door. This promptly made everyone freeze.

“Oh my fucking god... I swear, what do they want this time..?” Angel sighs loudly, Vaggie standing up and getting her angelic weapon.

Charlie took a deep breath and opened the door once more, the same tall angel looking down on her with a gentle smile on her face, “May I speak now?” she asked and Charlie nodded nervously with a smile, the angel laughed, though she is experiencing major deja vu at the moment, “Relax, I am not here to cause trouble. Keep smiling darling, you're never fully dressed without one~!” she says with a giggle and Charlie nervously puts a smile on her face.

“Hi... My name is Charlie and you are...?” Charlie introduces herself shyly, a little flustered. The woman was very gorgeous and... Tall...

The angel shakes the girl's hand enthusiastically, “I know, my name is [y/n], it is a pleasure to meet you, Princess Morningstar.” [y/n] says with a giggle but quickly stopping as an angelic spear was pointed at her, Vaggie muttering something in Spanish underneath her breath.

“What is a seraphim angel doing here? Last time I checked, you guys hated us.” Vaggie sneers and [y/n] just smiled, using her pointer finger to push away the spear gently away from her, “Hate you...? No, no, no dearie... It's just Sera, she's... How to say it... An old time bitch.” [y/n] deadpans with a chuckle.

Charlie and Vaggie blinked at her words, in disbelief at how a seraphim can easily say something like that quite easily.

[Y/n] flicked her hand dismissively, “Ugh, I don't like her that much.” she sighs and chuckles, her eyes returning back to look at the two shorter girls.

“Let us forget about her for a moment, the reason I am here is that Sera wanted me to oversee the hotel and keep track if it makes any progress.” [y/n] explained, her pointer finger pointed up as she nodded to herself.

Vaggie narrows her eyes at her but decides not to question it but still held some suspicion of the woman. Vaggie thought that the angel reminds her of someone, but who?

Charlie just looked at the woman, in disbelief that Heaven changed its mind. Though, she too held some slight suspicion but decided not to think too much of it, moving to the side to allow the woman to pass through the tinted glass doors of the hotel.

“Very well then, please come in.” Charlie says and [y/n] gave the girl a curt bow and invited herself in.

[Y/n] admired the interior of the hotel, her eyes sparkling in admiration as she appreciates the design of the building. The interior is filled with so many red, white, gold, and black hues—a contrast to what she was used to in heaven. Charlie closes the door behind them and starts leading the taller woman back to the lobby.

“My, this hotel is very beautiful.” [y/n] says genuinely as she follows the shorter girls as they lead her towards the lobby of the Hazbin Hotel.

Finally arriving at the lobby where the other hotel members were staying, [y/n] surveyed each one of them carefully. The man who resembled a red deer oddly reminded her of someone.

Alastor was quite interested in who the person Charlie was talking to by the door.

His eyes widened, his smile faltering slightly as he saw the woman he's long last seen and the most he has missed.

“Everyone, heaven decided to send someone to oversee the hotel's progress. This is [y/n], she is a seraphim. I hope you treat her with respect.” Charlie says with a small smile. The name makes Alastor's ears ring.

He couldn't stop himself as the words left his lips, “Mother...?” Alastor says with wide eyes and a smile still on his face.

Silence.

Angel Dust's and Husk's jaw dropped. Seeing a new facial reaction of the always smiling man.

[Y/n]'s eyes widened as she covered her mouth with her hands, she was right. Why was he here? Why was her beloved son here in hell?

“Alastor...? My sweetie is that you...?” [y/n] asked shakily, her hands trembling, in disbelief.

Alastor hesitantly nodded, nervous. He didn't expect to reunite with her. How can he explain this to her? How can he explain the reason why he ended in hell?

“No fucking way...” Angel Dust muttered, in disbelief.

Tears began to stream down [y/n]'s cheeks as she let go of her luggage and quickly hugged her son, he looked so different.

“My sweet son, it really is you... Why are you here?!” She asked, cupping Alastor's face comfortingly. Alastor avoided her gaze.

“Mother... It has been awhile, I have done things that lead me down here.” Alastor explained calmly, a smile still on his face but he is fighting back tears. He missed her so much, after her death he was miserable. He found out the reason she died and killed the two men who caused her death.

[Y/n]'s eyes soften and she placed a gentle kiss on her son's forehead, Alastor instinctively closing his eyes at the contact. Warmth, he forgot what comforting warmth felt like.

“Now, now... I'm sure it couldn't be that bad...?” [y/n] says with a small chuckle and failing to notice the other hotel members giving each other a side eye.

Well... It was fun being an overlord. Alastor thought to himself as he took a deep breath and began to explain it to his mother, the reason why he's in hell.

“ALASTOR [L/N] WHAT IN HEAVEN'S NAME DO YOU MEAN YOU KILLED PEOPLE?!” [Y/n] seethes as she chases after her son, holding her shoe in her hand. Alastor trying to save his own life from his seething mother.

“Mother I can explain—!”

The others just watched as the angelic woman chased the most terrifying demon they know around the hotel.

“This is so fucking funny.” Cherri mutters beside Angel Dust, Husk having a smirk on his face as he watches his boss getting chased around by his mother.

“Well... I hope they'll stop soon or dad will come down to see what the ruckus is about.” Charlie says, nervous that they are causing too much ruckus. She knows her dad needs the quiet time to make his rubber duckies.

Lucifer was in his room writing something on his desk, he just finished making a rubber duckie sometime ago and now he's currently writing plans for the hotel.

Well... Trying to.

His eye twitched as he heard the loud ruckus happening downstairs. With a sigh, he lets go of his fountain pen. Standing up from his seat, curious on what is happening downstairs, he left his room and went downstairs.

What the king of hell didn't expect to see was the annoying radio demon getting scolded by... An angel? And good lord, she's... Tall. Though, he couldn't see her face as her back was facing him.

“I thought I raised you better than this? Good heavens, I thought you were better than this?” the woman sobs and leans against the radio demon, sobbing into his shoulder while Alastor hesitantly comforts her. Lucifer was trying not to laugh as the radio demon gave him the middle finger.

“Who's this?” Lucifer asked and his daughter nervously approached him, “Well, this is [y/n] and heaven thought it would be a good idea to send someone to oversee our progress of the hotel.” Charlie explains and Lucifer's eyebrows are raised in confusion, confused on what changed their mind.

“I am truly sorry mother, it won't happen again,” Alastor says softly, still smiling while his mother lets go of him and flicks the radio demon's forehead making the taller man yelp in pain.

Charlie smiled and clapped her hands together, “Miss [y/n], this is my father and you might as well know him as Lucifer Morningstar.” Charlie says and the woman turns around to look at them.

And oh my devil, none of these thoughts are in the bible.

Lucifer thought as he finally took a good look at the very tall angel. She's gorgeous. Very gorgeous. The white dress she was wearing perfectly captured her figure, complimenting her skin. Her halo glowing above her head like the rays of the sun shining down on her. Absolutely divine. Lucifer blinks, trying to comprehend the beauty of the woman in front of him.

Angel Dust looking at him with a smirk, without him realizing.

[Y/n]'s eyes sparkled, quickly shoving Alastor away as she approached the shorter man, “Oh my stars, really? It's an honor to meet you, I've read about you and quite frankly I don't believe you got the justice you deserved.” [y/n] explains, she has to kneel down as her neck was starting to hurt at looking down.

Lucifer's eyes widened, surprised that an angel held him in such high regard.

“Wait... Huh??” Lucifer says in disbelief making the woman chuckle, and goodness, even her laugh sounds so beautiful.

“I am grateful that you gave us free will, if it weren't for you... Humans couldn't control their own fate, their own actions and for that, thank you.” she says sincerely and unexpectedly, a single tear streamed down Lucifer's cheek. Nobody really cared to say their thanks to him, he just assumed that humanity hated him for his actions, as heaven hated him for it. To see and hear someone say their thanks to him for the first time, may have healed some wounds he was desperately trying to heal with a bandaid.

The angel panicked when she saw the tear, “Oh my stars! Did I offend you?! Oh gosh, I didn't mean to.”

Lucifer began to chuckle and laugh. Amused at the woman's personality.

Charlie wonders if her dad finally went insane.

“Since when did angels be so nice to me?” Lucifer asked in-between chuckles, finally calming down as he offered his hand for a handshake.

“My name's Lucifer, darling. It's a pleasure to meet you...?” Lucifer says with a toothy grin but his charm and confidence were replaced by shyness and embarrassment as the angel opted to kiss his knuckles instead.

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Lucifer. I am [y/n], a seraphim angel.” she says with a smile, almost smirking, her tone almost sensual.

Lucifer was flabbergasted, flustered. Blinking animatedly, his mind is still trying to comprehend what just happened. So many things are happening at once, the warmth of his cheeks, the loud thumping of his heart against his own ribcage, he prays that she couldn't hear it.

Angel Dust nudges Charlie, giving the girl a knowing smirk. Charlie just gave him a confused look, unsure what he meant, saying something to angel along the lines of, my dad's reaction is valid, have you seen her?

The apple doesn't really fall far from the tree, Angel Dust thought as he cackles in amusement.

Alastor's eyes narrowed slightly at the interaction. Vaggie cautious at the radio demon's reaction.

Well, this is interesting. Husk thought to himself, already prepared of the chaos that's going to happen now with an additional member of the hotel.

TAGLIST:

@adaizel @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx @thedarkkitten @selvyyr @froggybich @brithedemonspawn @kottenox @totallymitya @many-fandoms-lover @dou-dou @mezzyb0nb0n @n1chxyaaenthusiast @cherry-4200 @koirb @galaxyj3lly @crystalplays28 @luleck @scootinonyourmom @rory-cakes @mixplara @crescent-z @bitchyzombienacho @kalisha2004 @altervex @nehy019 @napbatata @kouyoumarryme @sxgacxbe @kooidoom @yukichan67 @apple-pop @akiralovespenguins @storydays @kaurochika @amphiroxx @lil-writer-523 @punching-pentagrams @moonlovers34

[larrylimericks]

19Oct24

No matter how mad the word made us, It always held hope — a “hiatus.”

I’m sad for so many reasons — the fundamental sadness of death, and at such a young age; having to process the mortality of someone so extraordinary it seems they should transcend a fate as ordinary as dying; aching for his family and friends; angry that he had to navigate such a cruel world, one that continues to disrespect him in death. Yes, Liam was damaged and in turn damaged others; he had demons to face and amends to make — I like to think he would have, given a chance. His talent was so immense, and there was so much more to come. I believe he would have found a way to redemption, and then had such a beautiful renaissance.

The joy of being a 1D fan has always been policed and mocked. We’ve so frequently been laughed at, dismissed for the intensity of our love for the band. And now, the world wants to do the same with our grief, questioning its legitimacy, trivializing our feelings. But this loss is real. And this grief is valid.

And the grief of losing Liam is compounded by the grief of losing so much else. He wasn’t just a celebrity. They weren’t just a boyband. He was an integral part of an integral part of our formative years — no matter how old we were when we found them. So many of us are the people we are in part because of the people they are. Were. We’ve lost a beloved one, we’ve lost innocence, we’ve lost inspiration, we’ve lost a piece of our foundation.

We’ve lost hope.

It used to frustrate me, in retrospect, that they called it a “hiatus.” It felt dishonest — like a gentle lie to let us down easy. Why couldn’t they just say it was over? That being a boy band has a built-in shelf life, and it was time to explore solo careers. But now I understand the kindness in that word. For hope springs eternal, and it didn’t matter if it never came. All that matters was that it might. And “hiatus” wasn’t just for us; it held their optimism too. Especially Liam’s. It left the door open, even if only a crack, for the possibility of something more.

It’s been a remarkable gift to watch each one find his own path and his own voice. But when they announced a hiatus in 2015, they planted a seed of hope that someday we’d see the unrivaled magic of those boys on stage together again — the greatest team the world has ever seen. Maybe Zayn would join, probably not. Maybe it would’ve been a one-off thing for charity or a special anniversary. Maybe it would be in their 50s when the allure of easy money from a reunion tour was too tempting to resist. But surely, eventually, 1D would reunite in some capacity. I was excited to see how their once frenetic energy and youthful antics would meld with the mature solo artists they’ve become.

That hope sustained us through 18 months and eventually eight years, but now the hiatus is over. I would have happily clowned for every remaining day of my life than know this new certainty brought by the finality of Liam’s death. Maybe, someday, there will be a memorial performance. Maybe we’ll see three or four out of five come together to honor him — and what a poignant testament it will be that Liam was what could bring them together. Or maybe it will never feel right to them to take the stage without him, and that, too, will make all the sense in the world.

I wish I had an uplifting ending for this post. I don’t. I wake up and my first thought is “Liam isn’t here anymore,” and then I go about my day with that relentless realization lurking around the corner of every mundane task I do.

I haven’t been able to listen to their music yet. It’s a cruel trick that the thing that always brought comfort is now a trigger for grief. But I hope that will soon change. That, at some point, I’ll put on WMYB, get choked up at “You’re insecure” and second-guess my readiness. But then jump to History, and find solace in the lyrics that are currently rattling around my brain but aren’t ready to be heard yet: “This is not the end, this is not the end” … “We can live forever.”

❯❯❯❯

[mulloey]

blood and honey

you’re the only person alive who knows his secret. he reminds you why it’s better to keep your mouth shut.

assassin!the8 x fem!reader

words: 7.7k

taglist requests

warnings: um ok, mention of death & murder obviously (non-graphic), you’re his gf, you’re not involved in his work but you are def complicit lol, mean hard dom!minghao, brat taming, punishment, degradation, objectification, you are explicitly and deliberately treated as an object, gun play, death threats, deepthroating, manhandling, restraints (belt), slaps, breeding, innocent!reader sub plot, he has a corruption kink, there’s more but these are the main ones

—

Your friends say he’s cheating on you. They’re convinced of it, in fact, and honestly? They’re right be. The signs are all there, after all—and the actual explanation is no better.

So when he leaves the house at odd hours, often gone for hours or days at a time without communication or explanation; it’s a fair assumption, and his second phone, second bank account, second ID card don’t help his case either; nor do the marks and bruises he always seems to bear but can never explain.

Everything points—should point—to the obvious; Xu Minghao is having an affair.

If fucking only. That would be a lot easier to deal with.

You’ve known the truth—the actual truth—for a while now. You found out by accident, of course, and you promised your discretion with his hand wrapped around his neck. You could tell in that moment, from his steady, practised grip, that he knew exactly where and how to choke you without actually doing damage—which meant, of course, that he could all too easily do the opposite. So agreeing was a no-brainer, really.

Honestly, it wasn’t really necessary, though—who on earth could you tell even if you wanted to? It’s not like he has any colleagues for you to meet, and when it comes to regular people you’ve found that there’s not really a good way to say my boyfriend kills people for money and I let him—so you keep your mouth shut, look the other way and pretend you don’t know.

You still remember the day you met him; how normal it seemed. You remember the tall, good looking man strolling around the Givenchy store where you worked. You remember the way his eyes found you the moment he walked in; how he beckoned you over with two fingers and you obeyed without thought; how he slipped his card into your pocket and told you to call him.

You remember three days it took you to gather the courage; and the three orgasms he ruined later to punish you for it.

The purse he gave you the second time you met is sitting on the counter when he comes home. It’s white leather, by some Chinese brand he knows you don’t remember the name of, with fluff and bows accenting it. “For my angel,” he’d said as he pulled it out at the restaurant. You’d flushed pink, smiling into your champagne glass as he raised a toast ‘to innocence.’

What a fickle thing it turned out to be; innocence. How easily he’d taken it apart before you even knew what was happening.

He calls your name softly, voice echoing around the silent apartment and he can’t help but smile to himself as he hears the pitter patter of bare feet on hardwood floor before you round the corner with a smile, rushing towards him. The thin white material of the oversized dress shirt you’re wearing catches briefly in the moonlight that pours through the window and allows him a fleeting glimpse of your silhouette. The sight of your curves makes him twitch—that they’re concealed by one his own shirts, hanging loosely off of your frame, makes him desperate.

“Hey, Hao,” you smile. He wraps his arms around you, holding you tightly as if he’s afraid someone will take you from him. He treats everything he has like that; like it could fall apart or be taken away at any moment. In his line of work, you can’t really blame him for it.

“How’s my girl?” he asks. “My pretty thing.”

“I’m good,” you smile. He sees your eyes flicker down his body; the frown on your soft lips. He rolls his eyes. “I’m not injured,” he says. “It was a clean job.”

You relax, shoulders slumping a little as tension lifts and he clicks his tongue. He both hates and loves how you fuss over him when he comes home—he loves that you care for him, of course, but he hates how breakable you seem to think he is. He protects you from harm, not the other way around. You’re the one who’s fragile and vulnerable and easy to shatter. You always have been; that’s what drew him to you in the first place.

He’s always liked weak, helpless things; precious little creatures who needed his protection. If he hadn’t found a more lucrative profession, he’d probably have been a bodyguard; the idea of shielding someone smaller and weaker than him from harm is electric to him and always has been. It’s what makes you so perfect to him. He remembers your third date, when he’d finally touched you for the first time; the nervous excitement in your eyes as he hovered over you.

“Minghao.” Your voice was soft, shaking with anxiety. You clasped a small hand around his wrist where it inched towards your pussy. “Minghao, I—I’ve never done this before.”

He already knew that. He knew it instantly, from the moment he saw you; everything about you screamed purity, innocence; delectable naivety—but to hear it from your puffy, pouting lips, still wet from where he’d kissed you passionately moments before, made his heart race. Oh, the things he was going to do to you. The things he was going to teach you. You were a blank canvas, and he was going to paint it with his colours.

“That’s okay, princess.” His lips curled into a smirk he couldn’t hide. “I’m gonna treat you so, so well.”

He sees that same look in you now as you stare up at him with a small smile, your hands grasping his waist. For all the purity he’s taken from you, it’s never left your eyes. He hopes it never does; that no matter how he corrupts you, some part of you stays that innocent fawn forever.

“Did you miss me?” He asks. You nod, tilting your head as if to say Duh, Minghao and he chuckles. “I missed you too, pet. Thought about you the whole time I was away.”

It makes you jolt a little when he talks about his work; when he makes those vague, innocuous references to what he does but never goes into detail. It’s an unspoken agreement you have to prevent the blood on his hands from seeping into yours, or into the relationship as a whole—he doesn’t talk about it, and you don’t ask. But still, it always lingers under the surface, and it takes you by surprise whenever he brings it up.

“Come on,” you whisper. “Let’s go to bed. You must be tired.”

But he can tell from the way your hips sway as you lead him down the hall by the hand that he won’t be doing all that much sleeping tonight.

—

He was right, of course. But honestly, he should have predicted this too.

Even as he ties his tie he can’t believe you pulled this off; can’t believe you managed to get him to agree to this. Managed to make him promise, even.

He should have known you had ulterior motives. You’ve long realised that if you want something you know he’ll say no to, then the moments after he’s just cum inside you and is still on the high that fucking you always provides, are the best time to ask—because when you’re fucked out and gasping for breath with his cum leaking out of your little hole, there’s not a luxury on earth he’d deny you.

Which is how he ends up with you on his arm, walking down the red carpet into some gala. The lights are bright and irritating to a man used to working in darkness, and the crowds of people make his adrenaline rush on instinct; in this line of work, he’s used to attending these events with a gun or vial of poison hidden under his jacket. He’s used to blending in in a waiter or valet’s uniform, making himself small and unnoticed until the job is done and slipping away before anyone notices what’s happened—so to be here as a guest, with his precious girlfriend on his arm smiling and greeting people as they walk by, has him on edge.

He knows he should be and is proud; they’re celebrating your achievements after all, and making the dean’s list is no small thing. But he’s not a public person; how could he be? He feels exposed and at risk for once in his life and more importantly, he feels like you’re at risk. He doesn’t realise just how much it’s affecting him until he hears you yelp, yanking your arm out from where he’d apparently been gripping it tightly enough to form a pattern of bruises across your wrist. “Minghao,” you whine. “For God’s sake.”

He hums and mumbles an apology and you roll your eyes. He ignores you, turning away with a scoff.

He turns his gaze towards the rest of the room, scanning through the crowds of people piling in and searching for anyone who might pose a problem. He’s good at discretion, has to be, but it’s possible that over the years someone has figured out who he is, and the rare occasion he’s out in public without his usual assortment of weapons on him would be an ample opportunity to finally take him out. No one jumps out at him, though—but then again, neither does he until the moment he strikes.

He can see you getting antsy now; you’d promised you’d stay at the table with him as a condition of him going, but he can tell from the way you twitch and fidget with your hands in your lap that you’re regretting that decision. You want to dance, or mingle, or something.

You catch his eye, a hopeful expression on your face and he knows exactly what you’re about to say.

“Hao, can I—”

“Nope.”

“Oh come on, you didn’t even consider it.”

“Don’t have to,” he says. “You’re staying with me, and I’m staying at the table. End of discussion.”

You huff, stomping your foot theatrically against the floor. His lips quirk with a fond smile. “You’re boring, Hao.”

“I’m careful.”

“Yeah. Boring.”

He turns back to the table, taking another sip of whiskey and leaning back in his chair. He looks thoughtful and focused but you see him tapping his foot against the floor the way he only does when something’s bothering him. His fingers are wrapped tightly around the glass, on the verge of breaking it and you grab his other hand where it lies on the table. “Relax, Hao,” you smile. “No one here is like, bad or anything. It’s a bunch of stuffy humanities students, they know more about the history of guns than how to actually fire one.”

He hums in response, squeezing your hand. “I’m perfectly relaxed,” he says. “I’m just aware of my surroundings.”

“As always,” you grumble. He quirks an eyebrow and you bite back a grin. “Can I dance, Hao, please?”

“Didn’t we just have this conversation?”

“Kind of.”

“Same answer, then.” He nods at your plate of unfinished steak, clicking his tongue. “Eat your food,” he says. “You need some muscle, baby.”

”Why?” You ask. You have that little lilt in your voice you always get when you’re pushing his buttons on purpose. “Afraid someone’s gonna come out and kill m—”

You’re lucky your table is in the corner and partially hidden by decorations; you’re not sure how you’d be able to justify to your peers the way your boyfriend grabs your neck before you can finish the sentence, yanking you towards him and pressing his forehead against yours. “Your mouth,” he breathes, “is going to get you in a lot of trouble.”

You know he sees the way your thighs clench at the low, warning timbre of his voice and the restrained anger and strength behind his touch. You wet your lips unconsciously and his eyes narrow at the way your tongue glides across the surface. Nymph.

“Maybe I want to get in trouble,” you whisper. “Did you ever consider that?”

He releases you suddenly, pushing you away from him and for a moment you almost think you’ve turned him off somehow—but the darkness in his eyes tells you everything and more. “All the fucking time,” he says.

Somehow another hour goes by without a hitch; you sit obediently at the table, scrolling on your phone until they start the speeches. Minghao claps proudly when the head of your department praises you by name and you blush deeply, shrinking into your seat in embarrassment. When she finishes talking and the chatter starts up again, you turn to him with that familiar restless glint in your eyes.

“Baby,” you purr. He rolls his eyes; you’re transparent.

“Don’t whine,” he mutters.

You stare at him for a moment, lips pursed; if he didn’t know you as well as he does, he could almost mistake your expression for one of reluctant compliance. But he does know you, and he sees the way your brows furrow ever so slightly; notices the petulance on your face.

A small, sweet, deceiving smile reaches your face before you turn away.

“Waiter!”

In a stroke of luck you manage to catch a young, fairly handsome waiter passing by your table and he stops in his tracks with a polite smile.

“Can I help you, Ma’am?”

“Hmm.” You let out a soft giggle, one Minghao is very familiar with as your ‘come to bed’ call, and your boyfriend looks up. His eyes narrow when he sees the waiter beside you and the way you’re smiling at him, leaning in closer. “I’ll have some red wine, please.”

“She’s had enough, actually,” he interjects. You manage to keep a straight face, pretending to look annoyed when you actually want to squeal at the authority in his voice.

“Gosh, Minghao,” you sing. “I’m a grown woman, I can do what I want.” You turn to the waiter, puffing your lips out in a soft pout and trying to look as sweet and innocent as possible. You can tell from the way the man flushes that he knows and likes what you’re doing. You hope Minghao can tell too. “Isn’t that right?”

Minghao scoffs, fists clenching and the waiter swallows.

“Um—yeah, I guess.” The poor guy looks a little uncomfortable now, caught in the middle of you two and his eyes search around the room for an escape. “But if this is a problem—”

“Nonsense,” you say. “My boyfriend’s just being overbearing.”

You catch the tensing of Minghao’s jaw in your peripherals and feel your stomach twist in excitement. You smile up at the waiter again and he smiles back, a little more genuine. “Tell me,” you say, “you wouldn’t tell me what to do if I were your girlfriend, would you?”

“That’s enough.”

You turn your head at your boyfriend’s sharp, irritated tone, surging with delight when you see the way he’s fighting to keep himself calm. His eyes are dark and blazing and his hand twitches as if he’s trying not to hit you.

Jackpot.

You press a generous tip into the waiter’s hand for his troubles and he scurries away, leaving you alone with Minghao; your heart is already pounding with the unique blend of fear and arousal only he can provoke in you.

“What’s wrong, Ming Ming?” That’s an old nickname of yours, one you only use when you’re teasing or riling him up on purpose. If you were at home, you’d pinch his cheeks too just to seal the deal; but he’s shown you before that he’s not 100% above stuffing a vibrator in your panties when no one’s looking and making you sit and act normal until he decides you’re sorry; so you elect not to push him that far quite yet.

He watches you silently for a moment, staring daggers and you feel yourself shrink automatically under his gaze. He lets the silence hang, tension thick in the air until he nods curtly at you, mind made up. “Gather your things,” he says. “I’m taking you home.”

—

You remember the first time Minghao punished you. It was a few months into your relationship, a few weeks after he’d finally deflowered you for the first time. The love in his eyes coupled with the harshness of his movements as he fucked you was an unfamiliar pleasure for you; one you’d quickly become addicted to in ways even he hadn’t foreseen. He knew he would corrupt you; it was his plan and fantasy all along, after all, but he couldn’t have predicted just how desperate you’d become after he took you for the first time. He loved it; fed from it in fact, but a line had to be drawn—and that line was his work.

He had a job that night; a simple but high-paying one that would easily sustain him, and you, until the next client. Not that he really needed sustenance—his years of dirty work for the super-rich had made him a very wealthy man in his own right after all—but he took his work seriously and he was always happy to have even more cash to spend on you. You couldn’t have known the importance of this job in particular, of course; he’d simply told you he’d be going out later that night, and you’d hummed and told him to be safe like you did every time. Only when it came time to leave did you start causing problems.

“Minghao, please,” you whined. Your face was contorted in a displeasure he’d come to recognise—the displeasure of not being filled. “Don’t go. I need you.”

“I know, princess, but this is important. It won’t take long, okay? Just be a good girl and wait for me.”

His words were calm and patient like he was talking down to a child, a tone he often found himself taking with you; so perhaps he shouldn’t have been so surprised at the very childish way you responded—stomping your feet and huffing loudly before dashing towards the door and blocking it with your body.

It wasn’t a real problem, of course; your small frame was easily malleable and he’s manhandled far bigger and stronger people in his time. No, the problem was your disobedience—your direct defiance of him and, worst of all, your attempt to interfere in the one part of his life he had made very clear was his alone.

“Kitty,” he breathed, using the nickname he knew made you squirm the most. “You move away from that door or you’re not going to like what happens.”

You folded your arms, tilting a petulant brow with a stubborn smirk. “I’m not moving.”

“I have to work, pet.”

“Don’t care. Fuck your work.”

His jaw dropped; you’d never spoken to him like that, or used such foul language around him. He didn’t even know you had it in you, and he certainly didn’t like it. Clearly, you needed a long, hard lesson—and you’d get one.

The bruises he’d left when he’d returned from his job stayed with you for days. You’d never cried or screamed or pleaded like that before; nor had you ever been so fucking wet, and feeling of him fucking all the anger and violence and tension of the day into your fragile little body was a high you’ve chased ever since.

Now, as he drags you towards his car with a firm grip and hurried pace, you dare to wonder if you’re in for something similar tonight. “Get in,” he snaps.

“Hao—”

“I don't want to talk to you,” he says. “Get in the fucking car, y/n.”

Your jaw drops a little; he never uses your name—never. Not unless you’ve really fucked up.

“Do I need to count down from 10?”

“No!” You squeal when he shoves you lightly and you quickly round the car to slide in on the passenger side and take your seat. He joins you without a word, starting the car and pulling out of the garage without sparing you a glance.

There’s less than a second between the closing of your apartment door and him slamming you against it with force. His forearm presses against your neck, chest heaving with anger that flares across his face. “You,” he breathes, “are a fucking brat.”

You giggle, giddy with excitement; with the need to push him even further. “Am not.”

He lifts a brow, gaze flickering downwards to where you’re very obviously clenching your thighs together, chasing sensation, and he scoffs irritably.

“Oh, you think I’m joking, huh?” His voice is dangerously low and close now as he pushes your thighs apart with his knee, holding it there to keep them spread. “You think this is one of our little games? It’s not. You fucked up, baby doll.”

“Oh yeah?” You whisper. “What are you gonna do about it?”

He smiles briefly then pulls away from you. “Take off your dress,” he snaps. “Leave the heels.”

You blank. “But I’m not—”

“Wearing panties?” His brows are raised slightly, unimpressed and he holds back a smile. “What, you thought I wouldn’t know? You’re not as slick as you think you are.” His finger traces down the edge of your jaw, hot to the touch and his voice hardens again. “Take off your dress,” he repeats, “and leave the fucking heels. Don’t make me ask again.”

You stumble a little as you pull the dress off, unsteady on the tall heels, but you manage to keep your balance to put it down on the floor before straightening back up again; in just your bra and heels you somehow feel even more exposed than you would naked.

He looks you up and down, gaze flickering across your body; the individual curves, the tiny freckles and marks dotted across your skin. You feel small and scrutinised, like something for sale; for use. He nods. “That’ll do,” he says. “That’ll do very nicely. Walk towards me, whore. Slowly.”

His voice is level and unaffected, almost robotic as he beckons you towards him; when you’re a few inches away he raises his palm and you stop in your tracks, automatic. There’s a satisfied smile on his lips.

He grabs your head gently, cradling it in his hands, forcing eye contact. “Tell me your safeword,” he says.

Tension shifts. Arousal twists in your stomach and you swallow a whimper. “Cinnamon,” you whisper.

“Good.” Any previous hint of concern leaves his voice and he pulls back, releasing your face from his grip. “You’ll need it.”

You’ve been in this situation enough times to anticipate the blow before it comes, but still the force of his hand against your cheek knocks you to the floor. Your shins land awkwardly against the wood and you whimper pathetically. He doesn’t buy it.

“Don’t get doe-eyed now,” he sneers. “Time to act an angel was about three hours ago. Now you're my bitch and you’re gonna take everything I give you. Stand up.”

The way his eyes linger on your lips, falling down to your chest with a dark, unwavering glare, sends the first small shiver of actual fear down your spine. Minghao would never harm you—but he would hurt you, and it’s been a long time since you’ve seen him as angry as this or heard his words spit with such venom. His eyes flash briefly, darkly, and you know he sees it too; the fear etched all over your face. It’s all so overwhelming that you don’t even remember him ordering you to stand until he’s grabbing your hair and dragging you to your feet himself.

“Is that how fucking useless you are?” He hisses. “Can’t even stand up when I tell you?”

“I’m sorry,” you whimper. “I just—”

“Save it.” His chest is heaving, anger in every breath and his grip on your hair only gets tighter with each passing second, burning the skin attached to it. “You need to be fucking trained,” he snarls. “You’re going to learn to listen.”

His grip on your hair loosens and he nods in the direction of the couch. “Over there,” he orders. “Crawl.”

He doesn’t bother checking that you’re obeying before turning and walking over there himself; he knows you’ve clocked by now what a dangerous game you’re playing tonight, and he knows he’s taught you well enough to know when to stop. When you settle on your knees in front of where he’s seated there’s still that small glint of mischief in your eyes as always, but your posture and demeanour is all obedience.

He can work with that.

“Look at me, whore.”

Your gaze lifts nervously, shakily to meet his and behind the spark he sees the fear he’s cultivated so carefully and he hums approvingly. “So you do know how to be good.”

“I—”

“I didn’t tell you to talk,” he says coolly. “Keep your mouth shut until I tell you to open it.”

You nod, lips pursing a little as you try to hide your arousal. Not that you need to—you both know this is exactly what gets you off now—but it’s a valiant effort all the same.

“Now that we’re on the topic,” he continues, “let’s set some rules, hm?”

Another nod. He smiles briefly, a dash of fondness at the way you’re sinking easily into his control. “You’re not to speak unless I tell you to,” he says. “And when you speak, you address me properly. ‘Sir’ will do. Got that?”

You’re clenching your thighs without realising; arousal pulsating. “Yes sir.”

“Good girl. See, it’s not that hard to please me, is it?”

“No sir.”

“Excellent. Secondly, you’re not walking tonight. You want to act like a brain dead little bitch, expect to be treated like one. You’ll crawl, and you’ll keep the heels on while you do so. Understood?”

You’re sure your entire face and chest is a deep, burning red as you nod again, squeaking out a “yes sir” and he smiles, pleased. “What a good pet. Open your mouth for me, girl. Nice and wide.”

You obey without thought, stretching your mouth as far as it will go and he wastes no time before plunging three fingers inside, pushing them to the back of your throat. You choke, spluttering at the intrusion and he slaps your cheek. “Quiet,” he spits. “Don’t make this more difficult for yourself. This is the nicest I’m gonna be tonight.”

He pulls his fingers out and you feel the drool trickling down your chin and pooling on your chest but he ignores it, wiping his fingers against his pants.

He stands up, suddenly towering over you and you shrink away slightly. Good.

“Stay,” he orders; you follow him with your eyes as he walks over to one of the cabinets, flicking open a lock and pulling something out of one of the drawers. Somehow you know exactly what it is even before he turns around and the pistol comes into view.

He walks back and sits down without a word, twirling the gun in his hands; he looks comfortable and at ease with the weapon in his grip, flicking it back and forth like it’s a children’s toy and not a deadly weapon. Your gaze is fixed on it, unable to move; he’s never let you see one of his weapons up close before. Always said there were some things too big and heavy for your fragile little mind; things you could and should never understand.

“You like it?” He asks. “This is my favourite one. It’s very… discreet.”

You say nothing, eyes fixed on the gun and unable to look away and he beckons you closer to it. “Come on,” he says. “Have a closer look, brat. See what it is I do while you sit pretty all day.”

Your heart is beating so fast you feel sick but you force yourself forwards, shuffling across the floor and he watches with pursed lips before slowly, steadily raising the run to point it directly at your head. His hand is still; not a single tremor even as it comes to aim squarely between your wide eyes.

“You know how many people I’ve killed with this?”

Your gaze drops, suddenly unable to face it now and he clicks his tongue, voice sharp and biting. “Look at it, whore. Look at it just like they all do before I pull the trigger.”

The neutral expression on his face is what unnerves you most as you lift your eyes again. Even seeing excitement or thrill in his eyes would be better than this; than the emptiness and total detachment that greets you. It’s like none of this affects him on any level deeper than practicality and logistics. Is this really how he acts when he actually kills someone?

Your whole body is shivering, pulsating with fear; you don’t really like thinking about what Minghao does or just how dangerous he is—and now you’re face to face and staring down the barrel of it, unable to escape. Your eyes flicker up to meet his and you shake your head.

He‘s silent for a moment and you prepare yourself for another blow, but he just scoffs and lowers the gun, placing it down on the side table next to the couch. It’s almost anti-climatic, the way the tension dissipates; until his voice hardens again, unmistakably severe. “You seem to have forgotten what I’m capable of,” he says. “And more importantly, what people like me are capable of doing to you if you don’t watch your mouth. So allow me to remind you.”

He grabs your hair again, pulling you towards him until your face is level with his crotch. You swallow, fear and arousal thick in your throat and he grunts, grip tightening before he pushes your head further forward to press your face against his clothed dick. You make a noise of surprise, trying to catch your breath but his grip is iron and unwavering as he pushes you down harder.

“That’s it,” he says. “Rub your fucking face in it, whore. Show me how much you want it.”

He lifts your head, giving you a second to breathe before pushing you back down and this time you’re ready for it; your mouth opens, lips wrapping against the outline of his dick as you nuzzle against the black fabric and he groans, throwing his head back in frustration. “Fuck you’re desperate,” he mutters. “Take it out. I’m gonna fuck your throat.”

The noise you make is nothing short of pathetic and his dick pulses at the thought; the stark contrast between the vision in front of him, needy and pathetic and aware of it; and the frightened, helpless little thing you were the first time you sucked his dick.

It had taken a while to convince you—no, not convince. Give you the courage, maybe. He knew you wanted it; saw the way your gaze would linger on his bulge when it strained against his thin pyjama pants; how you’d wrap your little lips around his fingers as he fucked you, suckling at them like a hungry little kitten. You wanted it, alright. You were just scared. Needed his guiding hand, his praise and encouragement to get the job done.

He still jerks off to the memory sometimes; the image of you on your knees, hands shaking as you fumbled with his zipper; the way your eyes widened when you pulled it out; the fear and innocence in your voice as you asked “how will I fit it in, Minghao?”

“Same way you fit it in your pussy, princess,” he’d told you. “With training.”

There’s still an inkling of that same fear as you pull it out now; a stutter in your breath as your eyes flicker up and down the long, thick shaft. You’re decently throat trained now, just as he promised you, but he never really cared to get you too used to his dick in your mouth; he just doesn’t see the fun in you taking it every time without effort. Not when he could have you choking and gagging and gasping for breath instead.

“Put it in your mouth,” he grunts. “Then drop your hands.”

You make quick work of it, wrapping your wet lips around the tip and slowly sliding yourself down on it. You hold your hands behind your back, linking them together to avoid any temptation to break the position. He takes a moment to enjoy the sight in front of him; you on your knees, covered in drool with his cock held in your mouth; waiting for instruction. Waiting for permission.

It doesn’t come; instead he grabs your head and shoves you down on his cock himself, pushing it to the back of your throat and holding it there for a moment until you start to choke; then he lets you up, allowing you a moment to breathe, and repeats the process. He does a quick job of it, not caring to build too much tension or anticipation; as much as he loves your mouth, loves watching you sob and choke around his cock, anger still courses through him, pumping through his veins and building and bubbling in the background. It’s going to take more than this to sate it—no, this here is purely for his own amusement. An appetiser for the true punishment to come; decorative. Ornamental.

Your cheeks are wet now; red and flushed and streaked with tears. The force of his cock colliding with the back of your throat, over and over with little respite, is quickly sending you over the edge—but not quite. You still haven’t decided if it’s a blessing or a curse that Minghao has figured out exactly how far he can push you without crossing the line.

“Feeling sorry yet?” His voice is cool and distant; detached from the sensations rushing through your body like a live wire. When you blink away the tears still welling you see that same uncaring expression on his face, like this is merely an entertainment for him even as he pushes your head back and forth on his dick. You nod pitifully, audibly sobbing and he smiles. “Good,” he says. “That’s a good start, baby.”

Then he pulls out, forcing your head off of him without warning; you start to stumble back, unsteady without him holding you up but his hands are on you again before you can. He grabs your hair again, this time pulling forwards and manoeuvring you until you’re kneeling on the couch, bent over the back of it with your legs spread and your bare ass and glistening pussy level with his crotch.

“Give me your hands.”

It takes you a moment to register the command and your hands shake as you push them out behind you; he scoffs, grabbing your wrists firmly and holding them in one hand. The sound of his belt coming undone and sliding through the loops of his pants makes your muscles tense instinctively, anticipating a blow; he runs the leather along your ass, clicking his tongue when you flinch slightly as it trails down your thigh.

“Relax your muscles,” he says. “And don’t move, understand?”

“Yes sir,” you whisper.

He hums, stilling for a moment and your breath hitches as you await his next move. The belt runs across your ass again and you know he’s weighing up his options; deciding what to do next. He seems to choose mercy—comparative mercy, at least—because the leather loops around your wrists instead, secured firmly in place.

“Wriggle your fingers,” he says and you obey, moving them back and forth until he’s satisfied. “Any tingling?” He asks. “Numbness?”

It’s a little jarring, really, when he stops such an intense scene to check in on you like this; when he sandwiches care and concern between utter sadism and cruelty. But in another way it’s completely essential; it’s the only reason you trust him to inflict such things on you in the first place, and the only reason he trusts you to take it.

You shake your head, mumbling a “no sir.”

“What do you say if there is?”

“Apple.”

“Good,” he says; the returning coldness in his voice tells you the time for concern has passed as quickly as it came. “You’re not entirely useless, then. Stay still.”

He stands back, admiring the view; his sweet little girl, bent over, legs spread and ready to make amends. The sight of your flushed, shivering body is so appetising, so appallingly sweet considering the position you’re in, that for a moment it makes him forget all else—makes him want to stop for a while and savour it; to run his hands along your curves and ridges; to tease your pussy a little more until you’re begging him to fuck you; to pull an orgasm from you, then another and another just to watch you shake and convulse with pleasure.

He even considers it for a second, imagining how pretty you’d look coming undone for him—but then he remembers why you’re here. Remembers the way you’d toyed with him on purpose; the way you’d flirted with that waiter, slutting yourself out like a cheap whore just for some attention; how you’d looked up at a stranger with the same eyes only he was supposed to see. The way you’d run your mouth without a care.

You deserve none of his mercy tonight.

So instead he hooks an arm under your tummy, holding you up and still before slamming his dick into you without warning. You shriek, bucking against his hips and jolting forwards in shock and he lets his other hand come down once, twice, three times until your ass is a familiar shade of red. He doesn’t start slow nor waste time easing you into it; his thrusts are hard and fast from the off, angled to hit you in the deepest parts of your body. He keeps a firm grip on you, squeezing you tightly—bruisingly, probably, but he doesn’t care. With the way you’ve acted today, if you wake up tomorrow morning littered with bruises you should count yourself lucky that they didn’t come from his belt.

You writhe in his grip but the leather rubbing against your wrists means there’s little opportunity of escape or resistance and hands are firm and heavy on your waist; unyielding in his possession of you. A hard thrust against your deepest point makes you gasp, his name slipping out between sobs. “H-Hao—”

“Hao, Hao,” he repeats. His voice is high-pitched, tone mocking and cruel as his grip tightens on you, deep and painful. “Shut the hell up,” he barks. “Nothing you can say matters to me right now. Just clench your fucking hole and get me off.”

He feels you trying to obey; trying to tighten yourself around him with clenched thighs and he rewards you with a wet, biting kiss to the back of your neck. He licks at the hot skin, lapping up the sweat with his tongue; it’s a messy, filthy display that makes your stomach twist in delight and desperation and you push back against him, trying to pull him deeper. He notices, of course, and spits out a dry, mocking laugh.

“Desperate little whore,” he sneers. “You love this dick, don’t you? You’d love it even if it was tearing you in half.”

You cry out and he drops his hand harshly againt the back of your thigh, making you sob. “Say it,” he orders. “You love this dick. You fucking live for it.”

“I— ah, I love this dick!” He grunts, slapping you again and you squeal in pain. “I love it, Hao. I live for it.”

You hear the grin in his voice; see the wild, uncontrolled lust in his eyes even from behind you. “Yeah you do. Fucking cunt, you love this.”

He speeds up again briefly, altering the pace back and forth to keep you guessing; to prevent you from getting too comfortable or finding a rhythm in his thrusts that you can hang on to. Quick, rough thrusts that feel like they’re spitting you open turn to slow, deep strokes that make you wail in pleasure; back and forth, back and forth until the words coming from your mouth are more of an indecipherable babble. You’re completely undone, exactly as he wants you. He wants to see it up close.

He flips you over suddenly, pressing you forcefully back down into the cushions and slamming his lips against yours; he pins you down with a hand on your neck, just enough pressure to make you dizzy while he speeds up the pace again. He’s close enough to see the individual tears as they fall down your cheek; to see the beads of sweat shimmering on your face and neck. To see the sweetness and depravity in your eyes; innocent and perverse.

You look so fucking pretty like this.

“My baby,” he grunts. “My fucking—fuck—my fucking toy.”

“Hao,” you sob.

“Yeah, that’s it,” he coos. “Say my name, pet. Little fuckdoll, tell me who you belong to.”

“To you,” you squeak. “To you, Hao.”

“That’s right,” he says. “And you’ll take everything I give you no matter how much you scream. Understand? You can cry and beg and I won’t ever stop fucking you.”

“Yeah,” you gasp. “Y-yeah, you can.”

“Mhm,” he coos. “I’ll do whatever the hell I want to you and you’ll take it like a whore because I own you. Don’t ever forget that again, got it? You’re gonna fucking behave yourself from now on.”

He lands a harsh slap on your face, making you yelp and he rolls his eyes, tightening his grip on your neck. “You deserve a lot fucking worse than this, brat. You’re lucky I’m not fucking your ass right now.”

Lucky is certainly the word—you love when he fucks your ass, of course; it’s degrading and wrong in the most exhilarating way possible, but fuck does it hurt. It really fucking hurts, and he really fucking loves it.

“Sorry, Hao,” you whimper. “I— I was bad.”

He slaps you again on the other cheek. “You were a little bitch,” he snarls. “You deserve to be fucked like one. And you enjoy it, don’t you?

“Yeah, Hao, yeah, fuck.”

You’re babbling now, barely decipherable and he grins. “I’m gonna fill you up, you want that? Want my cum, doll?”

“Yeah,” you moan. “Please—”

“Good girl, good girl,” he groans. “You’re gonna get it. Gonna breed you full and you’re gonna keep it all inside, you got that?”

“Yeah, I— yeah.”

“There we go,” he whispers. “Do your job, bitch. Keep it in.”

His eyes roll back and you see the moment the last semblance of control shatters and he fucks into you with full force; full power and desperation. It doesn’t take long before you feel his hips stutter, a strangled cry leaving him as he finally unloads into you. Your legs wrap tightly around his waist, keeping him close; he smashes his lips into you with an exhausted fervour.

The first time he came in you was a little different.

The first few times he’d fucked you, you’d been too scared to let him do it; frightened of the thought of what could happen.

“N-no, Hao,” you’d cry, pushing on his tummy to nudge him away. “Not inside, please.”

“Hm?” He’d croon gently, wiping a stray hair out of your face. “What’s wrong, bunny? Don’t you want Hao to fill you up?”

“Don’t… don’t wan’ a baby, Hao. Don’t wan…”

The look in your eyes, frightened and innocent, was enough to push him over the edge the second he pulled out—which he did, of course. His precious little pet always got what she wanted.

So when you pulled his head closer to yours, pressing your foreheads together and heavy, stuttered breaths and said “cum in me, Hao. I’m ready,” there was nothing he could do but oblige.

He hooked your legs up over his shoulders, wrapping them around the back of his head; interlocked and intertwined with him; then he leaned over your precious, perfect body, pressing down on your thighs, pushing them towards your torso; relishing in the way you whined and squealed at the painful stretch.

He kissed every inch of your face, crooning praises as filthy as they were sweet, going faster and faster and faster—and then he came. He came hard.

Harder than he’d ever, ever come before. And your little pussy swallowed up every inch of it.

He hadn’t fucked anyone else since he met you, of course—but this was the moment he really, truly knew, that you were the only he ever wanted to touch again. No one else could ever taste so sweet.

You’re panting and shivering as he pulls out, as fucked out and delirious as you were the first time and his eyes flicker down your body; the littered bruises that have bloomed under the impact of his hips against your skin. He huffs out a satisfied breath and cups your head in his hands again.

“Look at me, angel,” he mumbles. You meet his eyes with a soft, still-dazed expression and he smiles. “That’s it. Listen to me, yeah? Remember what I told you tonight, understand? Remember the lesson I just taught you.”

“I will,” you whisper.

“Tell me what you did wrong.”

You flush again, squirming a little and he lets his grip tighten slightly. “No, bunny, look at me and tell me what you did.”

“Flirted,” you mumble. “With that guy. Didn’t listen all night and…”

“And?”

“Said… said dangerous stuff. Loudly.”

“Good girl,” he praises. He smiles softly, fondly as he stares you down. “My little brat, huh? Don’t make me do this again.”

“I won’t,” you promise, and he presses his lips to yours, the most gentle he’s been all evening.

Because that’s the best part; after the punishment, after you’ve misbehaved and been fucked back into place.

When you pretend you’ve learned your lesson. When you both pretend you didn’t enjoy every second of it. When you look into his eyes and tell the sweetest little lie he’s ever heard.

I’ll be good.

No, you won’t.

—

a/n: thank you for the request! honest to god i intended to give this a proper plot but it got away from me sorry.

taglist: @yabbadabbatuh @my-atiny-kookie-rkive @aloevendetta @miyx-amour @gyuguys @livelaughloveseventeen @ghstin91s @fancypeacepersona @haaruki @lyracarvahall @geni-627 @haileyisboring @bablilwolf11

[moon-ayyye]

It's so crazy to me how, canonically, Jason went to heaven when he died, but that was later retconned so that he went to hell instead

Like, do you understand how much your writer has to hate you so that you, a 15 year old who was tortured to death after being a hero for 3 years, end up in actual hell?

The average 15 year old wouldn't end up in hell, because, you know, they're 15 fucking years old. This isn't even worth saying. One who gave away his life to save someone and has risked his life to save the world and innocents repeatedly would go to like, turbo heaven.

This whole "Jason was always doomed by the narrative" thing got really tiring really fucking quick, because NO. He only stole to survive, and he helped Bruce take down Ma Gunn's whole operation unprompted, without expecting a reward, and when it would've been easier for him to accept the money

Damian going to hell was also shitty, since he was a kid that was forced into killing and brainwashed by a cult, but you can MAYBE make a case for the lazarus influence in him automatically condemning him. You'd have to be very fucking shitty to do that to a kid, but that's available to you.

Bruce claiming that Jason would end up a criminal like his father isn't just wrong. It's stupid. Egregiously stupid. The few universes we see where Jason isn't adopted by Bruce have him become a priest, or at his very worst, a getaway driver. Mainline Jason, who got adopted by Bruce, cut off the head of 7 men and put them in a duffle bag as a statement

Bruce didn't save him from becoming a criminal, he saved him from homelessness, which is noble and kind and good, yes, but pretending it was anything more is reaching, and pretending like he only did it because he saw darkness in Jason is fucking dumb as hell because I GURANTEE there were kids who had it rougher that Bruce wouldn't make the same claim about.

Revisionist history wants me to believe that a child who lived and died a hero only got taken in because he would've become a villain. Meanwhile, we're shown that Jason only ever becomes a villain after meeting Bruce.

JASON'S WHOLE THING IS THAT HE WAS DOOMED BY THE AUDIENCE, NOT THE NARRARIVE

[devotedfem]

Isn't a threat a promise? - Part I

Synopsis: Where you're an assassin hired to finish the mysterious and poweful gang of seven eccentric men, but you're oblivious of how unpunishable and untouchable they were. You were bred to kill, but they were bred to rule over the mafia. They will break little by little your mind, reminding you that not even a hired assassin can beat them.

BTS OT7 x f. Reader

4.8K words.

Genre: Mafia and hitman au | Enemies to lovers | yander-ish.

Tags and TW: Organized crime, mafia BTS, hired assassin reader, german reader, hidden identity, a lot of lies, fake identity and name, fierce and intelligent reader, really sassy and brave reader but Bangtang will slowly break her mind and turn her into a fragile mess (you've been warned), adrenaline rush, murder, typical criminal violence, unhealthy relationships, unhealthy coping mechanism, they're all morally ambiguous, a lot of death, past traumas, manipulation, obsessive tendencies.

Series masterlist.

Navigation Masterlist.

Chapters: I, II, III, IV.

FIRST BULLET:

. . . . .

Your heels clicking were the only noise in the huge living room. You hummed a song walking towards the luxurious bathroom, washing the blood off your hands. You always have your nails painted red, so the blood won’t stain under them. And red looks so good on you, so it's like killing two birds with one stone.

You took your phone to make a call, fixing your hair and your maroon lipstick that was smudged on the corner of your lips.

“Yes?” Greeted the husky voice.

“Work’s done, I want my money in cash. I also want to go to Paris this weekend, so I’ll need a new passport.” You said removing your red lipstick, concealer and black eyeliner, putting some gloss on your lips instead.

You look cleaner with your face bare. Less messy, less suspicious. More innocent.

The man at the other side of the phone sighed deeply, as if he was dealing with a spoiled brat.

“Y/n, we can’t give you a new passport every fucking week. You’re too messy and too attention seeker. Learn to be more discreet and you’ll earn your little trips.” The broken English of the man made his words sound angrier.

You snorted at him. Learn to be more discreet? What would be the fun of that?

“Can you not be a boring prick for five minutes? All of my targets always get killed and the police’s incompetence never fail to be on my favor. Doesn’t it?”

You said with your also broken English. You cleaned the doorknobs with isopropyl alcohol, and burned your target’s slit neck with a lighter, to erase any kind of fingerprints. You also cleaned the bathroom sink and the floor where the corpse lay with acid.

You felt like the cleaning lady of the house, vacuuming the floor to collect hair and clothing fibers. Every detail must be taken care of.

“Y/n,” the man warned, with that tone of voice that was supposed to intimidate you, but the both of you know that it never works. “You have a new target, so move your trip to Paris to another day.”

You stopped vacuuming with a gasp.

“You’re giving me more work!? But I just finished killing this one, and he was so annoying,” you whined, looking at the corpse of the old man with disgust. That man was a sexist sexual predator and a pain in your ass.

“Oh but you’d like this one. They’re seven men, a secretive gang, pulling all the strings from the shadows. It took us years to find their whereabouts. They’re a big deal in this business.”

Business. Big deal. That took your attention very quickly.

You said nothing for a couple of seconds. He knew that you were considering it, he knew that you love challenges.

“Prize?” You asked, checking your red nails out.

“Five.”

“Five fucking what? Dollars? Hundredths?”

“Millions.”

Oh. You hummed to yourself.

“How dangerous?”

“Very dangerous. In fact, the odds of killing them are very low. You’re more likely to get killed instead of them.”

You bit your bottom lip trying to stop your mischievous smirk from curling in your lips. You tasted the sweet savor of challenge in your tongue, imagining yourself spending those 5 million on trips in Europe.

“You’re so mean, giving me such a difficult task. You’re not trying to get rid of me, aren’t you Bruderherz?” You purred, grinning like a starve wolf. You took your Birkin bag and switchblade with you, walking out of the mansion towards your sport car.

“Oh, I would never my Schwesterlein. How could I lose my golden star? You’re irreplaceable.”

“Good to know that we’re on the same page, after all, it’s going to cost you more than seven men to get rid of me,” you hummed, lighting a cigarette, driving away. “I want vacations after I finish this target by the way, long vacations.” You made him sigh again.

This is going to be so fun.

|||||||||||||||

NEW YORK STATE

LAST NAME: NOVIKOVA

FIRST NAME: ANN

COUNTRY OF BIRTH: RUSSIA

DATE OF BIRTH: 15 AUG ****

SEX: F

CARD EXPIRES: 05/08/2034

RESIDENT SINCE: 01/12/2024

You pursed your lips reading your new fake id card. He always makes you Russian, you think you can hide very well your broken English, you weren’t that obvious. But in this kind of business, it’s pretty common to see Italians and Russians, no matter how stereotypical it sounds. You were proud of your German roots, but it is in fact stupid to let people know where you came from.

Your targets were Korean, you don’t see a lot of Koreans in this business, they were ruthless. That’s why you have to be even more careful.

You can do a lot of things wrong, like wasting your money in bags and shoes (not in your rent and bills), or playing a little with your targets, testing how quick they found out they’re falling into your trap. But the one thing you prohibit yourself from is to underestimate your prey, oh boy, that’s a huge mistake. You always have in mind the possibility of them outsmarting you. So, you do a long list of 100 ways they could find out who you are, and a quick plan to solve each one of those outcomes.

You weren’t the golden star of your Bruderherz for nothing.

You pin your hair up away from your face, securing it with grips, putting on a short wig that reaches your jaw. Wearing a dark trench coat and red lipstick.

Your new identity this time is a Russian heiress of a gang located in many countries of Eastern Europe. You’re supposed to be rich, spoiled, a little dumb and ruthless. Your daddy’s money gives you all the wonders in the world, even if the money it’s stained in blood.

You’re supposed to meet the Bangtang gang to “talk” about business. Convince them to unite both gangs for their best interest. You wanted to live in New York, but you couldn’t without the protection of your daddy’s men, so you’ll give him a good deal in this city. In your opinion, it’s a good drive for your character.

Your siren’s charm this time won’t be your body. Bangtang were young and rich, used to women throwing themselves at them expecting something in return. This time you’re the one with the golden bait.

The greed for money and power is stronger than temporary lust or infatuation.

That’s what you thought, watching Bangtang’s mansion from the car, the driver leaving you in front of the huge place.

You grinned to yourself, already smelling the scent of the five millions of dollars, in cash of course.

You walked towards the entrance of the mansion with your heels clicking, your chin was up and your gaze fixated on the big doors. You weren’t surprise when three men armed to the teeth and dressed in black stopped you.

“Wait here.” One of them said rudely, making you arch a brow.

“I’m not waiting outside the doors like a fucking dog. I have a business appointment with Bangtang, so if you don’t want to end dissolved in acid, I suggest you to take me inside to them.” It was and order and a threat. Your voice didn’t quiver and your gaze was steady, burning on the man. You were dressed in expensive clothes, all of you screamed luxury and power.

Fear flashed the guard’s face for a moment, nodding at your words and leading you into the mansion.

The decoration and furniture were classic, all here screamed old money; discreet but expensive.

You stopped when the man halt in front of a mahogany door. He looked nervous for a second, but his face turned expressionless again, opening the door and bowing to the men inside of the room.

It was an office, very chic and expensive-looking. You could smell the money.

There were seven men watching you both with frowns, looking almost startled at your presence. A tall man with bulky body and nice clothes looked at you from head to toe, arching a brow and crossing his buff arms.

“Who’s this? And why is she in my office, without my permission? I gave strict orders to make any guest wait.” The man’s jaw was clenched, and his words were grunted between teeth. He looked beyond displeased by your presence.

The guard at your side flinched a little by the cold stare of the other man, clearly intimidated by his boss scold.

“I-I, I uh, i mean, she-she said it was… She looked important…”

You felt a pang of guilt and pity by looking at him, the poor guy was about to piss himself.

“I am indeed, very important. Let me introduce myself; I am Ann Novikova, heiress of the Eastern Europe biggest gang. And please, don’t be hard on the guard, although it isn’t clever to ignore your boss orders, I wasn’t very easy on him either.” You said with a charming smile and a wink towards the guard, standing tall in your spot, watching all of them in their eyes. You can’t show an ounce of insecurity.

They were wolves, but you were a panther, circling their den from the distance.

“You’re fired. Get out of my sight.” Barked the bulky guy, looking straight into your eyes while speaking.

The guard’s face fell, turning around to leave you alone in the wolves’ den.

“You have 5 minutes to explain why you think you’re important enough to come here, to our house, almost breaking in, and clearly uninvited.” Another tall man stands up from a couch, nursing himself a glass of whiskey without averting his gaze from you. He has such plump lips, but an arrogant presence.

“Hurry up!” Thundered another one when you kept silent. His hair was black, curling at the nape, he was so handsome and so fucking rude.

You blinked, clenching your fists with fire rising to your lungs. You never let anyone speak to you in such way, not without consequences. But you have to keep calm, a prize is sweeter with a good chase.

Breathe. Act. Kill. Easy Peasy.

“Important? I have the blood of one of the most powerful and ruthless men of Europe. One call to my daddy and all of you are going to literally war,” you phrased calmly, even when your words were shot to kill. “But I don’t want to. My time is too precious to waste it on war gangs just because. I came here with a proposal, one that will benefit us all.”

And there it was, the golden bait.

The room fell silent for a moment, there was a growing tension and interest.

“Tell me, why a girl like you, that came out of nowhere, that is rich and spoiled would want to make business with us of all people?”

That was a great question, one you anticipated.

“I want to give my daddy a good deal here in New York, a good reason for him to send his men to this city so I can have their protection, he’s very protective of me. You guys are very discreet and also my dad is enemy with half of American gangs, so I don’t have many options.”

There was silence again, and then a giggle from the pretty blonde boy looking at you with mischievous eyes.

“You’re doing all of this just because you want to live in New York? I mean there’s nothing special here. There are a lot of rats though, nothing you don’t have in your homeland.” He sneered, running slowly his eyes on your body from head to toe, but unlike the buff guy, the blonde’s stare glinted with interest.

“Well, what can I say, I like New York and I want to live near my new friends. I’m bored in Russia.” You shrugged, as if your answer was enough reason to convince them.

“It’s so fucking disrespectful to have a spoiled brat thinking she can waste our time.” Growled a deep voice, catching your attention. It came from a cat-eyed man with raven hair. His face was pale and his gaze burned on you, full of contempt.

At least they believe you’re just a spoiled rich girl. That’s good.

“I said I came here with a proposal that will benefit us all. Don’t you want to hear it? If so, I’ll find another gang. Time’s money.” You stand your ground, hoping they fall for your act. It will make your job easier.

Uncomfortable and deep silence surrounded the office again.

“Let the girl speak.” Said gently a man with a heart type of smile. He seemed nice, too nice. You noted to be careful around him in the future.

“Continue.” Ordered the buff man with a sigh.

You started to explain the fake but very well thought out plan. You gestured while explaining the details, pacing around the office as if it belongs to you; as if you were one of them.

But beyond your act, you were scared. Your stomach churned, your heart beat increased and your hands sweat and trembled, that’s why you hid them inside your coat’s pockets. You can’t show them fear, you can’t show them insecurity.

Predators smell fear.

The buff guy’s name was Namjoon. He stared piercingly at you while you were talking, leaning on the edge of the desk. His brows were slightly furrowed in concentration, nodding slowly to himself at your words. The drumming of his fingers on the desk made your heart beat spike.

The other tall man, named Seokjin, has his steady dark eyes fixated on you. He was straddling a chair, with a glass of whiskey in one of his hands. You tried not to look at him for too long, getting distracted by him drinking whiskey and keeping the liquor swimming in his mouth, tasting it slowly, while looking straight into your eyes.

Braced himself against the wall was the handsome boy with dark hair curling on his nape. His name was Taehyung, and he has his arms crossed defensively over his chest, glaring at you with his jaw clenched. You didn’t know why your presence pissed him off so much, he looked like a wolf on the defensive, ready to pounce and kill at any sign of danger.

You were a threat for him, that means that your acting skills aren’t that bad. Because if he knew how powerless you actually were, he would devour you whole.

Jimin, the pretty and mischievous blonde, was sitting cozily on the couch. He looked up at you through his beautiful eyelashes, smirking and tilting his head at your words. He seemed innocent and dangerous at the same time, you knew his kind very well. He’s a snake charmer.

You can’t be charmed by him, or you’ll get eat.

And the cat-eyed man named Yoongi, resembles Taehyung’s posture, although he seemed colder and calmer than the other. He was sitting on the arm chair of the couch, with his arms crossed and his deep and intense gaze studying you. He was just watching you intently, with analyzing eyes drinking in every detail of your posture and choice of words.

You have to be careful with that one, the dullness and lack of shine of his eyes tells you that he has too much experience.

Hoseok. The smiling and gentle guy that was sitting on the edge of the couch beside Jimin, stared at you with his eyes sparkling with curiosity and something else. His elbows rested on his knees, smiling every now and then but never looking away from you.

Something about him made you feel shivers, because his smile felt a little bit fake. You knew damn well that the smiley ones are the most dangerous.

And then, there was Jungkook.

It surprised you how quiet he was, sitting in the desk chair behind Namjoon’s body half hidden from your view. But you observed him in detail anyway. He was a buff guy, not as buff as Namjoon but bulky enough. He has piercings and tattoos all over his arm, dressed in baggy black clothes. He looked like a biker guy, and that didn’t take you by surprise, what you didn’t expect was to see such big doe eyes looking at you with pure innocence sparkling in them.

His eyes took your breath away, and you tried to hide it. It was so rare to find people with clean eyes in this type of business, in this type of world. Everyone has some darkness staining their eyes, but not this one. He looks kind-hearted, not faking it like Hoseok and not using it as a weapon like Jimin. He just seemed genuine.

That’s why you mentally noted to bond with him later, to find out what is he doing here. Maybe he is Bangtang’s weakness. Their Achilles heel.

You finished talking with your hands behind your back, rubbing them in anxiety and adrenaline. You felt your heart beating fast against your ribcage and your senses getting sharp as if you were fighting a dangerous predator. It was just your anxiety talking, but you knew damn well that you were playing with fire.

There was silence. Deep, uncomfortable silence.

And then Seokjin stands up from the chair, walking towards you with his squared shoulders and firm steps. You hold his gaze, not showing fear.

You got your gun hidden in your hip, ready to risk it all if you’re forced to.

He stood inches from your body, making you look up at him. His eyes dropped heavily on your lips and then back up to your eyes again, watching you intently.

“I like you. And that’s worse than my dislike. I supposed your daddy already warned you about big bad guys like us, but I’ll warn you anyway; you better not be disloyal to us, because you’ll wish to die before getting into our bad side.” He threatened lowly and fiercely, curling a lock of your hair in his finger, staring down at you like you were an insignificant bug under his shoe.

But you knew you weren’t harmless, and he knew it too despite his indifferent façade. They will have their eyes on you, watching your every move.

“Don’t worry, I’m more than used to threats,” you hummed, smiling at him and holding your head high.

Seokjin widened his eyes for a second, and then he clenched his jaw, getting out of the office without another word.

You watched Namjoon, Yoongi and Hoseok walking towards you, feeling a rush of distrust.

“You heard him loud and clear, don’t test us, and you’ll stay with all of your limbs intact. We don’t care about your daddy’s power, as long as you’re working with us, under this roof, you’ll follow our rules.” Said calmly Namjoon, with his hands in his pockets, watching your every expression.

“Guys come on, stop being so dense with the poor girl. I mean, she has more balls than all of our guards and enemies together, she came here alone looking so… strong and pretty,” Hoseok paused to drop his gaze on your body, and then he looked up at your eyes with a smile, “I must say that you took me by surprise, I like your boldness.”

“You mean audacity.” Interrupted Yoongi with his arms crossed. His cat eyes were calculating over you. “I don’t know if your little act it’s brave, stupid or suspicious, but I do know that you have a hidden intention, and it better don’t affect us, or you’ll pay the price.”

Yoongi’s voice was deep, and his gaze dull of light. He knew you were hidden something; he has the experience of a veteran written on his face. But he doesn’t know what you’re hiding exactly, so his wariness didn’t bother you too much, at least not for now.

“If I were you, I’d be unsure too. I promise that the only person I want to bother it’s my daddy, with a new penthouse on New York,” you grinned mischievous.

“God, I love her,” purred Jimin behind the three of them, devouring you with his gaze.

The four of them walked away towards the door, but Jimin stopped at your side, leaning close to your ear, as if he was about to tell you a secret.

“Be careful little bunny, I can see right through your tough girl act.” He mouthed lowly and quietly near your ear, chuckling before getting away from you, disappearing as smoke air.

You blinked, gulping your anger and fear.

Fear? You never felt fear in your life. You were ruthless, your Bruderherz teach you better than to let some gang guys get into your head. You had face worse than them.

You were alone with Taehyung and Jungkook, the latter walked towards the door but you stopped him.

“Hey, what was your name again?” You faked confusion, making Jungkook bite his inner cheek.

“Jungkook,” he said, his voice deep but quiet.

He seemed pretty shy.

“You didn’t say much while I was talking about my plan, what do you think about it?” You asked with a soft smile and gentle tone.

Jungkook stared at your smile before looking up into your eyes, something glints in them.

“I’m not sure what are your… intentions, but if my hyungs agreed to your plan, then you must worth the… risk, I guess. They know better,” he shrugged, throwing glances at the door.

“Right, can I have your number? Just in case Namjoon doesn’t pick up his phone so I can speak with one of you in an emergency.”

Jungkook raised his eyebrows taken aback, closing and opening his mouth, looking unsure if it was okay to give you his phone number.

“You’re quite direct, aren’t you?” He said with a timid smile, giving you his number.

“What can I say? You look trustworthy,” you smiled triumphant.

“Let’s hope I don’t disappoint you,” he muttered before walking away, leaving you puzzled by his words.

Your gaze followed Jungkook’s body walking away, frowning by his cryptic response. Maybe you were misjudging him?

You startled when you turned around facing Taehyung’s body too close for your comfort. He was staring at you with narrowed eyes.

“Don’t let Jungkookie fool you, he’s not that innocent.” He remarked, stepping closer to you, inches from your face. You can feel the warmth of his body and his hot breath brushing your cheek.

“I think you’re too close for my like,” you said about to move away but he didn’t let you, gripping your waist with his hands and pulling you roughly against his chest. You gasped with surprise, not knowing if you should laugh at his audacity or punch him in his face.

But before you could do anything, he put his hand inside your coat, with his fingers brushing and running slowly your hips. You stayed freeze in his grip, with your heart beating wild.

His hand found your gun, taking it away and putting it in his pocket.

Your mouth was parted and your heart was pounding in your ears, you look up at him with fury. He didn’t release his grip on your waist, tightening it instead.

“Give me back my gun, and let go of me,” you warned, but your voice quivered a little, making Taehyung smirk like a wolf.

“Or what? In this house, our guests aren’t allowed to carry weapons,” his lips were too close to your face. You felt his hot breath brushing your lips.

You broke free from his grip, leaving a big space between you two.

“You don’t want to get on my bad side so quickly, Taehyung,” you said, trying to compose yourself.

“Oh, isn’t this your bad side already? I think you’re not that scary.”

His mocking words made your heart stop, you didn’t like how this conversation was going.

“No. But my daddy is, so watch your mouth,” you spat before walking away from the office, feeling Taehyung’s gaze burning on your back.

Your phone rang in your pocket, you looked at both sides before answering it.

“Y/n?” Asked your Bruderherz.

You bit a smile at the sound of his voice, finding it comforting after dealing with wolves.

“Who’s that? I’m Ann Novikova, remember?” You teased, getting out of the mansion to wait for your driver to pick you up.

You heard a laugh on the other side of the phone.

“Did you convince them?”

“Did it,” you crooned lightly, breaking a proud smile on your face.

A muffle sound took your attention from the call. You frowned watching your surrounds with your senses heightening.

“Make the driver hurry,” you ordered before hanging up the phone.

You followed the odd noise coming from behind a bush.

And then, your heart stopped and your eyes widened at the sight before you.

The fired guard lay on the floor with his neck slit, drowning in his own puddle of blood. But that didn’t disturb you, you were used to death. What you didn’t expect was the perpetrator behind the kill.

Jungkook looked at you with his face sprinkled with blood.

“I-“ you didn’t know what to say. You were taken aback.

Jungkook grinned with his nose wrinkling, resembling a bunny.

“Why you look so… surprise? Doesn’t your dad kill in front of you?” He asked with his head tilted to the side, frowning at your shocked expression.

There it was again, that glint of innocence flashing his doe eyes. But the fact that those eyes belong to a murderer, fucked up a little your mind. But it shouldn’t surprise you that much, after all, he was part of a criminal organization.

But still, it was confusing.

“No, you’re right, I am… used to death,” you said, watching the guard’s eyes lose the spark of life.

“Did I disappoint you?” Jungkook’s desperate voice startled you. He walked towards you with crazed and worried eyes, making you take some steps back.

Before you could say or do anything, Namjoon’s voice stopped Jungkook from coming closer to you.

“Jungkook, get inside. You did a good job,” he dismissed the bunny boy.

Jungkook glance between you two, looking indecisive. But he chose to follow Namjoon’s orders and leave you two alone.

“Do you need a ride?” Asked Namjoon, making you blink.

“No, my driver is on the way. Thank you though,” you said, averting your eyes towards the gates when you heard a car nearby. “And there he is, goodbye Namjoon, it was a pleasure to meet you.”

Before you could turn around to leave, he stopped you grabbing you by your arm.

“Are you sure you want to do this? You can change your mind right now, because the moment you’re out of those gates, there will be no turning back.” His eyes were intense and fixated on you, expecting an answer.

You won’t dare to say that he was worried about you, because you were a stranger to him, one that can even be considered a threat. But a tiny bit of concern did flash his gaze. Maybe because you looked like a naive woman, one that acted like a spoiled kid, not mature enough for this world and for this deal.

He didn’t know you, but you knew him well.

“I am sure, don’t worry about me,” you said smiling at him, holding his gaze.

He blinked taken aback, and then his grip on your arm tighten.

“I have this odd feeling since you came to our office, that my boys will bond with you very quickly, they already like you too much. That’s why you better not play with their trust, no tricks or games. Am I being clear?” He growled lowly, his features hardening at the thought of you betraying them.

The driver honked the car’s horn behind you, you glanced back at him and then back at Namjoon again, grinning wider.

“And you?”

Namjoon frowned at your words.

“What about me?”

“Do you trust me? Would you ever bond with me like your friends?” You asked leaning towards him, biting your bottom lip with Namjoon’s dark and heavy gaze following the movement.

He let go of your arm as if the touch of it burned his hand.

“I don’t trust you, not now and sure not ever. You can keep your performative charms to yourself when you’re with me, I won’t fall that easy.” He said lowly, like a promise, like a threat.

Excitement and adrenaline rushed to your veins. That sounded like a challenge.

“You said it; not that easy but not that impossible either, let’s see what happens Namjoonie,” you purred, turning around to walk towards the car. Feeling Namjoon’s eyes burning on your back.

You watched from the car Namjoon standing tall at the entrance of the mansion, with his hands in his pockets and the breeze moving his hair.

You recognized that glint in his eyes, he saw a challenge, he saw a threat, but also a chance to success in this business.

He bit the bait, as you planned.

But you felt something odd too, a little voice at the back of your head whispering a warning.

You’re playing with fire, says the voice, you’re not in a wolves’ den; you’re in a nest of starved python snakes.

But a catch is sweeter with a dangerous chase, isn’t it?

Taglist:

@demonshauntingthedoves @pynkgothicka @itlover8000 @monochromaticfawn @devilzliaison @11thenightwemet11 @deluluisdasolulu @shailari @queenc22x